Falling Into Place

 

I woke up this morning feeling groggy and seriously unmotivated, but I had made a commitment for 10 a.m., and a commitment for me is like an Eleventh Commandment.

It only took the party in my mouth that toothpaste creates to perk me up.  Even the ever-present headache I felt when I first woke up was on its way back into hiding. 

A sudden burst of energy precipitated a flurry  of loading and unloading the laundry machines, folding and hanging clean clothes, dusting the bedroom furniture and getting dressed far ahead of schedule.  I was downright perky.

I grabbed my cell phone,my laptop and the plate from my bedtime snack and called Coqui, who was also a bit groggy today.  I took the first five steps down to the first floor of my townhouse with a lot of pep in my step.  This felt like a great day coming up.

Out of nowhere came a dizziness so sudden it literally sat me on my behind.  I kept trying to grab for the railing but felt as if I was spinning too fast to get a grip.  Everything in my line of vision was undulating and spinning with simultaneous nauseating speed.  The plate went bouncing down the stairs along with the dog, who was oblivious to my vertiginous state. I was conscious of the laptop tucked under my free arm – the one I bought only seven days ago – but I wasn’t at all sure I was going to be able to prevent it from joining Coqui and the plate.

Instead of abating, it got worse.  The part of my mind that wasn’t involved in trying to hold on to the railing and the laptop was running through the list of things that could be happening.  Heart?  No history.  Inner-ear disturbance?  Yup, maybe.  I had had long periods of time years ago when I had to take Dramamine just to get through the day.  The doctor dubbed it an inexplicable inner-ear disturbance.

As I laid my head back on the carpeted stairs trying not to allow the nausea to win, I remembered an incident about nine months ago as I was out walking.  Some arborists were working on one of the gigantic oaks down the street.  For whatever reason, it fascinated me that particular morning and I stopped to watch.  One man was so high up in the tree I had to tilt my head as far back as it would go in order to watch.  Somewhere between 60 and 90 seconds later my neck grew tired and I returned it to its full upright position, tugged on Coqui’s leash and took a step in the direction we were headed. 

The next step sent me careening diagonally across the street, flailing around for something to grab onto.  I stumbled to one knee at the same time I reached a parked car, against which I braced my body.  The wave of nausea consumed all my concentration, never mind the car coming down the street.  To say I was terrified is the mother of all understatements.

I crawled to the curb and sat.  Coqui looked at me with her licorice black eyes, head tilted to one side like the RCA Victor dog.  I was exhausted, breathing heavily and my skin was clammy.  Several minutes passed before I felt brave enough to try to stand.  After standing, I took one very tentative step, then another, until I believed the episode was indeed over.  I self-diagnosed:  must have cut off the blood supply to my head holding it back so long.

My doctor could only tell me that it wasn’t heart-related, after she did her examinations.  “Maybe it is a recurrence of that inner-ear disturbance you had all those years ago.”

Now I know it was that bitch Eminess*.  Little by little, I am beginning to recognize just how early in my life her symptoms starting interfering with my life.  Even when the neurologist asked me if I had any neurological problems earlier in life, I failed to remember Mr. Vertigo’s widely-spaced but pretty unforgettable visits. 

I also forgot the times when I was very young I would complain about a headache.  “Children don’t have headaches,” my adults would respond.  But I did.

The only residual effect of this morning’s visit is fear.  I didn’t walk the dog; just let her out in the yard.  That’s unheard of for me, but I didn’t know whether the spell was another isolated occurrence or if this time it would be the first of a series, more closely spaced.

I got through all of these events, obviously.  But before, I was able to dismiss them, put them into the archives of life’s little bumps.  Not anymore. Our friend Abrawang warned me I would want to blame every little thing on Eminess.  But I did my homework online and I called the doctor.  Of course, he couldn’t give me 100% assurance that it was or wasn’t, but I could almost see him shaking his head in the affirmative.

The symptoms, I will learn to handle.  The not knowing what’s coming next?  Not so much.