Dance Your Troubles Away

Cities are like people.  Each one has its own personality: a mixture of industry, cultural heritage, and passion.  Many great cities are motivated by one unifying factor that can be found in almost every part of the city’s identity.  New Orleans for its spicy creole-influenced jazz; graceful Paris with its fashion and ballet, Barcelona for its art and architecture, just to name a few.

 

Dance is the life-blood of Buenos Aires, more specifically tango. From the Parisian elegance of Recoleta to the colorful streets of La Boca, tango permeates the city.  Like the fading memory of a doomed love affair, ivy vines of melody wind their way through the streets.  At once wistful and stirring, sensual and melancholy the haunting notes waft from the subways, drift out of the milongas, * and fill the markets, enchanting passersby drawing them into another world. 

When I first arrived in Buenos Aires, though curious, I could not understand the fascination.  Every traveler who came to Buenos Aires seemed to eat sleep and breathe tango.  Though many “porteños” take it for granted, or claim it to be old-fashioned or touristic, this tango culture has its mark on even the most skeptical of the Buenos Aires locals.  Through playing, teaching, dancing, or just listening; almost everyone I met seemed somehow involved in the tango culture.

 

With all the talk of dance, a faint recollection stirred in the dimly lit recesses of my mind.  Just before I had left New York I had been talking to K, a woman whom I had recently met and had been telling her about Roseland and the seniors dance night.  It came out that she was taking dance classes from a man who was also a dance movement therapist. 

 

I had heard of movement therapy and things like the Feldenkrais Method, but dance as therapy?  Unfortunately I was running late and didn’t have a chance to talk about it for long, but I made a mental note to research it.  A note that I did not write down….

 

Now, months later the half-remembered conversation prompted me to google it.  At once a long list of links to sites, articles, book, and organizations appeared on my screen.  The further I read the more fascinating my discovery became....

 

Dance/Movement Therapy (DMT) has in fact been a profession since the 1940s.  It is defined by the American Dance Therapy Association (ADTA) as, “the psychotherapeutic use of movement as a process which furthers the emotional, social, cognitive, and physical integration of the individual.”  The ADTA also reports that there are practicing dance movement therapists in 43 states, 21 countries and 5 continents.  I was appalled that I not heard of such a prolific form of therapy.  How could this have happened, I wondered?

 

The answer hit me like a ton of bricks.  I had not heard of it because I wasn’t open to it.  Directly after the accident, and for many years, I was more than happy to work at compensating for my deficits, but trying to fix them directly would have been too scary.  It would have been admitting what was wrong and coming face to face with what you have lost is a terrifying prospect.  Dance therapy came a little too close to that. 

 

Not only had the accident had impaired my gross motor skills, but it had devastated my visual/spatial skills, and awareness of how my body was positioned.  In other words, I would not be able to see a step and repeat it – my mind/body connection was so poor someone would need to physically show me how the step would feel for it to begin to register.  I couldn’t follow a class, let alone memorize choreography – dancing seemed like an insurmountable challenge.

 

Gross motor skill and body awareness impairments are quite common for brain injury survivors; because of this and my personal experience I had not given a moment’s thought that dance could be used as therapy.  But the more I thought about it, dance therapy made perfect sense. 

 

Dance movement therapy (DMT) is based on the principle that the mind and body are interconnected – by changing one and you will affect the other.  By changing the way you move you change the way you think, feel, and behave – movement affects and reflects personality.  This holistic philosophy explains w

hy brain injury can deeply affect body awareness and the way a survivor moves.  

 

More scientifically, learning to move in new ways causes a person to use different parts of the brain.  Working these areas creates new pathways which builds and strengthening the brain as a whole.  This in turn helps to compensate for damage and furthers improvement in all areas. Paying attention to the way you move, breathe, and reconnecting the mind and body is paramount to improvement.

 

 

Though it has been over a decade since the accident I am taking my own advice and stepping up to the challenge.  With an audible gulp I am swallowing my pride and starting to learn tango – in group classes.

 

  Photos by Lucy Usher

 

*places to dance tango

 

 

 

http://www.adta.org/

 

http://www.nccata.org/dance_therapy.htm

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dance_therapy

 

 

 

 

 

We're All In This Together (Insurance part III)

Brain injury doesn’t discriminate.  It is an issue that cuts across social barriers: all political, religious, and socio-economic divisions.  I want to reach everyone I can, regardless of these divisions.  This is why I make a concerted effort to keep issues such as politics or religion out of my writing.  Not everyone will have the same opinions on a lot of issues, but liberal or conservative, republican or democrat, this is an issue that can affect any one of us.

 

Last week I posted a blog entry on insurance companies and how they care for brain injury survivors and how they handle rehabilitation.  I wrote and rewrote the piece, struggling not to vilify the companies.  This paranoia that they were "out to get me" was a figment of my imagination – it had to be.  After all, our fight with them was a nightmare and I was clearly still upset.  I wanted give as rational and objective a view as I could and not let anger or irrational fear cloud my judgment.  

 

Days later the senate published a report affirming both my fears and anger.

 

 “Health insurers have forced consumers to pay billions of dollars in medical bills that the insurers themselves should have paid, according to a report by the staff of the Senate Commerce Committee.” These companies will use any means necessary to avoid responsibility.  Insurance companies aren’t simply like an organized crime ring offering money for protection – they are worse.  Clients and families coping with brain injury make an easy mark, but insurers do this for any potentially costly claim.  We are all in this together.

 

I do not want to get up on a soapbox or turn this into a political blog, but it seems to me that these committee findings indicate a much larger problem.  The insurance companies treatment of initial therapy is terrible, but long-term care for survivors is as bad or worse.

 

I don’t have insurance.  I haven’t since I graduated university.  Along with 50-80% of all brain injury survivors, I am unemployed.  I have not have a 9-5 job with insurance benefits in my life and it drives my mother to distraction.

 

With the overwhelming number of survivors who require long-term care or meds to function in society these figures are quite disturbing.  Even if survivors are employed or have money to get insurance brain injury gives the companies a cornucopia of reasons to deny coverage.

 

The Declaration of Independence states that all men are born with the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  Governments are there to secure these rights and protect its citizens.  I believe that a right to basic health care falls into that category.  Furthermore I firmly believe that the government has a duty to protect its citizens against opportunistic insurance companies. 

 

Regardless of whether you are for or against universal health care, something needs to change.  Survivors unable to get or hold jobs still need therapy, medication, and assistance.  If they can get the right care then they will have greater improvements and can help society and help others.  After all, we are all in this together.

 

As I mentioned, I am working to organize an NGO to help survivors toward fuller recoveries but I cannot do it alone.  If you have ideas, suggestions, or would like to help be a part of this please contact me.

 

http://commerce.senate.gov/public/_files/62409UnderpaymentstoConsumersbytheHealthInsuranceIndustryReport.pdf

 

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/06/24/AR2009062401636.html?hpid=sec-politics

 

 

No Excuses

I love getting comments on my blogs.  It is fantastic to hear your experiences, and get your feedback.  Occasionally though, I feel that it is important to discuss a comment.

In my recent blog post, “building blocks,” I wrote about offhandedly telling my boyfriend J I was going to South America for 6 weeks.  It hurt him terribly that I had not included him in my life and I felt dreadful that I had been so insensitive and thoughtless.  I felt dreadful about hurting J’s feelings and used this as an example of how survivors can “miss” social cues or ignore rules of social etiquette obvious to others.  I finished the entry discussing ways to learn from these oversights and improve.

I received this comment:

“Wow, nice cop out! I think I'm going to use it next time I have a misunderstanding with my boyfriend. Thanks!”

I feel awful that this entry was taken like this but I am happy to receive this comment.  It gives me the chance to address exactly this issue.

Please don't misunderstand me to be using brain injury as a cop out or advising my readers to do so.  It is extremely important never to use brain injury as a crutch or an excuse.  Not only does that take away your credibility but this can hurt other survivors as well. 

I do try to keep my blog on one topic and most entries discuss events in my life in terms of brain injury. I do this in an attempt to use these events to illustrate aspects of brain injury as well as to offer perspective and give advice.

Though these events are examined in terms of brain injury in my blog, I generally keep these insights to myself unless I feel the discussion would be appropriate or useful.  It is good to be open about the struggles you face, but choose wisely.  Even if your actions are related to the brain injury it is still important to take responsibility for them.  (There are clearly exceptions to this rule dependent on the cognitive state of the survivor.)

If you believe that talking the event over will be useful to your friend, strengthen a relationship, further your improvement, or help you to move forward then don’t hesitate to talk about it.  If however, it is simply to alleviate guilt, or worse still, an excuse, then it might be best to keep it to yourself.  Blaming everything on the brain injury dilutes the impact of what you experience, and being accused of the girl who cried brain injury is awful.  Conversely, not sharing your day-to-day struggles can have the same effect.  There has to be a happy medium.

Do not use your mistakes as excuses, use them as tools – learn from them.  After all, learning and improving are what life is all about!

 

A Stacked Deck (insurance II)

There is no way to plan for it – brain injury comes out of nowhere.  Without a moment’s notice brain injury changes everything.   The physical, emotional, and psychological damage is irreparable.  But what of the monetary strain?  The US doesn’t provide universal health care coverage.  What can families do at times like this?

 

The health insurance companies convince us to take out comprehensive coverage for exactly this reason.  Saying that in case we get sick or something goes wrong then we won’t have to worry about anything but getting better.  They assure us tell us they are good neighbors, who keep promises, and enrich our lives, we will be in good hands if we with them.... And like sheep to the slaughter we sign and pay. What choice do we have?

 

In the USA insurance is extremely useful, almost necessary. For uninsured Americans, the cost standard doctors visits, prescriptions, or vaccinations is practically unaffordable Citizens pay high premiums to help with doctors’ bills, medications, and to ensure we have the health care we need if there is an emergency.

 

To be fair, companies do hold up their end of the bargain on every day issues, Johnnie’s asthma inhaler or Jane’s checkups.  Unfortunately companies are not the great protectors they claim, and paying a monthly fee does not insure the promised protection. 

 

Insurance is a numbers game with the cards stacked against the client.  Companies refuse to cover preexisting conditions, won’t insure individuals deemed risky, will raise premiums if there is a large claim, and deny any coverage they can.   When the chips are down insurance companies do everything the can to get out of their obligations. When a client does suffer a costly injury, the insurance company will do everything in its power to deny benefits, and brain injuries plays right into their hands. 

 

Because brain injury is “invisible,” and not as clear-cut as a broken leg, insurance companies have notoriously poor coverage for head injuries.  Companies will often refuse to pay for cognitive therapy entirely claiming that it isn’t medically necessary.  If a survivor looks fine then they must be fine.

 

 

At the client’s most vulnerable moment when the patient does not have the cognitive capacity to argue and her advocates frequently don’t have the energy.  Instead of protecting and providing the promised insurance they do everything in their power to get out of covering costs stall, fight, or simply deny cognitive rehabilitation benefits. With all of the paperwork, hoops to jump through, and rejections, fighting with the insurance company can be almost as draining as the injury or the illness itself.

 

Moreover, the stress and pressure of lawsuits, arguments, and these problems is extremely harmful to the survivor’s recovery.   Some of my worst brain injury-related “attacks” ranging from moments of terrible vertigo, nausea, excruciating headaches, meltdowns, and more have been brought on due to stress from battles with the insurance company.  So you’re damned if you do and you’re damned if you don’t.

 

After my accident, though my family was covered by what was supposedly an excellent policy, the insurance company flatly refused to cover my cognitive therapy.  Fortunately my parents were aware of how important it is for survivors to start therapy as soon after the accident as possible.  Rather than wasting time with a long, drawn-out bureaucratic battle, my parents took matters into their own hands. Without hesitation they made the necessary sacrifices and paid out-of-pocket for as much rehabilitation as they were able.  Unfortunately many families do not have the resources for this, realize how vital the days directly following the injury are to a good recovery, or have a strong support system.  And that is just through the acute rehabilitation (immediately after the injury).  Things don’t get better over the long-term.

 

It is always best to take care of problems as soon as they arise – a stitch in time saves nine.  In this instance it is no different.  Because of inadequate care many survivors are not able to progress as far as they could.  This inevitably raises the cost of long-term care both for the family, insurance, and society.  This cannot continue; something must be done … but what?

 

There is no easy solution to the problem. Ideally the USA would have a universal health-care system – a safety net of accessible health care available to all citizens.  Though the current administration is making steps in that direction I cannot see it happening in the near future. 

 

Happily we are making small steps forward; in 2001 the US government passed legislation mandating that insurance companies cover some rehabilitation for ABI (acquired brain injury) survivors.  However the insurance companies try every loophole they can to get out of covering these costs, excluding rehabilitation as a mental health problem for example.  In other words insurance companies’ care of ABI survivors is still sorely lacking. 

 

Though all ABI issues are close to my heart this one hits particularly close to home.  I am intimately acquainted with how nightmarishly ugly battles with insurance companies can get.  Because of this, I realize that I am not able to look at this issue objectively, but I also am more driven to help fellow survivors in similar situations.  I am currently looking for others passionate about raising awareness and helping survivors who cannot afford needed therapy.  My goal is to found an NGO and raise money to help survivors get the therapy they need, find appropriate alternative therapies, and raise awareness of this issue.  I ask that you please contact me if you are interested in working on a project like this….

 

 

ASHA Poll: Inadequate Insurance Coverage Hinders Public’s Recovery From Traumatic Brain Injury http://www.asha.org/about/news/tbievent/tbipressrelease.htm

 

Study of Health Benefit Plan Coverage for Brain Injuries Summary http://www.sunset.state.tx.us/80threports/hcbi/summary.pdf

 

Health Insurers Deny Coverage for Cognitive Rehabilitation http://www.neurotodayonline.com/pt/re/neurotoday/fulltext.00132985-200703060-00014.htm;jsessionid=K6wdlFQ3vjSywctQpkdGDPyLpFQCShbw2rwLqHb1HD1KRV9pplQw!-514211921!181195628!8091!-1

The Healthcare Racket (insurance part 1)

 “Do you have all the vaccinations you need for your trip?” S asked a few weeks before I left.

I gave her a blank stare.  Vaccinations?  I hadn’t even thought about needing to get shots.  “How important do you think it is for me to get them?  How many do you think I’d need?”

“I’m really not sure what shots you will need.  It depends on where you go, if you go to the jungle you will definitely need a yellow fever shot.  You should really check into it.  Some countries may not allow you in without the proper vaccinations.”

I sighed, that was enough to make me go to the doctor. I’m not terribly fond of doctors’ offices, but surely there were clinics I could go in get everything taken care of.  I did some research and made a few calls trying to find out what shots I needed and where to get them. 

It turns out you need a license to give yellow fever immunizations and there were only a few licensed places in Manhattan.   I dialed the number to a place on the Upper East Side, International Health Care Service: Immunizations.  

“What immunizations do you recommend for a trip to South America?” I asked the woman on the other end of the phone.  She rattled off a long list and thankfully yellow fever was the only shot I did not already have.  “How much would it be to get just a yellow fever shot?” I asked tentatively.

“One hundred and seventy dollars,” came her neutral reply.

I nearly choked.  Thirty, forty, even fifty dollars wouldn’t have been out of the question, but one hundred seventy?  That was half the plane ticket!  I thanked her and quickly hung up the phone.  No way was I going to pay that much, even if I could afford it I wouldn’t pay them.  If I died of yellow fever it would just be my protest against the US healthcare system’s extortion, I fumed.

I thought about the immunization on the flight to Lima.  How could they charge that?  Surely the drugs couldn’t cost that much.  I would feel better if I had gotten that immunization though….

When I got to Lima I asked C how much one was.

“Well,” he told me, “that depends where you go.  You can get one at a nice clinic for about $20, but that’s kind of expensive, or you can get…”

“Twenty dollars,” I cut him off.  “Can we go?  Now?”  A few hours later I had my yellow fever shot. 

In Peru the "expensive" yellow fever shot is $20; in Argentina immunizations are free.  The United States is wonderful in many ways: there is freedom of speech, religion; education is mandatory for all children, wonderful national parks, and countless other positives.  The US is also the only industrialized nation without universal health care.  Though there is excellent health care for those who can afford it, forty-six million Americans aren’t insured and can’t.  I am one of those 46 million....

Building Blocks

"You're going to South America for six weeks?" J couldn't have looked more shocked and hurt if he'd seen me kick a puppy.

"Well yeah. I told you I was thinking of going to Peru in April, right?" I spoke slowly, trying to make sense of his reaction. What had I done wrong? I had told him I was probably taking a trip to South America. 

"You did mention something about South America, but I thought you meant for a week or two. Six weeks is along time. "

“Sorry,” I said offhandedly shrugging my shoulders. He’d done told me he was going to Utah for a week a few days before he left and same when he went to Georgia.  I was telling him nearly a month before the trip.  What did he want?

J's pained expression didn't ease. After several moments of confusion, my brain unsuccessfully trying to understand, realization started to dawn. I actually hurt him.

“I just wish you could have talked about this with me,” he said plaintively.

With horror comprehension washed over me: communication is what relationships are all about….  I should have known.  What kind of idiot doesn’t realize something so obvious!?

The more I thought the worse the thoughtlessness of my actions seemed.  I had hurt someone I cared for.  I fell over myself apologizing.  “I’m so sorry.  I didn’t do it on purpose, I didn’t even think.  Can I make it up to you?”

J’s hurt expression melted away.  “It’s okay.  You didn’t do it on purpose.  Just next time it would be nice to talk about things like this before buying the ticket.”

“I will, I’m so sorry, I only bought the ticket yesterday.  I kind of decided how long I was going to be gone for while I was on the phone.  It was just a cheaper that way.  Next time I’ll talk to you about things when I’m thinking about them though.  I promise.  I am so sorry I didn’t talk to you about it this time.  I won’t do it again.  I am so sorry!” 

“It’s okay.  I know you’re sorry. You don’t have to keep apologizing.  We’ll talk about things like this in the future.”

I still felt miserable, but having a plan of action and a boyfriend who could help me move forward and not dwell on social faux pas helped immensely.

Brain injury, the building blocks of social interaction - all etiquette, polish, and manners vanish. Perhaps the hardest part of being a survivor is rebuilding these lost social skills.  Not only is it humiliating not being able to see things obvious to others but worse still these faux pas can hurt others terribly. 

In the worst case these social missteps can dissolve friendships, partnerships, or business deals.  In the best cases they can make for funny stories.  The sad truth is most of these incidents rest in a painful middle ground. Realizing you missed something you should by all rights have picked up on, or worse is a painful reminder of how brain injury can affect every aspect of life.

Survivors will almost certainly have more moments of seeming insensitivity than others.  More often than not they do not understand that they are being insensitive.  As difficult as it may be, it is important for friends and family not to blame them for these gaffs.  Survivors beat themselves up quite enough as is. 

The best way to approach these situations is to express your feelings and clarify how the survivor’s actions affected you or why their action was inappropriate.  Immediately, while the incident is fresh in the survivor’s mind, outline a different approach to a similar situation and a way to move forward.  Not only will this keep the survivor from dwelling on an unfortunate incident, but it will also help them to move forward and do better in the future. 

It is possible that they will repeat social missteps, but it is important to approach these situations in a similar manner each time.  This can be frustrating, but keep in mind: with patience anything is possible….

Cool Under Fire (the Robbery Part II)

The opposite of love is not hate; it is indifference.

 

If this is indeed the case, then it stands to reason that fear and joy are also on the same emotional spectrum.  The heart racing, palms sweating – these sensations do have much in common.  For ages people have known this, telling scary stories to make the heart race, participating in extreme sports for the thrill, yes fear and excitement are closely linked. 

Far worse than terror is the inability to feel, and that was exactly what I experienced. 

I looked down at the gun pointed at my stomach and it was as if all emotions were siphoned out of me, together with the will to act of my own accord.  Time did not stretch out in eternity as can happen in terrifying moments.  Instead, I could not remember a point where I felt anything but this blank passivity; a time when I had free will. 

There was no sense of helplessness as I observed the gunman pulling the camera strap off of my wrist.  I was not afraid, I was not upset – I felt no connection to the situation.  When he reached for my purse, I let him remove it not helping not hindering.  I wasn’t upset, scared, or angry – I had less emotional investment than if I had been watching a movie. 

Oh the robbery was frightening, I am completely honest when I tell people that it was.  I was shaken up for weeks after.  However the strange empty feeling of detachment – that is what truly terrified me, and what was worse, remnants of the deadness lingered.  In that moment, and for long after, I could not recall the distant tang emotions even well enough to crave them.  I knew that I was supposed to be frightened, but all I could muster were the words – the emotions were slow to follow. 

“Wow, I’m impressed with your cool under fire,” one friend told me. 

A part of me wishes I were really that cool – able to laugh danger in the face – to look calmly down the barrel of a gun without batting an eye. In some ways it would be great if I had a firm grasp and clear head in and things like that really didn’t phase me.  Unfortunately what had happened was almost the reverse.  In that situation I didn’t have a choice – I wasn’t acting, I wasn’t even reacting and there is nothing cool about losing your initiative.

Could I have been in shock?  Well, shock was possible, but doesn’t that usually happen after the accident?  This incident didn’t seem big enough to put me in shock either, and there really hadn’t been any fear.  No, as comforting and normal an explanation as that would be, that wasn’t it.  The more I thought about it the more I realized that something about this sense of dispassionate detachment was familiar.  The feeling's familiarity is what had really bothered me....

And then I had it.  The flat affect – that was the feeling. 

But why then?  Why was it that I detached in a situation where adrenaline and fight or flight by all rights should have been in full effect?  Why had my self-preservation instinct picked that moment to go on holiday?

Stress – that it was as if the stress and emotional overload had clogged my ability to feel or react. It worked well in that situation but had circumstances been different something like that could be terribly dangerous. 

How to keep your wits about you and think quickly in high-stress environments? How to keep your head and your heart with you?  How not to detach? How could I ensure my emotion and decision-making motherboard didn’t short circuit?  How could I prevent this from happening again?

For many brain injury-related drawbacks there is an obvious solution.  Get more sleep, avoid stress, keep a regular schedule, and so forth.  I wish that I had the answer to these questions as well, but I do not.  I have thought long and hard searching for solutions but have come up empty handed.

Like every puzzle there is a solution, I am sure of it. I might still be too close to see the problem.  I still feel the icy breath of the flat affect and initiation deficits pulling at me. Whatever the case for the time being a resolution remains frustratingly out of reach.  I only hope that relaying this will help me to shake off the last of their chill….

Any ideas or suggestions as to ways to truly remain “cool under fire,” without utter detachment or tricks to thinking on your feet would be greatly appreciated.

Playing it Safe Part 1

Life is for living, I always say.  I want to try everything, go everywhere, and make the most of my time.  I try not to go too far, but I have been known to push the envelope.  

That day I was playing it safe.

After all, it was my first day in Buenos Aires.  It was a new city, I’d only gotten to Argentina a few days before; I wanted to get my bearings before doing anything too crazy.  I would just walk around and explore Palermo, the eclectic, foreigner-friendly neighborhood I was staying in.  Get some of the things I was out of (shampoo and that sort of thing), stop by some of the cute little shops, a museum, maybe go to one of the parks and write a bit, that sort of thing.  No definite plans but to relax and enjoy the gorgeous sunny day and idyllic 75-degree weather.  And I did just that. 

After lunch I turned off bustling Cordoba Avenue onto a quiet street without the push of people lining the street. Besides, the beautiful neighborhood would be a wonderful place to take some pictures.  I wasn’t used to taking a lot of pictures, but J had given me the perfect travel camera for my birthday a few weeks earlier.  The perfect travel camera – a little point and shoot shockproof, waterproof Olympus.  The perfect present for a girl setting out on an adventure. I wanted to make the most of it. 

One moment I was relishing the weather, taking pictures of flowers, and wondering where the nearest park was.  The next I heard a car door.  A slightly-built man, an inch taller than me at most, walked toward me.  Wearing a nondescript t-shirt and jeans, his lined face and streaks of grey in his wild hair made him look to be in his mid-40s.  He stopped very close, partially blocking my path.  

For a moment I was thoroughly confused. He’d just gotten out of a car so chances were pretty good he wasn’t a beggar.  If he needed directions even if I did speak Spanish I wouldn’t be any help, just having gotten to the city. What did he want?

“Pardon, no hablo español.”  Almost before I said it, he reached for my camera. 

Confused, I pulled back and started to put it in my pocket.  Rather than releasing the camera he glared balefully, motioned with his head.  I glanced in the down in the direction he gestured just as he jabbed the sleek of silvery-grey muzzle of his gun into my stomach three times.  Lifting his head chin he dared me to resist. 

“That’s terrible! Were you scared?” everyone asks.

“It was really scary,” I tell them. 

That’s what they want to hear.  After all, what kind of person has a gun pulled on them and feels nothing?  It goes against our most primordial instinct of self-preservation: fight or flight.  In potentially life-threatening situations the heart races and adrenaline courses through the veins, spurring you to fight, to run – to save yourself.  

I looked down at the gun and back.  Sunken, glassy eyes, with desperate huger behind them this man facing me was clearly in the clutches of some heavy drugs.  I made the assessment with a curiously detached sense of calm.  No elevated heart rate.  No butterflies.  No fear.  I didn’t have options; whatever happened at this point was not up to me. I had no control. 

There was no sense of helplessness as I watched him pull the camera strap off of my wrist.  I felt no emotional connection to the situation.  Next he reached for my purse, I let the strap slide over my shoulder unresisting.  Not upset, not scared, not angry; utterly numb. 

He would doubtlessly throw it away when he realized what the bag contained:  weeks of writing, my address book; innumerable items priceless to me but worthless to him.  All items of “value” were safe back where I was staying, and cash and cards under my clothes.  But I did not realize this until later.  I did not even feel a sense of loss.

He pulled the purse strap from around my neck, jumped into his car and pulled away.  On autopilot I noted the license plate and try my best to remember it.  Pens and paper gone, all I could do was repeat the plate numbers in an endless litany.  I waved getting the attention of a boy across the street and motioned for him to come over.

Not confident I could remember the license plate number, and try to speak Spanish I repeated it over and over until I got the boy to write it down.  Only then did I discover that not only did he speak English, but he was actually from Chicago.  Kindly he helped me call the police, accompanied me to the station, and translated, helping me file the report. 

Thankfully I was not injured but losing weeks worth of writing, that hurt.  Rather than risk having something like that happen again, I took it as a sign.  I scratched my original plan of written on the road and step away from writing until I was settled.  Of course I took notes, but I no longer spent hours a day scribbling in my notebooks or in front of a computer.  

This way I could concentrate on the experience, focus on meeting people, and learning.  This way I wouldn't have to stretch myself too thin.  I would gain a better understanding of myself, the world, and brain injury and therapy.  

But this is only part one of the story, there are still many loose ends....