First, the night before my jaunt from London to Midhurst, I had a violent attack of vomiting (three times.) The next morning I had to get up at 6:15 to care for V, my cousin’s 9-month old, because they were both on business trips, and the nanny didn’t arrive until 8 am. It was not easy: I was wiped out. I did manage to get her to go back to sleep for a bit. We crashed together on the big bed, and then I dozed for a few more hours. I was exhausted and achy, but I had to pack and get myself through two Tube rides to the Waterloo station, and then take an hour train ride south. I staggered through a meeting with my host and her pets, including a 20-minute walk and a visit with the dog-walking partner.
At 6:30 pm, I crashed. I woke up at 11, and decided that I was too tired to get up and eat. So I slept until 6 am: 12 hours of sleep, and I only had 1.5 slices of toast the entire day. But a little fasting never hurt anyone, right? Didn't have much appetite, and the rib muscles were sore, but such is life.
I’d like to figure out what causes these attacks, but I guess I’ll never know. It doesn't seem to be food-related. None of the testing in the past year came up with anything. I could tell the doctors just thought it was psychosomatic, but why I’d be getting sick now when I’m so carefree is beyond me.
In the aftermath, I found myself tiring easily. There was also a musty quality to the house, which made me want to cough, but my rib muscles were so sore that I couldn't cough effectively.
I thought it was a return of my old problem...which never got diagnosed and which was tied to migraines and was over quickly. But I was still queasy for a few days. May have caught the flu..it was going around, and the people who share the nanny with my cousins had it. Dammit.
The next week, when I returned to London, V had a chest infection, and R was worrying about the Norovirus, which was also going around. E was worried too, of course, but sturdily refusing to at the same time. I actually still had the queasiness and incipient headache: it never went away, but the violent attacks ceased, which was a huge relief. I was able to function and help out a bit, and fortunately never caught the infection.
A month later, here in Ireland, I had an attack of vertigo several days into the sit. It's very unpleasant, and when the Oscar the importunate pup starts climbing up my body to get at my face and lick it, I can't really fend him off: any abrupt movement starts the room spinning again. The Epply maneuver has not worked, either, and the meclizine, while staving off the nausea, puts me to sleep.
A few mornings after that, I slipped on the back steps and sat HARD. I just sat, gasping for awhile, as the pain subsided and the queasiness backed off. I stood up carefully...nothing seemed broken, and the dogs wanted their game. So, I threw the ball, and felt off balance enough that I sat back down on the bottom step and threw the ball from there, as the damp seeped into my leggings. And I cursed...why do I keep falling? It's not vertigo, even though that's still here. The steps were not icy, just a little wet, but not so a normal person would slip. Yes, I was distracted by watching the dogs (I throw the ball from the top of the steps and then walk down) and yes there was no railing. But still. I'm almost 60 years old...pretty soon I'll have to worry about falling and breaking a hip and then being bedridden and dying. Well, in 20 more years, I'll have to worry. It's all relative.
So, here I sit, with a spinning room, a throbbing tailbone, and a fuzzy brain. Fortunately, my current job just requires a reasonably warm and semi-ambulatory body. If I can't escape these ailments, at least I'm not letting anyone down but myself. And really, I don't care if I never get out to explore the countryside. There's plenty to explore, right here. Surprisingly, I don't feel lonely or unproductive. Just a little wistful when I think of all the possibilities. But, I feel that way wherever I am.
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