Kate Swindlehurst - The Tango Effect: Parkinsons and the healing power of dance

For Andy, Tom and Kathryn as promised

With special thanks to Emily Rawlence Bilmes and Louise Ells for their support of this book

Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,

Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel

Polonius, Hamlet , Act I, Scene iii

The Tango Effect explores the impact of Argentine tango on my experience of Parkinsons disease. It begins with a tango lesson which became a short story written in collaboration with Cambridge Tango dancers and teachers Ellie McKenny and John Connatty. Soon, we found even an article wasnt enough; this book is the result.

Ellie McKenny was particularly interested in investigating the creative possibilities of tango. Having trained as a clinical psychologist, she first experienced tango personally as an escape from the emphasis on judgement and analysis in her training and then in her working life. When she became a tango teacher, working with adults with learning disabilities or ill health alerted her to the way that for the duration of the dance at least identities linked to disability or illness, psychologist or client, teacher or pupil, could disappear.

Tango teacher John Connatty shared my journey from its outset. Keen to understand how it feels for you to overcome that bit which has gone on the blink, he was not only ready to encourage his student but committed to the process of discovery: Maybe your brain can develop a way around the block Maybe the music somehow puts your brain into a less self-conscious state from where it is possible to float around the problem. We can be pioneers!

The Tango Effect records what we discovered during our year-long investigation into the effects of my tango habit on living with Parkinsons. In many ways these effects are remarkable, although those who have some knowledge of the condition will not be surprised by links between exercise and well-being. Some readers may already be familiar with research that matches aspects of Argentine tango with strategies for improving quality of life for people with Parkinsons. Still, many I speak to are new to the idea and react with astonishment, excitement and a desire to know more, in that order. If you are one of these people, this book is for you.

If you are already a dancer, you will know that Argentine tango differs from what many regard as the classic ballroom tango made famous by Hollywood. I think some of my friends imagine me high-kicking round the floor in red satin and fishnets. Occasionally I do dress up, but tango itself is something separate from glamour and might equally be danced by an old lady in a cardigan or a student in torn jeans, both with heart-stopping beauty. Others picture an intensive aerobic fitness class, zumba with heels. The tango I am engaged in is not about classes or performances and is improvised rather than choreographed. This is social tango, danced with one partner at a time, usually as part of a gathering with other dancers. It relies absolutely on communication between those involved.

To aficionados and onlookers alike, Argentine tango is the epitome of passion. Ive attempted to convey something of the experience of that passion as well as a taste of the extraordinary complexity and fascination of the dance, its history, its music, its poetry. Inevitably, there is so much more to say. If you would like to know more, there are several excellent books on the subject, some of which are listed in the bibliography on page

The word passion doesnt sit easily in the same sentence as Parkinsons, and for those with the condition, communication itself can be difficult. You may find yourself slow to respond to others and have difficulty concentrating. Your speech may be slurred. Sometimes the voice becomes so quiet it is hard to hear. If depression is a feature of your illness, you may tend to withdraw from social interaction until you become locked in a bubble of your own making. Tango can burst the bubble: challenging the tendency to isolation in its reliance on the unspoken connection between partners, it offers a rare experience of intimacy for the Parkinsons dancer.

The profile of the disease differs from person to person, so you wont find a comprehensive explanation of each aspect in these pages. For me the first hints that something was wrong were a right arm which hung uselessly at my side while running and when my elaborate italic handwriting shrank to a cramped knot. My GP gave up the search for a tape measure and improvised with a piece of string, which he wrapped round my upper arm. Was he looking for signs of muscle atrophy? And why did he ask me to walk the length of the surgery while he watched?

There was no explanation, so I was still holding on to illusions of a trapped nerve when the neurologist offered his diagnosis. Ten years later, I ticked most boxes on a checklist of symptoms and there had been some deterioration, but it wasnt much. In this way, and in the relative mildness of many of the diseases features that I was experiencing, I was one of the lucky ones. Still, once you have Parkinsons, there is no going back. You may not get worse, at least for a while, but you will not get better.

Or so they say. Is there, in fact, such a clear division between illness and health? Despite the sense that your battle with disease begins with the diagnosis, you have, of course, been living with it for years. Once diagnosed, medication may make you feel better. If you are fortunate, it may enable you to live relatively symptom-free without side effects. And you may discover for yourself other routes to well-being: yoga to counter stiffness, perhaps; cycling as an alternative to walking; or Argentine tango. In our investigation we were keen to examine that apparently firm line between well and ill, and excited by the possibility that tango seemed able to persuade the damaged brain to work as if it were undamaged. Perhaps it could even reverse the progress of the disease?

The Tango Effect is an intensely personal account that echoes what the science is beginning to tell us about the healing power of tango. While neither self-help book, triumph-over-tragedy nor misery memoir, it tells a story that we believe demonstrates life-changing possibilities and will be of interest to medical professionals and the academic community as well as those living with Parkinsons.

Its eight years since the start of our collaboration, and our story isnt finished. There is certainly room for more research into the benefits of dance for those with Parkinsons, especially in relation to quality of life, rather than the more easily measurable gains in motor function. Meanwhile, there are new dance opportunities opening up for those with the condition locally, nationally and internationally, as well as rapid progress in medical research into early diagnosis and more effective treatments, leading eventually, perhaps, towards a cure. For now, we look to our tango family for love, inspiration and support.

A Thursday night: a man stands in the doorway, another in the darkness by the far wall. Tonight there are lots of students beautiful young women who glide with such poise, and even the awkwardness of the beginner is captivating. Next to me, in the line of chairs along the edge of the floor, an older couple, here every week; dogged, unsmiling, they dance only with each other. Voices, laughter, the whirr and hiss of the fans. On every table, glasses of water; I am one of the few with a glass of wine. I sit at the back, aware of the niggling tremor in my right arm, anxious about the imminent challenge of getting smoothly to my feet. On the floor, a scattering of dancers, waiting to see what the next set will bring. Now those first notes raw, urgent, unmistakable: the sound of Puglieses orchestra. I also have been waiting. I know exactly who I want as a partner. He is on the other side of the room, too far for eye contact but I look directly at him anyway, tilting my head slightly. He nods. I struggle to my feet as he walks towards me and we step into the procession of circling bodies. He lifts his left arm, the hand open for my right hand. I place my other hand on his shoulder, lean into his chest, muscle against muscle, his arm on my back. We breathe. I listen for his intention. When we move, we move as one. No shaking; no halting or stumbling. There are only these: the imperatives of the music, now fast, now slowing almost to a stop, suspended; the connection, unspoken, heart to heart; and the astonishing gift of grace.