Vertigo

Photo comment: I'd like to say that that photo is not at all a representation of what vertigo feels like. They need a photo of a child spinning around and around for three minutes, then coming to a halt. THAT, is what vertigo feels/looks like.

I'm making a note of it, since I seem to always want to forget that April/May are my danger months in Austin.

Ever since I moved here in 2005, April and May have been dizzy months. Usually a bad spell for about a week or two...and then lingering effects hanging around until June. I've become adjusted to the vertigo, but I still have to talk myself out of a panic attack every time I feel a spin coming on.

It's disruptive to say the least. At the pottery studio, I had to stumble into the Director's office to find a seat and some privacy until the studio stopped whirling in front of my eyes and I could ease back the cold sweats, nausea and trembles that quickly follow.

I'm considering doing acupuncture to see if I'll get any relief from the vertigo, and the underlying sinus issues that always seem to prompt it. I've tried everything under the allergy sun, and while they help to eliminate the stuffy nose and sinus headaches, they've failed to come up with the magic elixir to quell that and the peripheral vertigo that always seems just an awkward head tilt or swivel away.

Perhaps I should check into panic acupuncture as well. Seems like I'm getting a lot of practice with those symptoms, as I ever prepare to hit the deck and hold onto the floor for dear life.

As my head swims through this final month of pinwheels, lightheaded fogginess and cold sweats everytime I stand up too fast...I wonder again why for me so many themes in my life relate to balance, and the havoc caused by a lack thereof.

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After two days a swirl with vertigo, I'm back. It's a little early in the season for me to be "spinning" but I suspect it has had something to do with the weather spike up to the eighties in the Austin area. My vertigo is subjective and objective, which means the world not only feels like it's spinning, but it looks like it too. A big pinwheel in front of my eyes.

And I was in the supermarket when it hit, which is my biggest phobia, getting hit with it in a public place. You know, as much as I fear that embarrassment, I must say, people are truly kind. If you get these enough you should be able to sense when a spin cometh, and I blame myself for not heeding the symptoms that were trying to hint to me that my balance was about to talk a hiatus for colder climates.

But I'm back in the world of right side up, but steering clear of driving or anything even remotely linked to moving vehicles until I know all is absolutely well in this large bulbous cranium of mine.

In other news, I posted some small items on my Etsy that have been collecting on my shelf. I'm working with a different clay body and trying to get the hang of it, should be posting some of those items in a few weeks. I have some items I need to finish for some friends, so we are slowly back in business.

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What's a seasonal transition without a spell of vertigo?

Apparently, I will never get to know.

It apparently happened as a child intermittently, and now as an adult living in Austin, TX it has become my yearly reality. My first bout in the Spring of '05 was a bear. Hospitals, IVs, all sorts of neurological exams. A week of double vision and a permenant lack of physical balance on a minor scale were the only scars.

I'm aware of it now. Keenly. My first hint should have been a gradual increase in me stumbling over my own two feet and bumping into things. The second hint should have been the occasional bouts of nausea that come and go. The third sign should have been the fact that everything appears to have been coated in vaseline through my eyes. But no...the serious sign was last night when I felt my eyes jerking across the page I was trying to read. I turned on my side in bed to get comfortable, and the world began it's gentle sway.

Shit. Not again.

I closed my eyes, let the book tumble off the side of the bed and abruptly called it a night. And then when I woke up this morning, I felt as if I was moving underwater.

It could be worse. It actually may be worse, but only time will tell.  It could be meniere's disease. How will I know? Not sure. Right now, we monitor and track cool things like weird eye movements and inner ear fluids and lots of fun cranial activities. Can it be diagnosed? Not concretely. Is it possible to predict an attack? Sometimes, but not always. Is there a cure? Nope. Is there any reason to be freaked out? Not unless I'm behind the wheel of a vehicle when the next bout hits.

For now, I prevent more serious bouts by irrigating my sinuses. (Don't laugh, it works wonders) I hydrate like I'm about to move through the Sahara. I try to stay on top of seasonal changes and what they do to my head. I avoid flying when I know I'm particularly dizzy.

At least, dizzier than usual.

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