Saturday, December 12, 2009

Volley'd and thunder'd


Canons to the right of me. Canons to the left of me. Or so it seems.

Half-way down this passage-way, at the side of my (below ground) apartment, I am pushing the walls away with the back of my hands, whether to stop them toppling on me or me crashing into them, I am unable to determine. Loathe to keep my eyes open through the discomfort of the ever-moving vision (dear readers, something like a cursor that never quite keeps up with the movement of the mouse and forever has a contrail of its own entrails in its wake - if indeed, contrail and wake are permitted in the one analogy), I squeeze them shut as the walls expand air-bag-like to expel the life out of me, welling the nausea within. I panic to the end, with bP breaking through the fragile facade of control that the flaying hands serve to provide.

Two causes I think. CA = cerebellar ataxia. BV = bilateral vestibulopathy. This later is in the severe range implying that the little hairs that radar the inner ear are well-nigh plucked. The former implies that the nerve pathways through the cerebellum (brain stem) are oops-a-daisy casual rather than wonky and may or may not fire if only they could remember where they mislaid that impulse.

This is a distressing 20m walk akin to walking on the professor's sand, me thinks.

13 comments:

Martina said...

:-( - this really sounds nightmarish.

What would happen if you - right from the beginning - try to touch the walls on each side with your fingers? Giving your brain the signal where they are and that they don't move or bulge or do some other stupid things?

Julie said...

I touch walls frequently, with fingers, backs of hands or glance off with my shoulder. That is some sort of reassurance. My brain (me) knows that the walls will remain where they are. However, it is being told otherwise by my eyes. If I close my eyes to stop the myriad of out-of-focus, hovering images from getting to the brain, then my inner-ear gets wobbly and that is when the nausea kicks in. It is like having the peripheral neuropathy around my throat: I know I am not being throttled; I know that my air supply is not being cut off. I just have to tell my brain that in ways that don't involve information from the senses.

I am developing an entirely new way of getting and processing sensory information. Consider it an intellectual challenge, rather than a disability.

Joan Elizabeth said...

Goodness, do you have to walk down that path very often? Was also wondering are you still able to ride a push bike?

Martina said...

Hm, yes - I think it might be like with an optical illusion: it takes some time but then it makes click and the brain has made some new paths and connections!

Perhaps. Perhaps I am only naive.

It is really difficult to imagine all this, even with your really good and pictorial descriptions.

I always have the picture of a ship on a turbulent ocean in my mind.

altadenahiker said...

I was getting sea and ship imagery as well. And if that's close to the case, you should eventually develop sea legs.

I once ran into a couple who lived on a sailboat and traveled this sea and that. They had a cat, and the cat was unable to walk on land because it's brain had now made all the adjustments for balancing on top of the ocean.

Julie said...

Ah, very interesting. There are cases of this syndrome where 12 or 18 months down the track the effects ease. The physical deterioration is still there and in some cases it does not progress much more or fast. Mine is moving quickly at the moment, certainly since the fall in early October and even moreso in the last 2 to 3 weeks. But I am pushing it, not just sitting back in a deck chair.

I walked along Bondi Beach just now. Didn't do it right, though. Will try to explain later today.

Julie said...

Joan, I don't have to walk down there often. I water the guys bamboo-bloody-boo each Friday to stop him walking around down there where my bedroom is. Sometimes, the cats scoot up there when they know I want to lock them in for some reason. I am now taking to leaving them wait in the courtyard until I return.

I have not tried a bicycle but would think that to be a no-go. The risk of toppling is too high and I would probably not fall into dry sand! Not sure what is going to happen to the France trip. Sensed a bit of hesitation in my travelling companion the other night, which I quite understand. Might have to get me a small group tour with an organiser. Early days yet.

freefalling said...

A retractable hose reel with a remote control and maybe some sort of skateboard.
Tuck it into your undies and off you go!

Julie said...

*chortle*

Now what sort of seaside imagery are YOU getting??

*chuckle*

diane said...

That must be so frustrating for you. I hope it gets better and not worse so that you can travel comfortably. I had that thingy with the hairs in my ears lying down or getting tangled after my operation, I think it was the anaesthetic ??(can't spell for nuts). My doc gave me exersices to untangle the hairs and make them stand up again. I had to sit on the side of the bed turn my head to one side and slowly lie down on the oposite side to which I was looking and raise feet up onto the bed. Then slowly sit up again and do it on the other side. 5 times twice a day. It made me feel sick at first and I could only do it 3 times once a day. Gradually I could increase it to 5 times once a day but it did fix the problem.

Julie said...

From my copious reading, Di, I understand this to be called Benigh Positional Vertigo or BPV. It, too, is very distressing until you bring it under control with the exercises you describe. The little "stones" that reside in your inner ear actually get out of whack and the exercises help to position them back where they should be. You would have got similar symptoms to some of mine: dizziness and nausea.

Charming isn't it?

Ann said...

Have only had vertigo once for a few days as part of an ear infection and never want to go there again. I feel for you.

Julie said...

But things are kinda rosy at the moment, strange as it may seem. The symptoms have a diagnosis. The diagnosis could have been much worse. There are a lot of people faring less well than I. I have enough sense and money to lead a comfortable life.

She'll be right, mate ...