“Have you had any of the following symptoms?” A finger points to a yellow laminated sign.
Nope. I’m good. I lean over so the masked figure behind the the plexiglass can take my temperature. I take the sticker that indicates I have been screened and then make my way down the hall to physical therapy.
I’m cautious after my first visit to physical therapy. I try to mentally prepare myself. Just give short answers. Don’t share too much. Be positive. Z retrieves me from the reception area, wiping down my chair. Z is friendly and gives no indication that she is annoyed by my return.
I’m friendly, but reserved as she begins to walk me through our first exercises. I make exaggerated surprised and squished faces, holding them for a few seconds. The exercise is not unlike an embarrassing theater warm up activity. Z seems surprised by my willingness.
Looking in the mirror, Z asks me to breathe. No problem. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. She asks, “Where do you think you are breathing?”
“Um, my…err.here?” I point to my stomach, unable to come up with the word, diaphragm.
She responds, “Actually, you are breathing in your chest.” Huh. She has me try breathing again. “You are breathing backwards.” What!?! How is that even possible?
What is backwards breathing you ask? When I breathe in, my stomach goes in. I breath out, my stomach goes out. Go ahead. Check and see if you too breathe backwards. I’ll wait.
Z has me lie down on a table and try breathing the correct way. I have to stop and hold my breath, concentrating. It’s so hard. Every time I try I revert to breathing backwards.
Z explains that when I’m breathing in my chest, it’s fight or flight breathing. Wait a minute. My breathing is fight or flight. My brain is stuck in fight or flight. Woah. Woah. Woah. There is a connection here.
She asks about my exercise level. I had started working out and doing light weights until all the nerve pain started. Z suggests trying to get my heart rate up for at least 5 minutes every day. She warns I will notice a sudden increase in tremors right after and that is normal and okay. I’m not doing more damage.
I leave the appointment with some homework: do the facial exercises, get my heart rate between 107 and 145 every day for 5 minutes, practice my breathing, and do some mindfulness. I write it all down on a piece of paper and tack it next to my mirror at home.
Over the next week all I do is breathe. I find good times to practice are while driving. It feels like I am doing crunches. I am a breathing machine.
And then a breakthrough. Dave is driving. I can’t stop tremoring in the passenger seat. Both hands are shaking violently. Let’s try breathing correctly. In less than five minutes, the tremors are gone.
I am in control.
Back at physical therapy I am making progress. Z and I are getting along much better. I’m still a little cautious, but I’m willing to chalk the first visit up to her having a bad day. I get a new tool to add into my arsenal — progressive relaxation meditation (PRM).
As a relatively serious person, all this mindfulness and meditation can be a lot for me to swallow. But again, I have nothing to lose and plenty to gain. I go home and download one of the PRMs she recommends. It’s in my drive so I can easily listen to it on my phone.
I wait until I think no one will bother me. To be on the safe side I announce I am doing my therapy and then lock my bedroom door. I lay on my bed. The window fan blows softly over me as the afternoon sun lights my room.
My meditation hang-ups: it’s a bunch of new age hooey (okay that’s maybe a slight exaggeration, but….), I can never quiet my brain, and it’s just breathing and that’s dumb. Again. I have nothing to lose and plenty to gain.
The audio session begins. I listen to the voice as it guides me to tighten and relax parts of my body. I breathe (correctly). Ten minutes later I am super relaxed. When I “awaken,” I feel refreshed.
After a week of these 10 minute meditation sessions, my tremors and stutters are almost gone. However, they are still there to remind me to take my medication 3 times a day. A hard repeated snarl facial twitch or sudden uncontrolled jazz hands are a subtle reminder to 1. take my meds and 2. I still have a functional movement disorder.
At my next physical therapy Z says I am doing so well I can skip a week. Woo-hoo! Suck it Danish Blueberry Mound.
During my week of PT reprieve, stress hits. There are huge family stressors. And then I listen as school district after school district announces they will start the year remote. I knew this was coming, but it still hits me like a ton of bricks. So many feelings. So many emotions. No good solutions.
I begin to tremor. My face twitches rapidly. Talking becomes hard. All I want to do is hide and rest and maybe cry. I give myself time to rest and then I walk on the treadmill, watching Doom Patrol on HBO. While getting my heart rate up, I exercise out all the feelings. The show distracts me. I tremor when I step off and that’s okay.
Dave gives me space and reminds me to do my breathing exercises. This is a test. I have the tools. I need to use them. Within a few days, everything has settled down.
I return to physical therapy and share my progress with Z. She says it seems like I’m ready to be done with physical therapy. I am. I feel like I have some control. I can identify triggers to my symptoms.
We chat some more about functional movement disorders and my experience. I tell her about my cute little blog, that writing has really helped me. Z asks if she can share it with others. I agree but warn her she doesn’t come out very well at first.
As Z officially discharges me from physical therapy, she lets me know I can always come back if I feel I need more help. The energy in the room feels like we should hug. Luckily, covid-19 protocal prevents this as I am a non-hugger.
It is a good day. I am getting a little more of my life back. The nerve pain is gone. The burning sensations are gone. I can start to ramp down the gabapentin a little. The stuttering continues at night (but not always). All the twitches, stutters, and tremors have calmed down. They are there, but less noticeable.
Breathing calms the nervous system, triggering the fight or flight to switch off. Exercise helps counteract the stress hormones of a fight or flight response. My recovery asks me to do the hardest thing you can ask of a teacher or mom, self-care. I need to find time to exercise, to meditate, to breathe. I need to retrain my brain to not be in a constant state of fight or flight. If I want my life back, and probably a better version of my life, I need to prioritize self care.