The privilege of paying attention to my body

From vertigo to bursitis, getting older is teaching me a lot of lessons about what "self-care" really means.

The first time I experienced vertigo, I had just turned 40 and was on a camping trip in northern Michigan. I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and when I rolled over to unzip my sleeping bag, the tent seemed to roll with me…and kept rolling.

I had no idea what was going on as I stumbled out of the tent and tried to regain my balance. To illustrate my level of disorientation, for one irrational moment I wondered if altitude sickness was making me dizzy.

Altitude sickness. In Michigan.

When I got home I saw my doctor, who informed me that I had been suffering from a “raging” ear infection that had since cleared up and had probably caused the vertigo. I was surprised, thinking I’d experienced no symptoms beyond a persistent sore throat, which I’d chalked up to allergies.

Looking back, however, I see things a little differently. That was the same year I got divorced, and I’d been running myself ragged, keeping distracted to avoid the pain. My financial stress was at an all-time high. I didn’t feel “fine” - I just fooled myself.

Now I experience vertigo a couple of times a year, but since that first time, the cases have been mild and brief. Still, it’s always inconvenient when it shows up. Saturday night, Eric and I threw a party to celebrate our wedding (we got married in May.) Friends generously donated their winery as a venue, and we organized pretty much everything else ourselves: the invitations and RSVP list, the food, the entertainment, the non-wine beverage options.

Though the party was low-key (BBQ and karaoke!) and the guest list was on the smaller side - about 60 people in attendance - it was still, well, a lot, especially combined with all the other things I’ve had going on this month.

So perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised when I woke up Saturday morning with a touch of dizziness.

While vertigo can have many causes, mine in particular - called benign paraoxysmal positional vertigo - happens when crystals inside the ear canal that typically help your brain and body regulate to your position become dislodged. My vertigo mostly affects me while I’m lying down and turn my head quickly in one direction or the other, and I’m probably prone to it due to damage sustained to my ear canal during that extended and unnoticed infection six years ago.

And though my cases usually seem to strike rather randomly, vertigo can be exacerbated by alcohol and stress - both of which had been in higher-than-usual and probably higher-than-advisable supply in the previous few days.

After that initial bout of dizziness Saturday morning, I felt fine all day and all evening - and our wedding celebration was a lovely event, which I’ll tell you more about soon. -But the moment I lay down that night, it felt like I was rolling off the side of a cliff.

Gradually getting myself into a seated position Sunday morning took around a half-hour, as I slowly eased myself up and deep-breathed through the resulting spinning.

Sunday, I hydrated and rested and nasal-sprayed, and before bed I carefully placed pillows so that I could prop myself more comfortably. But even though I’d felt fine all day and the stress of the party had passed, the room started spinning the moment I lay down.

I managed to stay in one position most of the night, but every few hours, when I’d feel I simply had to adjust, or roll, or turn my head, the room seemed to pitch even harder than it had the night before as those pesky crystals in my ear-holes shifted around.

Why am I telling you all the details of the gory workings of my vestibular labyrinth? Well, for a few reasons.

First, there have been any number of things happening to my body over the past couple of years that give me pause, and it’s undeniable that those…quirks, let’s call them…are happening more and more frequently, and taking longer and longer to pass (assuming they pass at all.)

There’s the superficial stuff, of course, like weight gain and shifting body proportions, plus a general slackening of my skin. But new aches and pains have also started to pile on. In May I whacked my foot on the side of a chair, and now it swells up every time I’m on my feet more than an hour or two. Those same feet, by the way, have been aching a lot lately, causing me to think a lot more carefully about the shoes I wear. My hip flexors get really sore if I’m sedentary for a day or two, and a few months ago I pulled something in my neck while backing out of the driveway.

Every time I turn around it seems there is some new way my body is protesting or prolapsing or simply prohibiting me from an activity I’ve taken for granted.

Obviously, I’ve had injuries and illnesses my entire life, but the flavor has changed: once upon a time, a physical setback was something I experienced for a finite amount of time, that then healed completely, never to be heard from again. Now, at 46, I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a very different sort of relationship with illness and injury. Every new tweak or twinge feels like a harbinger of more to come.

Last year, I experienced intense pain in my knee when doing the gentlest yoga moves - cat/cow and other simple postures that are typically modifications of more challenging asanas. I went to the doctor, who told me the pain was due to bursitis. Bursitis! Was there ever a more elderly-sounding ailment? Worse, he told me that it would likely come back again and again. At the same time, I am being monitored for possible glaucoma, which could eventually put an end to inverted postures like downward dog and headstand. When I’ve got vertigo I can’t lie down without dizziness, and sore feet make it uncomfortable to stand for long. What’s left?

But the truth is, as inconvenient and demoralizing as they can be when I’m in the thick of them, all of the ailments I described - for now, at least - come and go, and I - again, so far - have not yet experienced a day in which I can neither stand nor kneel nor lie down nor invert. Hopefully that sort of day is still a long ways off.

By last night, my vertigo had all but cleared up, and I slept comfortably in a bed that conveniently stayed in one place. Today I’ll head out and enjoy a long walk on this beautiful fall day, and as long as I wear supportive sneakers my feet will be just fine. My knee hasn’t hurt in months, and my neck mobility is just fine…right now.

It’s all a moving target at the moment, and I’m realizing there’s a delicate balance between acknowledging and accepting the changes that are happening to my body, and will continue to happen as I age - and appreciating what it can still do, while leaning in to ways I can make it stronger and healthier so it can do even more.

I’m not sliding downhill, it seems; I’m just recalibrating my route.

And I’m also going to challenge myself on a couple of statements I made a few paragraphs back, in which I insisted, the day after my wedding celebration, that I’d “felt fine all day” and that “the stress had passed.” Because, did I, really? And had it, really?

One of the challenges of the period of life I’m in now is coming to terms with all the ways I’ve suppressed my feelings over the years - from failing to recognize stress when it’s happening to me, to blithely ignoring physical symptoms until they have to scream to get my attention. How many days have I powered through, believing I “felt fine” when my body and brain and spirit were screaming for relief? How many feelings of pain or anxiety or something-is-not-quite-right-ness have I suppressed?

That glibness may seem like a privilege only afforded to the young, but maybe that’s backwards. Maybe the privilege actually lies in recognizing the truth of what’s happening - in our cells and in our souls - and then learning to care for ourselves without apology.

Perhaps that’s what my body is reminding me of now: one twinge, bed-spin, and awful-sounding diagnosis at a time.