Minnesota Prairie Roots

“THIS IS FUN!” I effused as I touched a series of red circles, then white, then blue on a big screen. Since I quickly mastered that Fourth of July-themed task after several tries, my vestibular rehab therapist upped the challenge.

Next Ryan had me tapping first a square with a pulsing letter inside and then white circles that popped up randomly on the screen. Whenever the letter changed, I had to tap the blinking letter and then those elusive white floating circles.

I felt like I was getting not only a visual workout (the goal), but also my morning exercise as I stretched to reach the circles. At the ends of rounds, Ryan would adjust the time, increasing the difficulty. When he saw me struggling, he decreased the screen size. Magical, I thought in my exercising brain. My therapist’s aim was neuromuscular re-education via use of the Bioness Integrated Therapy Systems, software designed to present me with dual tasking and visuospatial processing challenges.

At this point the word “fun,” rather than “brain work-out,” still held my thoughts. But just as I was feeling good about my successes, my therapist determined I needed a bigger challenge. Circled numbers popped onto the screen. I should have stopped Ryan right then and there and told him that I am not a numbers person. Words are my thing. He knows I’m a writer. But I was willing to try as long as I didn’t have to solve math equations.

Turns out I only needed to know how to count. No problem. Easy peasy. Or so I thought. I was instructed to tap the numbers 1-10 in sequence inside a large rotating circle. That requires some visual dancing. The numbers disappeared as I tapped them. Then, of course, Ryan added more numbers. Fifteen. Then 20. He also adjusted the speed. And then he told me the numbers would not disappear. Oh, boy.

By then, the word “fun” had vanished, poof, just like that from my thoughts. I felt a tad dizzy and my head hurt. Ryan noticed. Play ended. I sat, closed my eyes, didn’t always look Ryan in the eye when he talked to me. Those are all cues that my brain is experiencing sensory overload.

We chatted about July Fourth plans and vacations and how I can manage my symptoms when they flare. I’ve come to understand what helps me deal with agitation and sensory overload—deep breathing, coloring, therapy putty, rocking, closing my eyes, ear plugs, retreating to a quiet place. But it’s always good to review those coping skills.

It was nearing the end of my 45-minute weekly therapy session. I still felt like my head had been slapped. At that point, Ryan gave me a break. He had planned to use the virtual reality roller coaster again to strengthen my visual and auditory tolerance. But he recognized my brain had had enough sensory exposure. Or perhaps to much exposure to numbers.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling