GETTING THE “TWISTIES” – Just like Simone Biles in the Olympics
You may remember that in 2021, one of America’s most loved gymnasts suddenly faltered in a dismount from her balance beam routine.
Simone Biles startled the world by withdrawing from several events to prioritize her mental and physical well-being.
Known as ‘the Twisties,’ this mental block causes gymnasts to lose their spatial awareness while performing aerial maneuvers, making it difficult to control their bodies and land safely.
Biles described the sensation as feeling “lost in the air” and likened it to losing control of a familiar car. The Twisties can be triggered by various factors, including environmental changes, stress, and psychological pressures.
In Biles’ case, she mentioned feeling stressed even before arriving in Tokyo, which may have contributed to the onset of the Twisties. Biles’ experience with the Twisties sparked essential conversations about mental health in sports and the pressures faced by elite athletes.
She recovered and will participate in the 2024 Olympics demonstrating resilience and a continued passion for the sport.
I had a similar condition. I had a stroke in 2021 and lost my sense of balance. I would fall for no reason, feel unsafe, and need help managing steps and simple walking.
I learned balance therapy is big business now due to its effectiveness in addressing balance disorders, especially among older adults.
It focuses on retraining the brain to process sensory information from the vestibular system, vision, and proprioception to improve stability and reduce fall risk.
I’ve had seven physical therapists in four different physical therapy clinics help me re-learn my balance. I learned it is not in my feet and legs but in my brain. Those neuropathways automatically telling me which way to step, turn, or lift a foot had to be “re-grooved” in my brain.
The only way that happens is through repetition. My favorite therapist used to say, “Now do it one more time—the first time is for muscle memory, the second time is for the brain.”
Wow, what a learning experience. Do I have my balance back? Yes, for the most part, but I still have trouble stepping backward, raising my arms while moving my feet simultaneously, and going in a circle.
When I tell my friends I can’t do these things, they say, “Well, now that I think of it, neither can I!” It makes me feel better. ❤️
I’ve been writing about my heart attack to spread the word to all women about the risks of heart disease. It is the leading cause of death in women (killing one in three).
I’ve written previously about my early symptoms, the day of the heart attack, and the hospital journey.
Today, I share my emotional roller coaster getting released from the hospital.
By day three of my four days in the hospital, my brain was on overload trying to take in every face, test result, and procedure explanation. I have three cardiologists, four nurses, a dietician, a pharmacist, a physiologist, and a hospitalist. One nurse is a counselor with a soothing voice and a fuzzy cardigan.
Dr. P, my hospitalist, visits me every day, squatting down to look me in the eye. He always holds my hand and asks if I know what’s happened to me. His soft voice is calming.
He makes sure I know I had a heart attack and that I’ve had a stent surgery procedure. Each day, whatever my circumstance, he explains.
Fuzzy cardigan nurse Sarah says, “you’ll find yourself feeling depressed because you almost died. Just expect this at some time.”
A kid in blue scrubs (really a cardiac intern) says he’ll walk me down the hall to see how far I can go. This excites me. I want to prove I’m strong enough to be released.
He offers his arm and I’m surprised I can only make it a few steps out the door of my room before I’m so winded I can’t continue. My ankles are wobbly and legs are weak.
Then there’s Debbie, a manufacturer’s rep. She’s dressed in a pretty slim skirt and peplum jacket. I want her to meet my son, she’s that cute.
She’s there to explain the defibrillator life vest to me. She opens a 6-sided color brochure featuring a contraption I’m supposed to wear 24-7 for six weeks.
It’s like a fabric sports bra with metal paddles in the back that will shock my heart if I should have a heart attack while wearing it! It’s full of sensors to monitor everything about my heart and transmit to a far location via modem.
This is a Sunday so I won’t get the real thing till Monday.
The dietician lady wears red scrubs and is really sweet. She launches into long explanations of what I should be eating for the rest of my life.
I’m especially intrigued with her visual of my salt intake. “Just make a little mound about the size of a dime in the palm of your hand” that’s how much salt you can have in a day. Not from the salt shaker but from everything.”
She proceeds to teach me how to read labels.
I promise to read it all and drift off into sleep. I hear my husband and doctor talking about “ejection fraction” numbers.
EF is the amount of blood leaving the heart when it contracts My ”EF” is at a low 15 with a normal heart putting out 35 to 55 EF. I really need that defibrillator life vest.
I ordered heart-healthy chicken soup for dinner, but it tastes like dishwater—yuck, and there is no salt. I ate the saltines, and I wanted to go home.
I doze off again and hear the clicking of heels come in my room, I open my eyes and see my best friend bearing a vase of flowers. “Happy birthday”, says Diana. “I told you not to come!” I blurt.
“I had to see you with my own eyes to make sure you’re ok,” she says. I start to cry. I didn’t want anyone to see me so debilitated, oxygen tube, catheter bag, tubes and needles in both arms, bruises on every visible surface.
I want to tell her I almost died and how scared I am. But I can’t get any more words out, because my breathing is so labored. We hug.
Finally, its Monday morning and there’s flurry of activity – a young man in gray scrubs goes through my discharge papers – one by one he reads and tells me what they say so I can sign them.
Most importantly is the long list of drugs, their names, dosage and what they are for. Do this, do that, make an appointment for this doctor or that blood test.
I want to concentrate.
A perky lady dressed in brown corduroy comes in with my very own life vest. She shows me how to put it all together inserting the paddles into the slots and the round sensors with their skinny black cords. A two and half pound battery pack attaches with a cord on the side.
I’m ready to put it on and get out of there! But no, I have to prove to her I can put it together just like she did.
She disconnects everything she did and makes me do it while she watches. It’s complicated and there’s a long list of things to do every day.
The battery must be removed and replaced while putting the spare on a charger, each sensor (there are eight) must be touching my body through the thin fabric. There’s no slacking off allowed – this is serious!
The kid comes to walk me again, this time I make it farther than before, I want to jump for joy but my arm won’t let go of his.
MY FIRST NIGHT AT HOME.
We decide I should sleep in the guest room with the walker nearby because I have to get up in the night to go to the bathroom and I’m not strong enough to make it on my own.
I have a nightmare, wake with a start, I begin to hyperventilate! I’m terrified my breath won’t come. I make my way out to the family room, where there’s a recliner; I get in it and cover up with the afghan – I breathe better because I’m sitting up.
I had a long talk with God, thanking Him for sparing my life and asking Him to help me breathe better right now! I asked God what I did to deserve this and what I could do to repay Him for saving me.
I’m sharing the frightening experience of having a heart attack on a day I was “too busy” to deal with my symptoms.
So many women tell me they ‘push through’ while taking care of everyone else but ourselves.
It’s Friday, February 9th. After suffering through an excruciating set of symptoms the previous day, I wake on Friday with a day full of plans and a long to do list! I needed to get to the grocery store to buy the food and snacks I planned to serve to my writing class the next day.
I want to wash my hair and get cleaned up. Into the shower I go, raising my arms to wash my hair seemed such an effort, I was out of breath.
So, with a towel wrapped around my head, I put on my terry robe and laid on the bed until my breathing returned to normal.
Blow drying my hair caused the same effect. Holding a brush in one hand and the blow dryer in the other, with my arms above my head was a challenge. I was exhausted and short of breath.
Back to the bed I went, laying down for the second time that morning and it wasn’t even 8:00! This was unacceptable, I had too much to do to be laying down every five minutes.
I knew something wasn’t right but I was determined to push through because I had lots to do for my class the next morning!
So, I charged off to grocery shop.
The small neighborhood store was comforting as I knew where to find my favorite foods for writing students.
Veggie tray, crackers, cheese, fruit, but the cookie aisle did me in! I reach for a pack of gourmet cookies and they fell to the floor. Bending down to retrieve them I suddenly realized I would faint if I completed the bend.
I left them on the floor and retreated to the register to check out.
My legs felt so heavy, I could barely move! I grabbed a cold Coca Cola from the case and thought the jolt of caffeine and sugar would pick me up. I drank it straight down!
I loaded the two bags of groceries into the back of the SUV like I was moving through syrup. I was short of breath again and the pain in my collarbone was now constant. I drove home more carefully than ever before! I was terrified I’d pass out – I was that exhausted.
I finally gave in and called my primary care doctor. “He’s out of town, sorry” said the nurse.
“Is someone covering for him? Who can I see?” I begged.
Her answer was short and sweet and it was to either call my cardiologist or go to the emergency room.
My reply, “I can’t go to the ER! I have too much to do!” I wailed. Her reply still haunts me. She said, “You can’t do anything if you’re dead,” I didn’t reply.
Thankfully, I did have a cardiologist to call they found my file (after ten years) and they’d work me in at 1:00 that day. I called my husband and we drove there together.
After a tech hooked me up to an EKG, he shook his head as he watched the needle move. The associate doctor came in, looked at the EKG and frowned.
When the head doctor (Doctor M.) enters the room and they are all staring at the EKG machine, I knew something was up.
Doctor M. says evenly, “You’re having a heart attack right now, you have to go to the ER immediately”. What! It can’t be – I thought he would just give me some blood pressure pills and send me one my way.
I’m terrified – I look over at my husband – I think he’s terrified too.
Things begin happening fast. The tech gives me a baby aspirin. The associate doctor gives me nitroglycerine under my tongue. I see Doctor M. on the phone making arrangements for me.
“Oh God”, I pray silently. He comes back and told have Tomas to drive me there NOW – it’s four blocks from his office.
Tomas drops me off at ER. I was whisked inside and placed on a gurney. I wince as they peeled off my brand new black leggings and my underwear. I’m allowed to take off my top and bra – the gown goes on so quickly – nobody sees anything.
People swarm around me, doctors, nurses, techs, each saying their name and what they were going to do to me. They are calm.
They take my blood, put in a needle for an IV, ask me questions about my health history, my medications, and my nail polish.
Yes, my nail polish – they want to remove it, but I know it won’t come off because its “shellac”. I try to explain this.
They want to clip a heart monitor on my finger and the polish interferes. Quickly, they attach it to my ear.
I feel a breeze on my face – it’s from rolling fast on the gurney, on my way to the “Cath Lab”. They explain every movement and where we are – I’m beginning not to care.
Less than 20 minutes have passed since I walked in.
When I wake up, I’m in a private room. There are nurses, techs, and orderlies in and out. My husband is there and my son is there.
I’m starving, I can’t eat until another round of tests are run. That night is a blur of fitful sleeping, bad dreams, a dinner tray brought at 10:00pm and trying to get comfortable.
Early morning brings more nurses taking blood, bringing pills and taking vitals. My breathing is still labored and my collarbone pain has moved to my chest.
Three doctors visit and determine I’m not better and order tests. They give me something to get the fluid off my lungs and perform an Echo cardiogram
Hours later, the hospital’s cardiologist, Doctor W. tells me he’s taking me back to the Cath lab to fix another artery. I trust him.
After a second stent, I improve dramatically. Everyone notices and test results improve.
All this improvement occurred on day two of my three day stay. Next, I’ll write about the overwhelm of being released and taking care of a ‘new’ me.
If you want to read the heart attack story previous installments, follow the link in comments below.
TIP: Hospitals will take you right in if you say the words “heart attack”.
I’ve been writing about my heart attack experience in an effort to help us know more about women’s heart health.
As women we know about breast cancer and what we can do to combat it. But what about cardiovascular heart disease in women?
I was surprised to learn ONE in TWO women are affected by heart disease. On the other hand, one in every eight women will have breast cancer.
We have all had our mammogram and learned to do self exams to help us prevent breast cancer. But do we know what to do to prevent heart disease?
I didn’t! I think most women don’t know either! Why? Because all the information out there, including ads, books, & internet resources are about men.
The ads show men having “Hollywood heart attacks” like we see in the movies (pain in the chest radiating down the left arm, clutching the chest & falling to the ground).
Heart disease affects women so differently than men, yet, ONE in THREE women will die from a heart attack. (This is more deadly than breast cancer which takes the life of one women in 27).
Women’s symptoms are different including neck pain, fatigue, shortness of breath, indigestion, & dizziness.
So what can you do to KNOW about your heart health? I asked my favorite cardiac nurse, Jenny who gave me a great tip.
“Know your numbers,” she says. Blood pressure, Lipids, and BMI. Your primary care doctor can help you get these.
Most of us know what blood pressure means, but what the heck is a Lipid? It’s the fatty stuff in our blood (cholesterol is a lipid). Standard blood tests show this number.
BMI is a standard measurement for body mass index using your weight and height. (Hint – looking for obesity).
Now here’s the fun way to remember. It’s a YouTube Parody of an 80’s song by Tommy TuTone called “867-5309 JENNY’ done by Mayo Clinic promoting heart health – it’s a perfect way to KNOW YOUR NUMBERS!
I want to tell you about my heart attack experience so as women, we’ll be better prepared when heart health symptoms show up.
The day before my heart attack I had eight symptoms and refused to go to the Emergency Room. I thought I was having an anxiety attack. You see, I was too busy and didn’t “have time” to work that major health issue into my very busy schedule!
It was a Thursday and I was spotlight speaker at one of my networking groups. This means you get ten minutes to stand before the room and tell about your business; then another ten minutes to run a mastermind exercise.
I’d done it once before and knew I could get people to sign up for my writing class from this compelling talk.
I started preparing at 6:30am. My fingers and toes were icy cold and I felt a chill from head to toe.
I was tired and hadn’t been sleeping well but chalked it up to one of many things, a full moon, a poor dinner choice night before, or sleep apnea.
My collarbone ached like someone was pinching it. I felt like I’d been holding my breath as I wrote my speech notes onto blue notecards.
I began to pack up my hand-outs and props. I needed to make more copies, make sure I had business cards, and gather the crayons and drawing paper for the coloring.exercise.
I wanted to arrive at the lunch meeting at 11:00 to set up my props.
I pack all the supplies into my SUV and notice I’m winded from the effort.
Finally, I’m there, in the space of the lunch meeting. It’s a local brewpub restaurant with tables set up into a hollow square to accommodate 40 plus people.
I settle in at an end seat so I can get up easily for my presentation. I hear the buzz of conversations around me and notice my mouth is dry. I order water from the waitress.
Then the microphone comes out – the leader declares it’s not working well and to hold it tightly and put it directly up to your mouth or it will cut out.
I see others struggle with getting their “30 second elevator speech” out without the mic crackling.
I’m being introduced – I stand at the front – all eyes upon me – I lay my note cards out in front of me and grasp the microphone for dear life.
I talk easily for ten minutes except I realized I was getting short of breath and thought I’d been talking and forgetting to breathe!
Then my heart started pounding and I thought it was because I was probably holding my breath.
It pounds faster, I mean really pounding. It takes everything I have to appear calm and composed – after all I’m giving a speech!
I’m feeling lightheaded just to the point of dizzy – I grasp the back of a chair and steady myself while the group gets busy on the crayon assignment I’ve given them.
I let go of my grip on the microphone, breathe deeply, and try to gain my composure. I walk around the outer square of the tables and look at the drawings they’re making. This calms my heart down.
My time is up, I take questions, then sit down just before the room was beginning to spin.
Immediately sweat begins to form at my hairline and trickle down my forehead – it’s like a menopausal hotflash. I dab at it with a napkin.
A good friend sees that all the color has drained from my face and sits across the table from me. She brings me water, the waitress brings me sprite, they want to call 911 – I insist “NO! I’m fine, I just feel woozy,” – probably stood too long, didn’t eat my lunch, a hundred excuses!
All I wanted to do was to pass out and lay down and there was nowhere to do it and I kept saying “I’m fine – I’m fine”
Finally after lots of water, lots of napkins to mop cold sweat pouring from my scalp I feel somewhat recovered.
I call my husband to come get me – I knew I couldn’t drive home in that condition. He came, I went home, laid on the couch very still and googled my symptoms and VOILA! I came up with an anxiety attack.
Well that explained everything! Somehow that made me feel better even though I couldn’t imagine what I was anxious about – that HAD to be it.
The next day I was admitted to the ER with a Heart attack and received two stents and a defibrillator ‘life vest’.
Did you catch the EIGHT SYMPTOMS? Along with all my excuses? Don’t do what I did. Always check out any of these symptoms immediately!
Next time I’ll write about the day of the heart attack and getting to the hospital.
Tip: beware anxiety attack symptoms are just like heart attack symptoms
