Excerpt from Issue 308 (Summer 2026) Disability: The Revolution
"Burning Brain" by Tanya Snow
In autumn 2022 the concussion happened. As a former healthy person ignorant to the subatomic reality of head injuries and cognitive disabilities, I faced a harsh reality slap the night a piece of film lighting fell straight onto my head. Long story short, it turned my life upside and inside out. I am forever changed because of it.
Several hundreds and thousands of self-paid medical dollars later, as a citizen in a country that boasts free health care, there’s light at the end of the very dark tunnel that I return to frequently to rest my brain.
The brain injury severely impacted my parasympathetic nervous system which is responsible for the rest and digest functions of our body. This includes the peristalsis system that instructs the involuntary muscle contractions that swallow water, digest food and process waste. For months I struggled to swallow water and food properly. The larynx, an organ that connects my pharynx and trachea, weakened. The epiglottis, responsible for protecting the airways by directing food away from the trachea, also weakened. Food and water passed through the weakened folds down into my lungs. For months my lungs filled with fluid that would over time accumulate bacteria and cause infections. As a lifelong singer, I couldn’t sing anymore.
The peristalsis reflex in my small intestine weakened, no longer able to break down food, absorb nutrients, and release waste regularly. Food accumulated in the folds of my intestines, creating an overgrowth of bacteria. My skin compensated for the large volume of three different strands of bacterial overgrowth and broke out all over my body. My family doctor, employed by the Government of the Northwest Territories Health and Social Services, prescribed Metamucil and Advil, neglecting to refer me to any other health care provider that I requested for further treatment. Thanks to private medical providers, I learned the fibre in Metamucil actually fed the bacteria overgrowth, which is why after two years specific symptoms hadn’t gone away.
There were full body migraines, chronic dizziness, and aphasia. Aphasia is a communication disorder that impairs speaking, understanding, reading, and writing due to brain damage. Symptoms range from trouble finding words to forming sentences and comprehending language. I couldn’t tell my partner or friends what was going on because I didn’t know what was going on. I didn’t have the support of my doctor, and I was running out of money to pay for medical appointments, tests, and travel to see a concussion specialist in a different province. It was massively isolating and heartbreaking. I spent months alone at home in isolation and darkness. All of this because a piece of film lighting fell on my head.
As a lifelong naturalist, raised on a vegetarian diet and years of high performance athletics, I needed to get to the root of the pain because it wasn’t going away. Prescription medication was an option, but I couldn’t ignore the silent red alarm pulsing throughout my body. Numbing the pain wasn’t an option for me. I needed to understand why it was there, then figure out how to let it go.
My heart rate was one of the first apparent signs that there was an imbalance. While resting in bed for several weeks, it was frequently anywhere between 120 and 160 beats per minute. That is the rate of an adult doing aerobic running. At the time of the concussion, I also started a new relationship. We were still in our honeymoon phase when the injury happened. When he came to my apartment to check on me my heart rate would rise. When I saw him doing my dishes, sweeping my floors and doing my laundry, my heart rate would rise. I was in love and being in love raised my heart rate.
When he’d joke to lighten the mood, I would laugh in pain. When he massaged my neck to soften the edge, it turned me on. My heart rate would rise and trigger full body migraines. For the sake of pain management I had to hold my breath deep in my gut to slow my resting heart rate down below ninety-five beats per minute. No romance or cuddling.
While sitting on the sofa in my living room, life passed me by. I couldn’t walk or stand upright. I didn’t bathe for almost a month. My friends sent angry text messages because I didn’t respond to them. I couldn’t read. I couldn’t form coherent sentences. The average adult moves their eyes approximately 100,000 times a day. Rapid and simultaneous movements wreaked havoc on my sense of balance. The vestibular system, located in the inner ear, is responsible for balance, spatial orientation, and coordination — all of which was fully impaired. I went from being an active, weekly runner to someone that was focusing on taking slow deep breaths every minute for months. It was like being trapped in my body and unable to tell anyone what was going on. I couldn’t predict what symptoms would rise on a daily basis. I wasn’t normally suicidal, but sometimes I just wished to fall asleep for six months, then wake up feeling healthy again.
Then one day someone suggested marijuana for pain management. Cannabis, Mary Jane, ganja, grass, pot — all synonyms for the green plant legalized in Canada — was not something I consumed casually prior to the injury. Before, I was an intense overachiever who didn’t have time to slow down. I worked multiple jobs. I kept up to date on all my friendships. I had so many hobbies, interests, and projects that marijuana gave me anxiety because of how relaxed it made me. Ironic.
— Tanya Snow is a writer, Inuit throat singer, and community arts programmer in Yellowknife, NT. She is the author of the children’s book You Come from the Stars and has published various nonfiction articles about life in the north.
Read the rest of "Burning Brain" by Tanya Snow in Issue 308 (Summer 2026) Disability: The Revolution. Order the issue now:
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