(The complete Yang form consists of 108 movements, swords and sabers optional…) Eight movements may sound skimpy, but each is designed to strengthen specific aspects of the three elements of balance: the vestibular system, located in the inner ear and brain vision and proprioception, how your body senses and connects with space. Fuzhong Li, a scientist at the Oregon Research Institute, now adopted nationwide. TJQMBB is a set of eight exotically-named movements distilled from the dominant Yang form of Tai Chi by Dr. But after several months, the class was handed off to John McKinney, a certified instructor of Tai Ji Quan: Moving for Better Balance (TJQMBB). My first Tai Chi class was taught by a delightful septuagenarian couple who offered “tai chi for arthritis.” It was a specially tailored version of Sun-style tai chi, considered a gentle form, and it was challenging without being taxing. Climbing the two steps onto our new front porch, I sometimes wobbled. (Not how you want to feel all the time.) Some days were “dizzy days,” others simply lacked the clear feeling I missed so much. My baseline state was “woozy,” like the tipsy feeling after a strong Margarita. At this point, about eight months post-shunt, I was still a bit unsteady, though long graduated from the cane and driving again. But once settled, I found a Tai Chi class at a nearby gym.
The tumor had to be to dealt with (a month of daily micro-radiation zaps) and we were moving from Hawaii to Oregon, a major effort. A formal PT session provided me with modestly helpful balance exercises and the opportunity to ask if Tai Chi might be therapeutic. Learning to use it properly was surprisingly hard, and, early on, I sometimes reverted to the walker. I was vaguely aware that Tai Chi was a defanged form of an ancient Chinese martial art and that health benefits were claimed.Īfter shunting, I was assessed by a physical therapist who said I was steady enough for a cane. There seemed something mystically magical about those serene-looking groups in parks or public squares executing fluid moves in perfect unison. Yet the idea of Tai Chi had always appealed. I’d dutifully take note of local classes in yoga, Zumba, spinning, cardio, Tai Chi, etc. I’ve never been one for exercise beyond an active lifestyle. After weeks in the hospital, growing debility and debate about how best to treat, I got my Medtronic programmable shunt. Treatment was complicated by the discovery of a benign brain tumor (acoustic neuroma aka vestibular schwannoma), which may have triggered the hydrocephalus. The diagnosis was NPH, though not definitively. I still felt like me, but a vastly impaired version who strongly exhibited the three W’s of hydro – wet, wobbly, and wacky. I’d been a fit, well-functioning 65-year-old, a writer, researcher, and orchid nursery co-owner. Equally alarming, basic arithmetic now seemed like advanced calculus. Stepping into pants, a total non-starter. Stairs required two hands on the rail, and, in the dreaded absence of a rail, a steady companion to cling to (thank you, husband). Typically a brisk strider who left others in the dust, I suddenly found myself lumbering and shuffling like a stiff-jointed cyborg.
I dimly recall (because much from that time is blurry) telling a doctor that I couldn’t seem NOT to walk like Frankenstein. When you experience a sudden onset of hydrocephalus, as I did in the spring of 2015, you learn that the brain controls many functions beyond thinking and perceiving.
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