Always on the brink,
Of either greatness,
Or dancing dangerously on the edge pf despair,
Seems to be my constant state of existence.
And trying to weigh up both side of the coin,
Is increasingly tiresome,
And frighteningly confronting.
And more than ever do I see that our trajectory,
Is alarmingly blurred,
As it darts in fits of starts and stops,
In crawls forward,
And leaps back.
It seems nothing is sacred,
No skill above being lost,
No goal above shifting the posts,
Except for the consistency of sessions.
Which play out in a multitude of rhythms,
Depending on what beat our practitioner may find Isaac in,
On any given day.
I find I’m screaming on the inside,
For a security in quick-set concrete,
To hold fast the glimpses of great gain,
We see coming into vision,
To overwrite the underlying brutality of brain injury,
Every chance to retain information,
And relay it readily,
But instead it feels like a gale-force wind,
Pulling you where you don’t mean to be,
While whipping you raw across the cheeks,
Dragging you back,
Not to your starting point,
But far enough to lose ground,
And make you work like mad,
To regain your distance.
And often you wonder,
If anything you do is enough,
To remain on the other side of the marathon,
Or if you’ve set your target simply too far,
And settling for where you were harshly blown,
Is the sensible thing to do.
And learn from there,
To manage expectation.
But it isn’t in my nature,
Nor does it seem to be in Isaac’s,
And so in hope to tackle the overriding power of a compromised nervous system,
We begin a block of intensive therapy,
Of Feldenkrais sessions every weekday morning for two weeks.
And the timing couldn’t be more perfect,
As once again Isaac is presenting with much more tone than usual,
And has seemingly lost the idea of where his weight is.
Despite his undeniable progress,
We find ourselves back here in some element or another,
Where parts of himself go missing.
And so without any sense of rush,
Knowing we have many consecutive days stretching ahead of us,
We allow Isaac the time,
To release everything,
And slow life down again,
Just enough to find himself again.
And quite surprisingly the two weeks,
Exposed what we weren’t looking for,
And took us in a direction we weren’t expecting to go.
While day one sees us work our way through weight bearing through arms,
With the use of crutches,
And the idea of getting smaller and taller,
Through raising the bottom,
Weight going down into the legs,
Not throwing back the shoulder and head,
Or allowing the arms to pull,
And breaking up the increased tone,
Holding his upper body together like a blank,
Through shifting weight from side to side,
Allowing the head to fall to one side as he grows short and long alternatively through the trunk,
And loosening the pelvis by finding the freedom in rocking to mimic that of riding a horse,
It becomes screamingly clear that Isaac’s left side bias has kicked in,
In full swing.
And it occurs to us that we ceased patching Isaac’s left eye,
Somewhere amidst the chaos of demands,
So much of his body’s behaviour is left side oriented,
Which can compromise a plethora of functions,
And explains a lot about his current organisation,
His deference to look always through the left eye,
Always turning his head to the right,
And therefore still creating confusion as to where his midline is,
And his continued grave lack of awareness for his right side.
So day two will take us back to the patch,
And with any luck,
The rest will follow,
In helping reinforce Isaac’s functional gains,
And open up to the possibility of more,
Without so much loss,
And the constant backtrack.
But then again I might be dreaming.