In the Beginning : 1992
-
In the spring of 1992, I had a cold, sore throat and earaches. These symptoms hung in there for a few weeks. They were very uncomfortable, but not particularly noteworthy.
Noteworthy was just around the corner, however. The onset of the new symptoms was gradual. I felt lousy, it was hard to concentrate, felt weak and shaky. Like a homeschooling mother of five kids under the age of 10 might expect to feel as she tries to get things done.
But I got to feeling REALLY lousy. It got VERY hard to concentrate. I was SO weak and shaky, I felt like I was vibrating. Like I was walking through water. Like I was on an amusement park ride, the Tilt-a-Whirl, being pushed back by centrifugal force.
I told a friend at the time, "I feel like my head is a big old empty barn, with the doors wide open and the wind blowing through it."
This was not good.
I didn't know that I was on the brink of something life-changing. I didn't know that I should go to bed and stay there. I just did what I usually did, kept on pushing.
After six weeks, all the frightening symptoms disappeared, without a trace, without an explanation.
After awhile, I quit worrying about it, and went about my business.
About six months later, I caught a cold. Nothing special, just a garden variety, picked it up from the kids kind of cold. But within hours of the first "normal" symptoms appearing, the other spooky ones burst upon the scene again. Floored me. Levelled me. Put me on my face.
For six weeks, then -- Poof! They were gone again.
When it happened a third time, in spring of '93, I decided to take action. I saw my doctor -- no small feat when the outline of everything is wavy, and you can't decipher your own thoughts. He ran a battery of tests, sent me to a couple of specialists, and the results all agreed. I was in great health. Okay, it was good to know they didn't find tumours, or MS, or ... anything. But I wished that they'd found ... something.
This pattern of feeling quite well, in between six week excursions into hell, went on for about seven years.
My way of dealing with that pattern was simple. When I knew I was coming down with a cold, I would drop everything. Including making dinner. Including going anywhere. Including making decisions. My husband Alan was taking Journalism at college during this time, and usually when he'd get home, I'd have dinner ready, or at least started. But about twice a year, he'd come home to see a wife with a stupefied expression, with no interesting story about why dinner was delayed, not even a hello. I would just stare at him. He would look at me for a minute, and say something like, "Oh." And he would go throw something together for dinner and take care of the kids. And everything else.
And I would go to bed. For the next six weeks.
Back to Ancient History
Back to Articles Page
�
�