Ten months before I sustained a traumatic brain injury, I started learning how to play the fiddle. Distracted by pain, fatigue and medical appointments during the first months of my recovery I thought I’d never play again. And the few times I tried, the notes sounded either too flat or too sharp. I’d put it back in it’s case, then set it in the corner of the living room, somber and angry at the same time.

Through the persistent support of friends, I eventually practiced again, every day. I started practicing for ten minutes at a time, but quickly increased my sessions to twenty minutes, a half hour, then an hour. I needed the music – immersing myself in the sounds of each note and the melodic phrases of Irish jigs and reels helped me to focus. But I did not know what effect playing the fiddle, or learning any instrument, had on the brains of TBI survivors.

Scientists used to believe that changes in the brain could occur up until only childhood. But modern research has shown that the brain can create new pathways and alter existing damaged ones to form new memories and learn new information. The process, called neuroplasticity (brain remapping) can take months, or even years.

But neuroplasticity can also occur through active learning, called structural plasticity. The brain cannot process all sensory input at once; it selects what it needs from moment to moment. Researchers have found, through music training, areas of the brain involved in cognition such as memory, speech, attention, and language are strengthened. For instance, children who are musically trained have stronger vocabularies and reading skills than those who are not musically trained. Researchers have observed similar patterns in adults.

And so I continue to push the bow across the fiddle’s strings. I call these sessions my brain workout.

http://neurosciencenews.com/neuroscience-music-enchances-learning-neuroplasticity/

Two weeks ago, the president of the Rotary Club in Burlington, VT invited me to speak about traumatic brain injuries and read an excerpt of my essay, “Invisible Bruise.” Among the thirty members, I knew of two who had a connection to TBIs – one whose wife had suffered a concussion this past winter after she slipped on the ice, and another whose son died in a skiing accident four years ago. As I shared the statistics of TBIs, and my story, the room turned silent, penetrated only by intermittent gasps and soft utterances in response to a startling fact or personal passage I shared. Did these reactions stem from surprise, disbelief? Or did I say something that resonated with the group? When I asked if anyone had any questions, hands quickly shot up: “How are you doing now?” Someone asked. “What can we do to be more sensitive to others with traumatic brain injuries?” another asked. “What is a typical day like for you?” And, “Who do we turn to for more information about brain injuries?”
The president of the club then approached the dais. She grabbed my wrist, wrapped her trembling fingers around it. “Please,” she said, “stay here.” She paused, took a deep breath, her eyes trickling clear tears. “My daughter suffered a brain injury,” she said, her voice the sound of shells washing up to shore. She explained how her daughter had fallen off a horse, how she struggled for years, judged by others as being lazy. It wasn’t until her mother read a book about another woman’s own recovery from a TBI after falling off a horse that she realized her daughter had suffered from one too. She looked at me, the tears now streaming down her flushed cheek. The hairs on my arms stood up, as surprised as I was at this serendipitous moment, this moment of unexpected mutual understanding.
At the close of the session, people gathered around me, eager to share their personal stories. “My wife thought her concussion was improving, but she’s having trouble again,” one of the members said. “She’s experiencing exactly what you described, the difficulty multi-tasking and concentrating.” Another member told me about the brain surgery she had years ago. “I know what you’re talking about,” she said, then hugged me. The man whose son died from a skiing accident approached me, his eyes blood-shot. He shook my hand and held it for several seconds, the warmth rising from his lifelines seeping into mine. He said a quite thank you, then dropped his head and walked away. I rubbed my palms together, holding onto the warmth, this man’s indescribable loss floating just below the surface of rheumy-eyed gratitude.
I left the event grateful, grateful for newfound collective understanding and open-minded conversation about a misunderstood injury. I am grateful for not being along when leaving the event – TBIs are everywhere: in gasps and tender utterances, in hugs and trickling tears, in blood-shot eyes. And submerged silences.

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Eye Movement Desensitization Reprocessing, or EMDR, was first discovered in 1987 by Psychologist Francis Shapiro.  One day, she felt anxious by negative thoughts, so went for a walk in the woods. Sure, you might say, sounds like a great way to shed some stress – walk it off. But as she moved her eyes from right to left, taking in nature’s greens, yellows, and browns, she noticed that her level of anxiety decreased. She tried a similar eye movement process with her clients, and it worked. They, too, experienced a reduction in anxiety. That’s how EMDR was born. Initially used to treat individuals with PTSD and other anxiety disorders, it is now used to treat other conditions like depression, schizophrenia and eating disorders.

When you cut your finger, cells race to the site and clump together to stop the bleeding. Your body’s nutrients then heal the wound. If it continues to get irritated, it will become inflamed and may open up again. Once the source of irritation is removed, the wound can finally heal. PTSD symptoms are like festering wounds; the goal of EMDR is to remove what is blocking those wounds from healing.

Here’s how EMDR works: The client recalls a vivid image from the trauma experienced, such as a lying on the pavement after being hit by a car while thinking about a negative belief about the self, such as “I’m going to die.” The client notes the visceral sensations and emotions she is experiencing like a tight chest, shortness of breath and increased fear. She then thinks of a positive image like taking a warm bath, then a thought: “I’m safe.” Following this, the client conjures the negative thoughts and images while undergoing 15-20 seconds of bilateral stimulation: lateral eye movements, where the client follows the back and forth movement of the therapist’s fingers. Even though lateral eye movements are the most common form of stimulation, other stimuli may be just as effective, such as tapping or tones. The therapist who treated me used walkie-talkie like devices that vibrated beneath the backs of my thighs.

The same bilateral stimulation is then used while the client focuses on the positive images and thoughts. Over time, these will become embedded in the client’s memory, blocking the negative images and thoughts – the wounds. Eventually, PTSD symptoms will lessen when exposed to sounds, smells, or sights reminiscent of a trauma or threat.

EMDR is different from exposure therapy, which involves prolonged exposure to a stimulus that triggers thoughts, emotions, and sensations about the traumatic event. Some therapists believe that prolonged exposure is necessary to produce effective treatment outcomes. But others believe that this type of therapy will cause fearful memories to outweigh the joyful ones in people who have experienced extreme trauma, then encounter a particularly stressful situation in the future.

http://www.emdr.com