At the age of 60, I never imagined I’d become an early adopter of virtual reality goggles. Not long ago, the idea of a spatial immersive experience seemed as far-fetched as a Silicon Valley tech giant being appointed to “disrupt” the US federal government. Yet here I am—armed with a revolutionary piece of technology that has opened up a whole new world of possibilities, both for my creative work and my physical recovery.
Battling Chronic Pain and Cognitive Fog
For years, I had to master acrobatic positions at my standing desk just to ease the discomfort of working on a computer. Despite multiple rounds of physiotherapy and a permanent switch to a standing desk, my right arm now sears with mind-bending pain, obliterating any chance of sustained creative focus. MRI scans reveal a ruptured shoulder tendon and three herniated neck discs compressing the nerves down my arm. The constant struggle against pain and the persistent brain fog from ineffectual anti-inflammatories left me feeling both physically and mentally stifled.
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In my search for relief, I turned to what I do best—cultivating curiosity. Urban walks became a source of distraction and exploration, and even unexpected moments, like shuffle dancing at Camden Assembly pub, offered brief escapes from the pain. However, nothing could have prepared me for the breakthrough that was to come.
A Chance Encounter with Cutting-Edge Technology
Two months ago, I set out to visit a museum, only to find myself in a store looking for an iPhone charger. In a light-hearted exchange with a young, empathetic sales assistant, I joked about needing a gadget that could help me eat with my left hand without the risk of self-inflicted injury. That conversation led him to introduce me to a “mixed-reality headset.” Clueless at first, I soon learned that these headsets offered immersive multimedia experiences—watching films, gaming, and even interacting with digital objects through voice control and eye tracking.
Stepping Into a New Reality
Before I knew it, I was seated in a demonstration area wearing a pair of thick, heavy VR goggles. A little green dot hovered in the air as I tapped my thumb and finger together to reveal a transparent overlay of app icons. The experience was surreal—the pixelated graphics and responsive eye tracking allowed me to interact with digital elements as if they were tangible objects in my room.
I navigated through apps, expanded photos to life-size, and even watched immersive videos where dinosaurs appeared so real they felt almost tangible. In one unforgettable moment, I reached out and felt a digital butterfly land on my finger—a gesture that mirrored the wonder I experienced during childhood when learning the difference between reality and make-believe.
A Transformative Moment
The breakthrough came when I discovered a dial on the side of the goggles that allowed me to control how much of the real world I wished to retain. With a gentle adjustment, the room around me faded away, replaced by a breathtaking mountain scene. The spatial depth, interplay of light and shadow—it was all so vivid that, for a moment, I believed I was standing on a beach in the Bahamas. Despite knowing it was not real, the experience lifted my spirits and shifted my mood in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
In those moments, my arm relaxed. The constant, searing pain subsided as I immersed myself in a digital environment where my body could finally rest. I began to see these goggles not as a mere gadget, but as a catalyst for physical recovery—a tool that could potentially help me work through the months leading up to my upcoming surgery and during the long rehabilitation process.
A Personal Revolution in the Midst of Adversity
The impact of this technology was immediate and profound. For the first time in what felt like ages, I experienced a reprieve from the nerve pain that had dominated my life. The goggles allowed me to work hands-free, forcing my brain to recalibrate and navigate using my left hand and eyes instead of relying solely on the now-painful right side.
Yet, as the novelty began to transform into tangible hope, I faced an unexpected challenge: explaining this new chapter to my husband. After 30 years of marriage, we had a rule of consulting each other on purchases over £100. With a mixture of excitement and trepidation, I snapped a picture of the unboxed goggles and texted him, “DO NOT HAVE A HEART ATTACK, I CAN RETURN THEM.” His immediate reply—“I AM HAVING A HEART ATTACK”—soon gave way to a deeper conversation. Despite initial scepticism over the steep price tag of £3,499, he eventually saw the potential benefits. The goggles, he conceded, weren’t “just virtual reality” any more than a smartphone is “just a phone.”
Embracing a New Future
After days of coaching on the accessibility features and a bit of trial and error—laying my face on a table to offset the weight of the device—I began to master the delicate balance between virtual immersion and physical comfort. Even though I can only use the goggles for a few hours at a stretch before my neck protests, each session leaves me invigorated, my pain at least partially alleviated.
While I wouldn’t dare wear these “bug eyes” in public, the transformative power they’ve had on my recovery is undeniable. Friends and family have expressed both ridicule and sceptical concern over my newfound passion, yet I remain undeterred. In many ways, this journey has been about more than just managing pain—it’s been about reclaiming my creativity and sense of wonder in a world that increasingly feels confined by physical limitations.
A Glimpse of Hope Amid Adversity
Virtual reality, once the domain of gamers and tech enthusiasts, has become my unexpected ally in the fight against chronic pain and physical limitation. In a matter of minutes, the goggles offered me a temporary escape from my reality—a reality marked by discomfort, brain fog, and the daunting prospect of surgery. Now, as I navigate this brave new world, I am filled with cautious optimism about the months ahead.
In the words of a renaissance thinker, we adapt and evolve by embracing the invisible and the unknown. For me, these immersive spaces have become a refuge, a place where I can both work and heal. And though I still grapple with the occasional panic attack when removing the headset—an aftereffect of the seductive allure of the virtual realm—I am learning to live with it, to see it as a necessary step toward recovery.
Conclusion
Virtual reality goggles have not only provided me with a temporary escape from chronic pain but have also opened up a world of creative and rehabilitative possibilities. As I continue to integrate this technology into my daily routine, I am filled with hope for a future where physical limitations no longer dictate the bounds of creativity. And while the journey may be fraught with challenges and moments of disorientation, it is also one of rediscovery—a reminder that even in our most vulnerable states, innovation can light the path to recovery.
Dancing with the Octopus by Debora Harding is published by Profile Books and Bloomsbury USA. Buy it for £9.99 at guardianbookshop.com.
