these so-called vacations

Those people who talk incessantly about their illnesses make me feel sick.  It is certainly to repay me for my lack of empathy that I have developed a chronic problem that I cannot seem to stop talking about.

I have BPPV.

For the uninitiated, that's Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo.

Benign - non-cancerous
Paroxysmal - sudden attacks (of)
Positional - referring specifically to the position of one's head
Vertigo - dizziness


What this means is that I might stand up, or lie down, or look over my left shoulder at my alarm clock,  or tilt my head quizzically, and suddenly be overcome with the sensation that I am spinning drunkenly and might fall down.  (Actually, wine is the only thing that seems to make me feel normal.)

I meant not to talk about it, the way I mean not to talk about things that make me seem frail or aged or stupid or vulnerable.  But whatever.  It has been going on since the end of April.  I had a terrible flu in March that may have triggered it; it's some kind of inner ear disturbance.  And it has been mostly unrelenting ever since.

But I do not mean to spend my life lying down watching the ceiling spin around above me.  So I am still running, dizzily and drunkenly, amusing myself with the strange sensations that overtake me.  But I have stopped yoga.  I simply cannot turn my head upside down without experiencing sensations that are too alarming to manage in public places.  I still hike in the mountains, searching for connections between autism and vestibular functioning as leaves and shadows throw my world into inner chaos.

In the positive column, I have a new boyfriend.  His name is Nav and he is a physiotherapist.  He tilts my head back gently and turns it at unexpected angles while he stares deeply into my eyes, looking for signs of nystagmus.  Sometimes he makes me feel better.  Sometimes he doesn't know what to do with me.  I hardly blame him.  I do not know what to do with myself either.  We like each other, I think.  We talk more about other things than we do about vertigo.  Things like Valentine's Day.  Things like droughts and racism and politics and family.  He is a lovely boyfriend.  I see him frequently.

But that is not all.

I still operate the chain saw, in spite of the dizziness that is made worse by the vibration.  I still dig up weeds.  Several days ago I accidentally sliced through an extension cord with the chain saw, which resulted in sparks and smoke and great excitement.  I could blame the vertigo but I probably just wasn't paying attention.

I still refuse to remove the superfluous space between periods at the start of new sentences.

You know.  I'm still me.  I'm just in recovery.  At least I hope I am recovering.

And it's summer, a good time to focus on that sort of thing.




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