LENS: a typical session

(Note for new readers: LENS is short for Low Energy Neurofeedback System.  It's a type of passive neurofeedback, roughly comparable to poking your brainwaves with science.)

I've had a number of questions about what exactly happens in LENS.  So I figured I'd explain what happens in a typical session, and that will help.  I'll skip the waiting room, where all electronics are banned (and I'm a terrible person and sometimes read a book on my iPad anyway) and get to where the doctor calls my name.

I get up, and follow her up the stairs, exchanging light banter as we go.  We head to a corner room on the second floor.  It's always the same room, with a recliner-esque chair and a laptop situated on a table.  There's also a less comfy chair for the doctor, and she usually brings in a second laptop.  The first laptop runs the LENS program.  

I drop off my bag, my iPad, and my other belongings on the floor, away from the equipment, and then settle into the chair, still talking to the doctor.  She's almost always some form of cheerful.  The rain and cold and gloom might bum her out somewhat, but she doesn't let it get to her.  At least not during sessions.  Once she's settled in as well, she asks me how my week has been.  I don't always have anything useful to say, since I try not to pay attention to how horrible things can get.  But I try to have something useful to say, because every bit helps her improve her understanding of how my brain reacts to the LENS and to life in general.  

All brains are different.  Autistic brains in particular, because of how irregular the connectivity can be between brain sections.  That makes it very difficult to predict how I'll react to stimuli.  So much of this is trial and error.  I've been going for over half a year at this point, and while there have been results, they aren't usually dramatic.

If you want dramatic results in LENS, you get a head trauma victim.  Recent injuries or changes in brainwave patterns are easier to change.  Brains like mine, that've had more than a decade to stew on a single pattern?  Much much harder.  That's why many of my reports for the week are likely to be "nothing interesting this week."  

After we've finished talking about my week, she brings up my file on the LENS program.  The screen has one of those sight-blocker things you sometimes see at public libraries.  If you're not directly in front of the screen, you can't see anything on it.  I asked about that once.  She told me that some people get concerned or upset over what they see on the screen.  It's also to keep the clients from seeing other clients' information.  The doctor studies my history and the last program she used, and taking my week into account, decides what parts of my brain she's going to work on next.  Average these days is 2.  We've found my brain can be persnickety if provoked too much, and fast is not necessarily better when it comes to life-altering changes.

Now we get to the electrodes.  There are three, and there's no sensation of electricity with them.  They're actually more for measuring brain activity than changing it.  Two of the electrodes are clips.  Once they're gotten a conductive waxy substance put on them, they go on the earlobes.  They're very gentle.  The most annoying sensation about them is the wires they trail, honestly. The ear electrodes measure the amount of background noise, so to speak, from my skin.  Every living creature emits a small amount of electricity.  The ear electrodes help the LENS program eliminate that from the readings.

The last electrode is a single piece, which also receives a coating of the conductive substance for each site on my skull it visits.  Before the electrodes are applied, the skin is cleaned with a mild disinfectant and de-oiler, so the electrode will stay where it's placed.  Once everything is in place, the doctor instructs me to close my eyes.  Implied from previously visits is also "hold still."  Moving, fidgeting, blinking, all of that produces some electrical response, which throws off the LENS readings.  When the doctor is satisfied that everything is working, she presses a button that sends an alternative brainwave to my brain.  Brain signals are made of electricity, so this is also.  But there's no sensation of zap.  If I'm very lucky, I'll be able to tell something happened.  Most weeks, I'm not lucky.  I'll sit for about 6 seconds while the signal transmits and she observes any reactions in my brain signals.  

After the first signal is sent, the doctor removes the single electrode from my head and asks me how I feel.  Sometimes there are immediate changes, I'm told.  Things like sounds being louder, colors brighter or dimmer, a feeling of irrational panic or tightness in the chest.  I've not felt any of those things, but they're possibilities.  When I've conveyed my lack of apparent response to the doctor, she does the second spot, and the whole thing repeats.  

Sometimes I'll notice something by the end of the session, but most often I won't.  This is probably partially because I spent much of my life ignoring my emotional state until it went away, and partially because my brain doesn't do lightning quick shifts.  When we're finished prodding my brain, the doctor hands me a swab and I clean the conductive waxy stuff off my ears, while she cleans the parts of my head she worked on.  We schedule the appointment for next week, and she walks me back down to the waiting room.

And that's about it.  The doctor does examine my emotional state before and after, by watching my body posture and expressions and such, but there's no tests, no pain, and no prying.  

I usually notice any actual changes to my mental and emotional state while driving home from the appointment.  Things like getting extra ticked off at shenanigans in traffic, or feeling less anxious about a difficult or awkward task coming up.  The usual window for apparent changes in LENS is 48 hours.  The doctor has some people send a report on how they're doing after that time has passed.  I did that for awhile, but there was often nothing to say, so I fell out of the habit.  I suppose I'm restarting the habit in a more public way with the LENS reports.  We'll see how that goes.