me not good at thinking

Yesterday, being April Fool's day and all, I thought I would play a joke on Alex. My joke was to put a rubber band around the squirty hose thingy at the sink so when he would turn the water on in the kitchen, instead of having water come out of the faucet as expected, he would be left in shock and awe of his mysteriously soaked shirt. The problem with this joke was that hours went by and nothing Alex did had anything to do with the kitchen sink. I eventually decided that while he was in the bathroom I would empty his water glass as well as the mostly full Brita water pitcher... forcing him to fill up something. As I'm emptying these things I notice some stray coffee grounds in the sink that really bother me, so I decided to rinse them away. ha ha. Now I'm standing at the kitchen sink with a soaked shirt feeling like a big idiot. I was able to escape from the sink and change my shirt without Alex noticing, however I'm not convinced he wasn't aware of my uncontrollable bursts of laughter. About a half hour later Alex needed water and decided to fill up the pitcher. I didn't figure on this, but did you know that when you flip the top of a Brita water pitcher up to fill it you are completely protected from the spray of water coming from the squirty hose thingy?
If my practical joke failure isn't enough to convince people of my lameness, try this one. We lost power yesterday while I was talking on the phone with Wil. I'm still chatting away telling Wil all about our power going out when I start wondering why I don't hear Wil on the other end. Then I realize the POWER WENT OUT so the phone just isn't going to work. I pick up my cell phone to call him back and discover I only have his cell number stored on my cell phone, so I pick up the home phone to look up his home number. I start pressing buttons and wondering why I can't see anything. That's right, I picked up same phone that I had just put down less than 30 seconds ago, there was still no power, and I was still stupid.

I'm addicted to lines. LINES!

Last Wednesday I stood outside the Metreon for a good portion of the day with some of my coworkers and a camera crew to cover the launch of the PSP. I would never make fun of the 500 people who waited in line to get the PSP at midnight, I'm especially not going to mock the first 10 guys in line who waited anywhere from 18 to almost 48 hours in the rain and cold.


These people are the fans I won't poke fun of (except the guy who wouldn't sign an image release and freaked everyone out). Not only do they guarantee I'll still have a job, but once I got to talking to them I found some weird place in my heart for them. Over the 14 hours I spent with these dudes I got kind of attached; with some it was much like that dysfunctional love/hate relationship between a kidnapper and his victim. With others I found a genuine respect for their gusto, because it was fucking cold out there. This is Dan.


His girlfriend brought him warmer socks and shoes in the evening. She also brought him some dinner. Dan was actually in the store doing some stuff with PR people when his lady dropped by. Oh, Dan. Hope things are going okay for you.
The first guy in line, Richard, was pretty cool. Here he is contemplating a hot dog.


He had a handmade hat and scarf set created with some army camouflage yarn, we talked about it for at least 10 minutes. That was the point where I realized I might be a bigger geek than anyone in the line. He was so tired of people asking him what he was waiting for that he started answering people with "Tickets are going on sale for the Backstreet Boys reunion" or "N'Sync is doing a free performance." I was only there for a fraction of the time he was, and I was pretty bored with answering the "what's all this about?" question as well. The best conversation regarding the line was between an insanely enthusiastic older gentleman and my boss.

old man: Say, what's this line all about?
boss: It's the launch of the PSP.
old man: Now what's that again?
boss: At midnight a handheld device, the PSP, will go on sale.
old man: So it's a sale?
boss: Well, these people will be the first to get the units, but they cost the same as they will in other stores.
old man: So they just want to be first. What does it do?
boss: You can play games, watch movies and listen to music with it.
old man: And how much does that cost?
boss: Around 250
old man (while smiling and nodding): Oh, what people spend money on these days! Good for them! You know, I should get in this line. I'm addicted to standing in lines.
boss: You're what?
old man: I'm addicted to lines. (then screaming at the top of his lungs) LINES!

This giant PSP was across the street from the line and the screen was counting down how many hours and minutes were left until purchasing time. Add Dick Clark and we would have been all sorts of compelling to millions of Americans. or not.

I left at 11:45pm, before the first sale, but I bet Mr. 500 had to wait a pretty long time before he actually had his hands on a PSP. I wonder if he actually got his PSP before the Circuit City opened the next day.

remember me?

I used to write in this thing about some stuff and sometimes I put pictures in here, too.
This past month has been all about my vestibular system... doing research, going to rehab and doctors and acupuncture and finding support groups. Now I think I'm ready to let it all take a back seat and try to get on with my life, dizzy or not. But let it be known that if you have any questions about the inner ear or vestibular disorders, I'm your gal.

And on that note, let the blogging begin.

Today, during a trip to the ladies room, I noticed a sheet of paper in the stall. I actually couldn't help but notice it because it was typed in a GIANT font and taped to the door in such a way that I was forced to read it while peeing. It went a little something like this:

To whom it may concern:
It seems incomprehensible that you can't manage to flush the toilet, remove your paper, and show a little respect for the other people using this bathroom.

As a result, we have deemed the last bathroom all yours. We will be removing the toilet, since you have no regard for it's use, and drilling a hole in the floor.

Perhaps you'd be more comfortable using that since you're obviously not use to the luxuries provided here for your use.

Thank you.

I took it off the wall so I could share it with you, but not to worry, the filthy people will know what stall to use because there were plenty of copies of the same letter taped up all around the restroom.

Here are some points I would like to bring up about the note:

I was never asked if it was okay to give the last stall to the "offenders" and I'm not okay with that. I like the last stall. It's the first stall that's got to go.

If you remove a toilet would it really be necessary to drill a hole? Because from what I understand there should already be a hole there.

I'm not sure if I would include toilets as a "luxury" in the workplace. The espresso machines, maybe, I might even say that the subsidized candy machines would qualify, but I'm pretty sure a toilet is one of those things a place of business is forced to provide.

who will sass the Donald?

I'm not sure, but now I'll have to tune in next Thursday to find out. And then afterwards, my trusty pal TiVo will capture what could either be a totally rad or a massive failure of a show. I heart Steve Carell and the original Office, so my fingers are crossed.

hey

I just remembered I have a blog and I should put some things in it.

I went to Yosemite with 10 friends and saw some snow and trees.



Then I had a birthday and went to lunch and dinner and got all sorts of flowers and cakes. I also had a hearing test where I found out my hearing is back to normal. Then I had a party and asked people to bring mix CDs with them so we could all exchange and get some new tunes. I made a CD called Completely Inappropriate Songs for a Blind Date, it included the song Cameltoe by Fannypack. People gave me extra copies of their CDs, and that kicked ass. I also got an umbrella, some bath stuff, the first season of Arrested Development on DVD and a gift certificate to a spa.

I'll write more about all these things someday. Someday when I'm not so dizzy.

Dinky Hocker

Since this whole inner ear thing started I've not only had problems balancing, but reading is a chore. Periodicals are pretty easy, it's the books that make me feel impaired. It's hard to focus on a page, let alone remember the last paragraph I read. So I decided that I needed to re-train myself how to read with some easier books. Lemony Snicket has done me right (thanks RM); the font is big, it's easy, witty and just plain good. Then I decided I would pick up one of my favorite books from 4th grade, Johnny Tremain. It's a history lesson about the beginning of the Revolutionary War with a hint of after-school special thrown in for good measure. I loved it so much back then that I had to have my own copy. I remember having a crush on Johnny Tremain when I originally read it. (please note that other childhood crushes involved Grover, Shaggy of Scooby Doo fame and the rabbit from Captain Kangaroo. I had a thing for non-human and fictional dudes.)
As I was close to the end of the book this morning I flipped to the last page to get my bookmark and noticed this:


Dinky Hocker Shoots Smack!? The copy of Johnny Tremain I have was printed in 1978, I had no idea that smack was so popular back then. I feel so cheated because I never knew this book existed.
People on Amazon have nothing but great things to say about it. I think I just found my next easy read.

that's right, I watch American Idol

I like to TiVo all three nights of American Idol and watch them all in one big chunk. This way three hours of crap over three nights turns into one sitting of an hour and a ten minutes of hilarity. Through the magic of skipping commercials, lousy recaps and information on how to vote for my favorite idol contestant, the show is kind of watchable.
I noticed last week that American Idol is not even remotely based on finding the best singer, it's about cringing during the worst performance. It's about Paula Abdul's jewelry and clothing line. It's about Simon Cowell making even Alex feel uncomfortable by announcing to an attractive yet uninspiring crooner that he would like to come back in another life as her microphone.

Here's Fox's winning formula: Monday the gents sing, then Tuesday is the ladies' chance to shine, finally on Wednesday they find the most humiliating way to eliminate four young hopefuls throughout the hour. An hour. An hour of tears and embarrassment. The elimination information used to be tagged on to the end of whatever show was on Fox at 9pm the night following everyone singing their guts out. But now it's an hour. It's a circus of degradation with Ryan Seacrest as the ringmaster. Last week he was the ultimate puppet master as he had all the contestants stand up, then sit down, then get in line single file, then sit down again... all the while giving them the illusion they weren't getting the boot. Then just as some sucker started to crack a smile of relief, Ryan would pounce on that sucker and tell him his career was done.

Once super-glamorous Ryan tells someone they're eliminated he follows up by getting all up in their face and asking them how they feel. Obviously, it doesn't feel good, so we get to hear (through choked back tears) about how shocking and sad the news is. Then the worst part comes, he asks the derelict to sing the song that got their ass voted off. "Just one more time, for your fans." Never have I seen such sad performances. There's nothing like watching some bitter young woman try to squeeze out the lyrics "So twiddley dee, twiddley dum / Look out baby 'cause here I come" through her misery. Now that's good watchin'.

Here are five songs which I would really love to hear on the Idol, but probably never will:
Bad Girls - Donna Summer
Maneater - Hall and Oats
Get Out of My Dreams (and Into My Car) - Billy Ocean
Hell is for Children - Pat Benetar
Love in an Elevator - Aerosmith

the ENT, my ENG, etc.

On Thursday morning I found out from my ENT that my ENG was normal, which means... I actually don't know what it means. I was too busy weighing out the options of insanity being offered to me instead of asking all the appropriate questions.
Since my balance is getting a little bit better, the tinnitus is gone and my hearing seems to have improved I was hoping I would get some sort of answers regarding what's been keeping me dizzy for the past 4 months. Instead I was told that I was getting a diagnosis of vestibular neuronitis, which the ENT then called a "wastebasket diagnosis," meaning I have something wrong with me that doesn't fit into any other category. Then he offered me a referral for a consult to chemically destroy one side of my vestibular system.

That's right, he suggested destroying half of my vestibular system, with chemicals.

Perhaps the doctor noticed the look of panic on my face which is what led him to suggest his next option, which for some reason seemed perfectly normal to him; he would cut a hole in my ear drum, put a tube and sponge all up in there and then drip steroids right onto the nerve every other week.

That's right, he said he wanted to cut me and put steroids into my head.
I started getting a sneaking suspicion that he was trying to scare the dizzy right out of me.

I finally got my wits back and asked for a referral for some vestibular rehabilitation therapy and another hearing test. These things I can handle. So now I just wait for the okay from my insurance to go into rehab.

I just like saying I have to go to rehab.

happy birthday, Dawn!

I know we haven't talked in ages, but that doesn't mean I don't think about you all the time. I wish we still worked together, because you made it possible for me to do things like this in the office:

happy valentine's day

I'm thinking about you...

FYI

At my last job there was this awesome guy on the facilities staff named Johnny and he loved to chat. He'd chat you up in the courtyard, at your desk or even when you were leaving for the day. Johnny especially loved to chat when Alex would come by to pick me up or have lunch with me. One conversation went a little something like this:

Johnny: In the summer tigers used to walk through my village. So we would kill the tiger and eat it. We would all eat the tiger.
Alex: Really!? What does a tiger taste like?
Johnny: You know. Like tiger.
Alex: Actually, I don't know. What does it taste like?
Johnny: Yeah. Like tiger.
Alex: Yeah, I don't know.
Johnny: You know. Like cat.

But the conversation that I think of most was one that took place when Alex was sitting at my desk waiting for me to finish my day. Johnny walked into the office and stood next to a table which was always a mess with stacks of papers. On one of the stacks was a sticky note that said FYI. Johnny scanned the papers and then pointed to the sticky note and started to chuckle and nod in disbelief.

Johnny: FYI. You know what that stands for?
Alex: ummm... for your information?
Johnny: No, they think we're stupid. You know what FYI means?
Alex: For your information?
Johnny (tearing off the sticky note and furiously stabbing it with his index finger): No, it means Fuck You Idiot!
(maniacal laughter)

I just can't stop writing about my ear!

Last Friday I had an ENG, which is short for electronystagmography, which is a long word for things that make you want to puke. Julianne was nice enough to accompany me on my journey to nausea, which I am most grateful for, because I really didn't want to do it alone.

When my ENT gave his approval for this test a few weeks ago, he said that I would have to go to Stanford to have it done. But it turns out his office in Oakland had just got some brand spankin new equipment for ENGs and I got to be one of the guinea pigs. This was good for me because I didn't have to go somewhere unfamiliar, but bad because the woman being trained and administering the test was one nervous newbie who was easily flustered. Her name was Shirlee, and I'm not sure if that's really how you spell her name, but the permed hair and fan shaped cloisonne earrings lead me to believe I'm right. Shirlee was being trained to use this equipment by a man whose name I don't remember. I do remember that he looked like Tony Robbins though, so that's what I'm going to call him from now on, and he's going to like it.

To take these tests I was suited up with some spectacular goggles. The right eye of the goggles was left open, so I could still see around the room and the left eye was always covered, that was the camera-hog eye, the one on the TV. Of course, the first thing I did once I had the goggles on was look at my eye on the TV monitor, which was pretty kick ass. You haven't really seen your eye until you've seen it six inches tall, looking right back at you. I had to overlook the fact that it made my mascara look totally clumpy. I may be dizzy, but a girl still has to look good.

For the first part of the test I sat in front of a laptop where I watched red and green triangles go back and forth, then watched them jump from left to right. Next came the tongue depressor test. There were no real tongue depressors involved in this, but on the screen hundreds of lines, which looked like tongue depressors, would scroll by vertically and I was asked to count the ones in the center. I felt like I was doing it wrong, but Tony Robbins assured me I was doing a great job. After that I was told to look at a light which was on the top of the computer and turn my head right to left (as if I was saying no) along with the beeps. For some reason this confused me, because I wasn't sure if it was BEEP, right, left or BEEP right, BEEP left. Shirlee asked if I understood and for some reason I said sure, but when the test began I admitted my confusion and was then startled by Tony Robbins, who grabbed my head from behind with both hands and manually made my head turn to the beeps. Uncomfortable, yet hilarious. Once that was done I had the pleasure of doing the same exercise, but nodding as if to say yes. This time I did it all on my own, like a big girl, but I couldn't keep up with the beeps, which got faster and faster as time passed. There were a few things holding me back from the fastest nod possible; I thought the goggles were going to fling off my head and I felt uncontrollable laughter coming on. The last test in this section was the most fun, I got to spin from side to side while sitting and looking at the light. Wheeeeee. Through all of these tests Shirlee never really got the hang of when she was supposed to click on pause or next to record my eye movements. I don't think she was supposed to click either one of those. It was an uphill battle for Tony Robbins.

After the first round of tests was complete I was moved to a chair much like one for a patient at the dentist's office. For the remainder of the tests my right eye was also covered. Total darkness + listening to Shirlee ask the same questions over and over + knowing Julianne was thinking the same thing I was and looking at me and my ridiculous goggles = hard to not laugh out loud. I can't say I remember all the tests in the second round because they all seemed the same, I was supposed to look straight ahead while I was being tipped backwards, twisted to the side, sat back up, etc... it's all a blur.

Then came the caloric test. This was the one I feared. This test involves filling the ear canal with cold air and then warm air to track nystagmus, and amazingly enough the eye movement can tell if there is nerve or brain damage. I was reclined back and Shirlee put a tube in my right ear for about a minute, filling it with the cold air. I started thinking "hey this isn't so bad after all, I'm just a little more dizzy than before" but then 20 seconds passed after the tube was removed and I was in vertigo agony. I felt like I drank everything behind the bar at a Knights of Columbus meeting. This would be the time when Tony Robbins asked me if I wanted a bucket, to which I replied "not yet." Julianne told me her shoes were vinyl, so it would be okay if hurled. And then, for some reason, Shirlee stopped recording my eye movement, and when Tony Robbins asked her what she was doing I could sense the frustration in his tone. Being so dizzy and in the dark I wasn't able to voice my concern about the accuracy of the test now that Shirlee had clicked incorrectly. But luckily there was Julianne, the master of tactfulness, who was able to ask the question that was on my mind. And not only was she direct about it, but she asked the qustion in the most polite format I've ever heard. I'm not sure if Tony Robbins was throwing us a bone or not, but he told Julianne that everything should be fine. At this point I was still reeling and I just wanted out, but I figured if I hadn't puked yet I was good to go for the rest of the test. Cold air in the left ear was next, and I don't know if the air never got down there or if I have such severe nerve damage that I didn't react at all, but I felt nothing and was pretty thrilled to leave the land of vertigo... until Tony Robbins put the warm air in each ear. damn. It's amazing how air in the ear can really fuck you up. I feel like I should open up some sort of air bar and tell everyone to skip the middle man and get all crunk with air. Go from sober to sick in 80 seconds. I think I'm on to something.

Now I wait for two weeks to find out what the tests reveal. Until then I've decided to give up on finding a way to cure my vertigo, but instead I'm looking for a way to inflict it on others... if they're willing, of course.

insightful SPAM

Today I got some SPAM from Christian Mortgage people and the Christian Debt Helpers informing me I could eliminate my debt the Christian way. They quote Matthew 6:12, Forgive Us of Our Debts. delete, delete.

But then I saw a nice one from order_followup@americangirl.com. The title was denied! Of course I didn't open the zip file, provocatively named my date, but right before the attachment it says

you are a bad writer

Who are these American Girls? and when did they meet my 7th grade English teacher?

my immune system, the ignorant over-achiever

Once upon a time I graduated from my MFA program, had my mom staying in my apartment, had a wedding dress made, drove to Las Vegas with Alex (and my mom), got married, drove back from Las Vegas with Alex (and my mom), went on a honeymoon (without my mom) and got the job offer of my dreams all within a three week span. As you can imagine, all of this was quite stressful, so in return for this generous helping of stress my body gave me the gift of hives. Chronic hives. 8 straight weeks of hives. My immune system was attacking an imaginary virus, which it apparently thought was all over my entire body. For two months I lived in itchy misery, sometimes my eyelids would swell up so much that I couldn't see. Other days I couldn't tie my shoes because my feet were abnormally large with hives. Eventually this came to an end, with the help of time and a little acupuncture. But my immune system warned me then, it would do anything for me, even if it meant it had to hurt me in the process of trying to protect me.

It seems, after consulting with my ENT for the third time, that almost 4 months ago my immune system took an offer it couldn't refuse. It took a hit out on virus in my right ear. Not only did my over enthusiastic antibodies kill the virus, they destroyed some nerves in my ear as well. Nerves which are irreplaceable and I was quite fond of; the ones for balancing and hearing. Most likely my body will compensate for the loss over time. How much time is the big question.

I think that today might be an appropriate time to have a little chat with my immune system and outline what kind of destruction is appropriate. I'll probably open with "Let's work smarter, not harder."

right said, fred

Over the past few days these very excellent exchanges took place:

while working at the Iron Puzzler at Endgame -
me: Greg, your pants are too big
Greg: I know.
dude(to Greg): Excuse me, where's the restroom?
Greg: Straight down these pants. STAIRS, stairs.

while in a basic stringing class at Baubles and Beads -
me: Why can't I get this thing over my needle? I think my fingers are slippery.
Julianne: I told you to stop eating so much bacon.

while watching Alex take an allergy pill -
me: Dude, you're addicted.
Alex: You're a dick head!

temazepam induced memories

Trying to remember a time when I wasn't dizzy has become my favorite hobby. It's probably not healthy, but it's what I do. I came up with these two precious childhood moments last night.

When I was about 7 years old, my dad came in from work with a new phone for the apartment. I always thought this phone came from his place of employment, but chances are it was someone's old phone, someone who realized the joy of touch tone phoning 10 years before my parents. It was a kick-ass black rotary phone with a clear plastic dial. This was a big improvement over the other black rotary phone we had, because the dial on that one was metal, and when I would play with the phone (or on the 4 occasions I actually had to dial a number) I remember the weight and sharpness of it digging into my frail fingers, any number with a 9 or a 0 was out of the question. Before my dad set up the new phone in the hallway, my sister and I had a swell time using it like a toy; living the exciting life of a secretary, the hectic day of an operator, and ultimate dream ... taking personal calls. At one point I decided I would do an impression and picked up the phone pretending to be my dad. I think my dad worked for the government at the time, and when he answered the phone there he would say his name, followed by the name of the department he worked for. I recall him saying "interstate". Now that I think of it, he most likely did not work in the middle of a giant highway, but it sounded like interstate to me. With both my parents proudly watching, I picked up the receiver with great enthusiasm and in my best man voice I said my dad's name followed by the word "intercourse." Awkward silence was followed by my mom asking "You do know what intercourse is, right?" And even though I wasn't completely sure, I was positive it was not a phone appropriate word. I looked my mom square in the eyes and blurted out "YES!" I then swiftly escaped to my bedroom, opened a Richard Scary book to the middle as if I had been reading it for hours, and tried pretend the whole thing never happened.


One weekday afternoon (after we had the new phone) my sister and I were doing homework, or rather, my sister was doing homework, and I was taunting her. Although there would be the occasional brawl following the taunting, afternoons like this were usually very quiet, because my mother worked from 11 p.m. - 7 a.m. and slept in the afternoon. On this particular afternoon there was a knock on the door. This was odd for a few reasons, the main reason was that we lived in a three story apartment building and you couldn't get to our apartment on the second floor without having been let in through the main door on the first floor. The other reason was that we had no guests in the afternoon, or any other time. This knock perplexed and intrigued me, so I stopped my taunting and went to the door. Although I had been told to never open the door for a stranger I deduced that no stranger could get to the second floor, clearly this had to be a neighbor, and neighbors aren't strangers! Through the glass and lacy curtain I saw a silhouette which looked very harmless, so I unlocked the deadbolt and turned the knob. An old man towered over me, I noticed that his coat was dirty and his hat was plaid. "I'm your grandfather!" he slurred as he stumbled over the threshold. This man was not my grandfather, or a neighbor. At this point my sister was at the door with me and we looked at each other with fear and sadness. What had I done? There we were, two small girls in awe of a tall, drunk imposter. My sister tried with all her might to push the man back out into the hallway as he continued to assure her that he was our grandfather, she was actually just holding him up. I, on the other hand, walked into my parent's room where I calmly sat beside my mother, shook her awake and let her know a guest had arrived for her. Then I went into my room, opened an Encylopedia Brown book to the middle as if I had been reading it for hours and tried to pretend the whole thing never happened. It turned out the old man was the grandfather of the people upstairs, I was in a lot of trouble and I still can't believe I deserted my sister.

a shower by candlelight

sounds relaxing and perhaps enjoyable. But it actually sucks when your power goes out at 7:00am and all you can find are 3 tea lights and a candle that smells like a giant tomato. Even all together this sad votive grouping could not illuminate my cavernous, windowless bathroom.

favorite lyrics of the day (vol. 4)

from That's What I Love About Sunday, Craig Morgan

I stroll to the end of the drive,
Pick up the Sunday Times, grab my coffee cup.
It looks like Sally an' Ron, finally tied the knot,
Well, it's about time.
It's 35 cents off a ground round,
Baby. cut that coupon out!

Let it be known that the CD player in my car is broken and I was forced to listen to the radio. In my pursuit of a tune to rock out to I came upon this gem.

it's not a tumor*

But I am now the owner of some pretty sweet pictures of my brain.

Here's the rundown of what's been going on with my ailing ear:

Before Thanksgiving I saw my ENT twice. I thought he was cool the first time I met him, but after our second meeting I came to the conclusion that he's kind of a meanie and doesn't seem to like to deal with the mysterious. He was very impatient while I was trying to describe what kind of dizziness I was experiencing and told me that he didn't understand what I was talking about. At the end of our allotted 10 minutes together he was quick to give me all sorts of medications, tell me "it will go away soon" and send me on my way. Since then I've called his assistant 9 times to only have received one return call, in which she told me to come in the next day. When I arrived on that next day, both the assistant and the doctor were in surgery, unable to see me. I had an auditory brainstem response test on December 15, and I'm still waiting to hear or see the results. I called his assistant twice regarding the outcome of the test, so I could find out if any of my nerves are damaged, but apparently she must keep deleting me off her to do list. The soonest appointment I could get with the ENT is on January 25. ahhh, health care.

In the mean time, I switched my primary care physician and have seen a nurse practitioner at the new practice who I really like. She not only dried tears from my soggy eyes, but also referred me to a neurologist, who I saw last week.

I really dig this neurologist. After introducing me to his 2 pound dog, which was in his office, he assured me that we would figure out what is wrong with me. He spent 30 minutes listening to my history and symptoms. He was shocked to hear that I hadn't been sent in for an MRI yet, and said he wasn't sure what was causing the dizziness, hearing loss or tinnitus, but those things are all signs of an acoustic neuroma, and wanted to rule that possibility out as soon as possible with an MRI. Then he took me into another room where he did a series of tests for balance and hearing. At the end of all this he told me that he noticed I was breathing funny, lots of deep breaths and sighs. He told me I was overbreathing, which is a sign of anxiety. At this point I was thinking "yeah, because I'm in a neurologist's office and you just told me I might have a tumor." He then demonstrated how to hyperventilate and asked me to do it. While taking in way too much air for 30 seconds he asked me to take note of how my dizziness felt before, during and after. I thought nothing could feel more humiliating than a command performance of hyperventilating and feeling like I was going to pass out in front of a stranger (even though he was a doctor), but then he gave me my prescription. Written on a piece of paper were these three things: more aerobic exercise, discontinue overbreathing, try my paper bag theory. Then he gave me a paper bag to breathe into. He instructed me to keep it on hand and breathe into it when necessary, even though it seemed so cliche. He noted that the bag won't help with the hearing loss or the tinnitus, but it would probably help a lot with the dizziness. So off I went to schedule my MRI and breathe into my bag. (I have to admit, I've tried the paper bag a few times, it hasn't done a thing for me.)

I had my MRI this past Sunday and I decided to take an anti-vertigo drug before I went in. Not because I had vertigo, but I was counting on it to calm me down, or knock me out, either one was fine. I figured 25 minutes in an extremely loud and tiny tube which would reveal if I had a tumor might make me a little antsy, or I could overbreathe, and I was pretty sure they wouldn't let me paper bag it in there. It actually wasn't so bad, I didn't freak out when the buzzing and clicking was going on, but the silence was what got my imagination going. I pictured earthquakes, power outages or technicians going out for a smoke and me stuck in a tube there was no way of getting out of. I think the key was to realize how ridiculous these imaginary events were as well as never opening my eyes to see how cramped I really was in that tube. Once I was done I waited with Alex in the lobby for 5 minutes and then some dude handed me a bunch of pictures of my brain. We then promptly drove to Max and Julianne's for coffee, panettone and a viewing of my brain photos. After that we went home and I slept for the rest of the day, while visions of tumors danced in my head.

I found out today that the results of the MRI are normal. I'm glad I don't have a tumor, but part of me was hoping that this would have been the end of ear mystery and I would have some answers. So now I wait for January 25 and another meeting with Dr. Li to try to figure this whole thing out. Until then I'll just keep doing my aerobic exercise with my paper bag handy...


*for this title to have it's full effect, think back to a time before Schwartzenneger presented awesome budgets to all the girlie men of California, but was just a mere Kindergarten Cop

out of commission

My inner ear (or something in my head) is still broken and making everything I try to do all sorts of difficult. So instead of writing about how frustrating everything is, I will lamely put links to some of my favorite old entries... enjoy, won't you?

I tried to buy pants

then I tried to buy a bathing suit

top 40 music makes me feel uncool

I was never meant to be a bridesmaid

why I quit my last job

toys I'll never buy (but my mother will)