Jackie Wells-Fauth
I used to love reading romance novels about a couple who first see each other and the room just ‘floats around them in a romantic whirl.’ That always sounded kind of cool to me, until recently.
I woke up one morning not so long ago and the world was just swirling around me. The difference here is that mine was not swirling for fabulous romance. For one thing, Roy had already gone to work and before you ask, no, I do not have some gorgeous swain as an illicit lover. I could have if I wanted, I just don’t happen to want to!
Where was I? Oh yes, I was standing in the hallway. I’m pretty sure it was the hallway, but it wasn’t acting like a hallway. It had more the appearance of an out-of-control roller coaster. So, I did what I always do on a roller coaster—I threw up. Then I fell down. And I liked it a lot better on the floor, even though it was acting like a canoe on the water rapids.
This rather unsettling experience led me to the conclusion that perhaps I should share this adventure with my local medical personnel. I waited until I could walk without hitting a wall or a piece of furniture, and then I went in and described the condition. They listened sympathetically to my explanation:
“Well, I got up and I ran into the dresser…that’s where I got this bruise. Then I went into the hall, and it was all kinda whoozy-like and I didn’t like that, so I fell down and threw up…or I threw up and fell down, I can’t remember…”
From this convoluted ramble, they decided that I might have a dizzy issue. (No, not my personality, a physical issue—unrelated to romance). They made me lie down (not a good idea) with my head hanging off the back of a pillow. This was REALLY not a good idea. I didn’t throw up, but it must have appeared as though I was contemplating it, because as I quickly sat up with a hand slapped over my mouth, a bucket appeared in front of me.
“Yes, I would say you have vertigo,” came the medical conclusion.
Vertigo! At last, my roller-coaster condition has an actual name. Okay, just give me the pill that cures it, and I’ll go home.
“I’ll schedule you for physical therapy,” was the unbelievable prescription to cure my vertigo. Physical therapy! That’s where they make you jump around and use your body for physical activity. Now, I have always found physical therapy to be helpful, but I’m not sure with a head that is swirling like a flushing toilet every time I move, that physical therapy is what I need. Do they have vomit buckets handy over there?
Nevertheless, I went to therapy. I’m glad I didn’t get my usual therapist. I love her and I always benefit from her help, but I have a tendency to argue with her. She might not have enjoyed trying to help with the vertigo, and I want to keep in good relations with her for all the other things that go wrong.
The brave lady who took it on didn’t disappoint. Just as I thought, she wanted me to do things that brought on the vertigo. “Lay down on your side and then point your nose towards your armpit,” she instructed. Now, there’s a joke there, but I didn’t make it; I was too busy being dizzy.
In spite of all of my doubts, by the time she was finished, I was not dizzy anymore—well, mostly not. She played a small video, to show me what had made me dizzy. It seems there are some granules in your ear that when they stay in place, maintain your equilibrium. Mine had apparently decided to travel to places they weren’t supposed to be, so it was necessary to tilt my head and call them home. (The previous statement is not an authorized medical description—you’ll have to watch the video.)
The main outcome is that I am no longer walking into walls or throwing up and it is a great relief to me that my ear granules have decided to quit running away from home. But I will tell you that the next time I read a romance novel, and they describe the meeting of the couple by saying, “the room just swirled around them,” I’m going to immediately vomit on the book!
dropsinthewell 