Posted by: canthold | December 3, 2008


It’s easy to think in absolutes – or at least talk in them. My youngest daughter is quite liberal with the sentence that “Today is the worst day ever!” What could she possibly know? I’d have to say, though, that I like to be more precise. I actually think about whether one even was the best or worst or if it was, in fact, the second worst or the like.

I say this because not last night but the night before, (twenty-four robbers came knocking at my door – sorry – couldn’t help myself) I had one of the worst nights ever with my vertigo. I think, though, that it was actually the second worst night, since after having the worst night, I at least knew what to expect and by some measure that made Monday night ever so slightly  better.

I spent the night spinning violently curled in a ball on the bathroom floor. I know that conjures up thoughts of fun and exciting times, but it wasn’t. I puked a few times and prayed to the Porcelain God. I didn’t wear my glasses though, so I couldn’t see how dirty the bathroom actually was, which make it easier to pretend that I didn’t have germs on me from the event. The part that really grosses me out to think about is that I brought my pillow into the bathroom because I couldn’t take it anymore on the hard cold floor.

In the past, I’ve whiled away my vertigo episodes flat on my back staring at a fixed object in hopes of meditating the horror away. In this particular episode, as in the worst, I had to curl my legs under me to abate the nauseousness as much as I could. It was because of this the pillow made my life a bit less painful. And never have I been as aware of how this extra weight that I’m carrying around has also appeared, much to my denial, around my knees. In the olden (thinner) days I could sit on my feet with my legs bent underneath me forever. Now, I’m plagued by those tingles from my limbs falling asleep, squished by fat. Not that I cared at that point.

You could probably have poured a gallon jug of spiders on me and I wouldn’t have flinched. You could have handed me my glasses and made me peer into my toilet and I wouldn’t have cared. I was the picture of miserable and there wasn’t a thing in the world I wanted more than to feel like a normal person asleep in their own bed dreaming of teeth falling out.

Today I woke up and spent most of the day feeling like I’d come out of the wilderness alive and kicking. This afternoon, though, I got hit up side the head with another violent bout of spinning. I didn’t need to vomit nor curl up in the bathroom, but I did get medicated and slept for hours while my kids ran amok juggling knives and chainsaws. (Actually, they spent their time trying to conjure fairies thanks to some (stupid) book that one of them got at the school book fair that told them how, though inconveniently leaving out the part that a parent must be present for this to happen.)

And I started reading a book about a guy who became a stay-at-home-dad and his misadventures. Unfortunately, while I bought it for my husband so he’d appreciate me, both the husband and the wife make me look like a total slacker and I think I’ll withhold it from my own husband. Sucks to be me – on so many levels. I was not blessed with the Felix Unger gene, but instead the Oscar Madison. And I was not blessed with the Grace Kelly gene, but the Rosanne Barr.

I wish I could look in my magic snowball, like in Santa Claus is Coming To Town, and see what the hell is making me spin. It sucks worse than anything I can think of that I’ve ever experienced, including 19-hours of natural labor before giving in and asking for that epidural. Now that I know, I’ll take that epidural right away. Please. I’m absolutely sure of it.


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