Vertigo
Posted: May 16, 2008 Filed under: Writers Write | Tags: dizzy, perception, vertigo 6 Comments »The condition, not the Hitchcock film. It struck last Friday morning. I felt light headed, but I dressed anyway. I sat in the big family room chair for a few minutes coaching the girls through their get-ready-for-school routine. When I stood, the floor shifted. Each step produced a personal earthquake.
I called Bacon at work. Thank God for speed dial. Bacon found me on the bathroom floor. Lifting my head felt like riding the Tilt-a-Whorl on my junior high band trip. An alien being took up residence in my body and slung me from one place to another.
Bacon drove to the emergency room and carried me inside. When I emptied the contents of my stomach on the hospital floor, the triage nurse was convinced a gurney was necessary, forgoing both waiting room and paperwork.
Three days, two MRIs, and a million needle sticks later, all the dreadfuls were eliminated. I hadn’t suffered a stroke, a brain tumor, or a heart attack. As the internist and the neurologist appeared in the floating nebula of my hospital room, inanimate objects traveled of their own volition across flat surfaces. My perception emulated a pickle jar with the lid opening and closing. Everyone contorted to the left, and then, to the right.
Finally, a nurse slapped a seasick patch on my neck. While I couldn’t have passed a field sobriety test, I felt better. The ENT diagnosed inner-ear inflammation. The problem creates false perceptions. I can’t drive. As I type, the letters are rearranging themselves on the screen. At least I’m home, and I have good help.
The dizziness is supposed to go away with time. I wish I had something philosophical to say about the experience, but for today, it’s enough to walk across the room on my own.
The Goldfish Bowl
Posted: May 7, 2008 Filed under: A Zany Life, Housekeeping | Tags: antique bath tub, backyard pond, goldfish, water garden 3 Comments »
Since 1997, I’ve been the owner of an antique bathtub. It’s a large white-enameled vessel, bigger than most. It sits on a platform instead of claw feet. The tub migrated to my house from the school where I used to teach. It was a play prop that lived in my garage, and later, my backyard. It held tomato plants once. When that didn’t work out, it sat in the flower bed, empty. Well, almost empty. I’m not counting random leaves or occasional gecko.
Every time my dad saw it, he suggested I give it to my sister to use as a watering trough for her cows. Never mind that my sister lives 500 miles away or that the tub is gargantuan-heavy, or that I paid good money for it. Dad couldn’t be dissuaded. As far as he was concerned, it was good for watering cows.
I once had delusions about remodeling my bathroom. I fantasized soaking in the massive white basin, filled with fragrant bubbles, while I read trashy novels and ate bonbons. Like that would ever happen.
Bacon joked about making it into a fish pond. This week his dream came true. I plugged the drain, filled the tub with water, and made a dozen trips to Lowe’s for pond supplies. After three days of work and one emergency call to Cowgirl Crisp (my sister), I am the proud owner of a ginormous goldfish bowl.
