The Chronic Malcontent waits for summer

Two weeks after spending an afternoon in the ER, the maternal parental unit came out of quarantine and joined her fellow inmates in the dining room for the first time in three months. Earlier in the day, the nurse called me to tell me they were changing Mom's care plan to allow her to take her meals with other people. Mom hasn't been eating well in her room. She'd just as soon sleep as eat. Consequently she has been losing weight. 

I wasn't there to see her triumphant entrance to the dining room. I could have peered in the window but I didn't want to scare anyone. I assume all social distancing protocols were followed. When I visited Mom at her window after dinner, parental baby monitor to my ear, she said it was nice to go to the dining room but she still couldn't talk to anyone. I can only imagine what any conversation might have sounded like. Even on a good day, she doesn't always make sense. Well, who does, really. Nobody is having good days, these days.

Speaking of sense, when it comes to vertigo and ear infection, nothing makes any. I can't figure it out. I thought if I treated the vertigo, the ear rustling would cease. I studied some videos of the ear canals to see where my renegade ocotonia were vacationing. Wow, I know we studied the ear in elementary school but I'd forgotten how complex a structure it is. Amazing. And so tiny. It feels as big as the ocean when waves of vertigo sweep through my head. Who knew such a tiny contraption could reduce me to head-banging.

Three semicircular canals. Remember those? Horizontal, posterior, and anterior. Somewhere in there, maybe in more than one canal, are some wayward ear crystals dancing on nerve endings they were never supposed to see. I'm trying to think of them fondly as little dudes gone astray, enjoying a walking tour without proper permits. I'm not feeling much benevolence. It's very hard not to want to rip them out of my head like the lousy gravel that they are.

YouTube is great. People, especially chiropractors, naturopaths, and physical therapists, are so helpful, if you can endure the interminable ads. I found conflicting remedies but in desperation, I tried them all. The Deephead, the Epley, of course, my traitorous maneuver that never works, and a new one, the Barbecue Roll. I now know where my mastoid bones are, and I know what happens if you use a vibrator on them (temporary clanging bells). 

This is nuts. 

I'm trying to treat the vertigo on the theory that the ear hissing will subside, because the hissing seems to be linked to the vertigo. The hissing is rhythmic but not regular. It's as if someone is tapping you on the shoulder every five to thirty seconds, saying "Hey." More like, "He-e-e-e-e-e-e-y-y-y." For three to five seconds, a really long h-e-e-e-y. Like, hey, don't forget me, here I am, hey.

I'm a doctor's worst nightmare: the self-diagnosing patient. What did we do before WebMD? I think my Eustachian Tube needs a major overhaul. I'm ready to try the Modified Muncie, so you know how far gone I am. That's where you poke your tonsils with a finger to massage the malfunctioning Eustachian Tube opening. I'm also treating the ear infection with Valsalvas, antihistamines, nasal sprays, hot packs, ginger tea (by mouth), nasal rinses (with distilled water so I don't get amoebas in my brain), and ear lavages with alcohol and white vinegar. 

The only time I get relief is when my head is immersed in a hot tub of bathwater. These conditions are difficult to replicate sitting in front of my computer doing Zoom calls. I'm operating under the assumption that heat opens the Eustachian Tube and stops the ear rattling. Therefore, I have a new remedy in the works. It's only in the design stage so don't get too excited. It's called the Fire Turban. I don't have much hair anyway, so if something gets singed, probably my usual black hat will cover it.

I'm holding out for summer, my solution to all my problems. I've always believed summer will cure what ails me, which is why I moved to Los Angeles when I was twenty. You can imagine the rest. Usually summer starts on July 5 in Portland, but this year, summer is late, and according to the forecaster, it doesn't seem to be wafting over the horizon any time soon. Man, I need some high pressure. It's my last resort. If I don't get some relief when summer finally arrives, then I'll give up. I crawl to my doctor (virtually of course, via a telehealth appointment I'm sure will cost me $100) and I'll admit defeat. 

Next weekend is the first class of my five-week series on business tips for artists. Luckily it's on Zoom so I can keep my feet warm with my heated rice-filled foot warmers. I'm a little anxious that I will be distracted by waves of dizziness and relentless hissing in my ear. It will be hard to explain to the class if I suddenly break down weeping. Well, we either survive or we don't. Meanwhile, we are intrepid: We carry on.

What to do about vertigo and ear crackling

If you clicked on this link in the desperate hope of finding a solution to the ear crackling torture that is keeping you awake at night, you've come to the right place. If you didn't, skip the next few paragraphs. Let me just get this out of the way for all you folks who are on the verge of shoving a pencil in your ears to get some peace and quiet. 

Here's what I discovered today after a week of hell. First, I assume you have vertigo. As you know, vertigo is the result of ear crystals shaking loose and wandering into parts of your ear canal where they don't belong. The antics of those wayward crystals will really make you appreciate that there is fluid in your ears. You will feel actual waves rolling through your head. If you happen to have vertigo and then are unfortunate enough to get an ear infection, which happens to me sometimes in spring allergy season, that infection can cause ear crackling. Guess what I discovered today: The ear crackling responds to the waves of fluid you feel moving in your head when you have vertigo. Treat the vertigo, and you treat the ear crackling. There. Go do the Epley Maneuver on your head and feel better. You are welcome.

Here's my backstory, thanks for asking. Again, skip ahead if you've heard all this before. I've had garden variety vertigo for about six years, I believe from bumping my head on the door jamb of my mother's old green Toyota. Some time after I first got the vertigo, I started hearing a loud crackling noise in my right ear. I thought the noise was related to the vertigo but I couldn't find any information on it. Novice that I was to the off-balance experience, I freaked and went to an ENT, who couldn't hear the noise and clearly thought I was mental. He put me in the gravity chair, whirled me around, and sent me on my way with a recommendation to take antihistamines and stop whining. After a few months of misery, summer came, the ear infection cleared up, and the ear crackling finally went away. The vertigo has remained. We have a truce.

Say, is it okay to resume my self-obsession? I forgot to ask. I'm not qualified to write about anything but myself, and even that is iffy. If you are hoping for an essay on current events, sorry, I've resumed my normal position, that is, with my attention laser-focused on my own parched existence.

Back to my story. A week ago my right ear began to spit and hiss and soon was crackling merrily like a New Year's Eve noisemaker. Zzzz, zzzz, zzzz. I could get it to go faster by leaning my head forward or backward but the only way I could get it to stop completely was by immersing my head in a tub of hot bathwater, which I always do before bed. I mean, I immerse my whole body, not just my head, that is to say, I take a bath. It helps me sleep. So for a few blessed minutes, the ear crackling stops and I enjoy pure silence, except for the unnerving sound of my erratically beating heart (am I having a heart attack? what is my heart doing? If I'm having a heart attack, I'd rather not hear it, please). Each night, grateful for the quiet in my right ear, I have survived my fear of a heart attack. Inevitably, though, I have to get out of the tub. As soon as I lay down in bed, the crackling cranks up. With all that racket, it's almost impossible to sleep.

I have tried everything I can think of, like I said in my previous post, short of sacrificing a chicken. Here are the remedies I have tried in addition to the hot bath head immersion: sipping warm coffee, sipping warm tea, leaning to one side, leaning forward and backward, blowing my nose, popping my ears, leaning over a pan of boiling water with a towel over my head, jumping repeatedly in one place, taking an allergy pill, spraying two kinds of nasal spray in my right nostril, rinsing my nose with the neti pot, squirting an earwax removal remedy in my ear, wrapping a scarf around my head with a hot pack of microwaved rice strapped against my right ear, eating hot soup, eating hot oatmeal, pouring a mix of alcohol and white vinegar in my ear, putting a vibrator my head, and banging my head on a pillow.  

Today I did a little reflection. You know I'm an analytical kind of gal, or if you don't know that about me, now you do. I thought, this ear crackling can't be a random diss from the universe. What could account for the way the crackling crackles? Sometimes it's a fast sequence of pops, like the noisemaker. Other times it pops and hisses and spits with more space in between. I can get it to speed up and change tone by bending over, so it seems gravity affects the crackling. Why does it stop when my head is immersed in hot water? There is some kind of rhythm at work here, but it isn't affected by my heart rate or breathing. 

Finally it dawned on me. It's the vertigo. The waves of vertigo that I hardly pay attention to anymore are crashing through my head and setting off the crackling. Once that theory occurred to me, it wasn't hard to start paying attention to the vertigo, and sure enough, they were related. Like waves crashing on the shore, only in this case, crackling on the shore.

I immediately performed the Epley on my right ear and enjoyed fifteen minutes of silence. It was a miracle. Maybe there is a god. It didn't last, but my good mood did. Now I know this annoying noise is not random. It's not personal. It's not me winning the reverse lottery. It has a rational cause.

Vertigo for me is affected by gravity, movement, low air pressure, temperature, and stress. All those things are working on me in the spring. Gravity and movement, check. I can't avoid gravity, and I rarely stop moving, even at night. I'm up and down several times depending on how much tea I've had. So, yep, gravity and movement. Let's see. We had a tornado yesterday so air pressure is definitely a factor. Plus, our temperature is ten degrees below normal for this time of year. So that leaves stress. Am I stressed? I have discovered that I vibrate when I'm on the phone. Who knew. Now I know. Vibration sets off ear waves, which cranks up the crackling and makes me completely insane. So maybe I am mental. Huh.

On Wednesday if all goes according to plan, I'm taking the maternal parental unit to the dermatologist to get her face scraped and repaired. It's an all-day ordeal. I'm bringing everything. Literally.

I can't help remembering taking my senior cat to get his ears cleaned. Two days later he was dead. Mothers aren't cats, I know, but we love them both the same.

The chronic malcontent leans in... and out

As I shake the cat hair and fingernail clippings out of my keyboard, I reflect on the possibility that sometimes vertigo is just vertigo. It doesn't have to be metaphor for anything else in my life. Right? Like, oh, I don't know...balance, maybe?

Yesterday in a fit of frustration, I put on my jogging duds and staggered up the main staircase to the top of Mt. Tabor. From the summit, I trotted down and around the road, marveling at how level-headed I felt but on the lookout in case the ground suddenly turned into an asphalt trampoline. The sun was warm. The park was crowded with Sunday pedestrians, bicyclists, skateboarders, and dogs. I felt happy to be outside, trudging my trails at half-speed while joggers blazed by me on both sides. Balance, I thought smugly. Take that.

A half hour after I got home, wham, the floor suddenly became jello and I was back on the open seas in a tiny boat. Ho hum, said I. I am quite familiar with the nuances of fluid in my head now. I picture my brain awash in a viscous murky muddy sea, but I know that isn't what is really happening. Dinky little ear rocks are meandering around, sightseeing where they shouldn't be, shredding my balance and creating the loudest, most cringe-inducing silent roar I've ever not heard.

I'm becoming a quasi-expert on performing the Epley on myself. Not expert yet, because if I were an expert, I would have effected my own cure, right? No, I'm still practicing. I love YouTube—every ENT in the world has posted a demonstration of how to do the Epley. It's great. They all do it differently, too, which is somewhat perplexing for the novice, but hey, I'm all for creativity, as long as it doesn't break my neck. So far my neck is still intact, although it is somewhat stiff from trying to hold my head level all the time. (No, I don't think it is meningitis, but thanks for asking).

What is the Epley, you ask? It's a maneuver you can perform to make use of gravity to get the ear rocks to float back along the tube into the hole. Yeah, I know those aren't the technical terms, but hey, I'm not an ENT. You can look up the anatomical terms if you really care. Rocks, tube, hole, that's all you really need to know. It's a bit like miniature putt-putt golf, but inside your inner ear, where it's dark so you have to maneuver by feel. Like, how close to barfing am I right now, scale of 1 to 10?

Actually, I haven't barfed yet, I am proud to say. I know pride goeth, etc. etc., but I'm hopeful that as long as I have to put up with this vertigo crap, that it will remain the subjective type rather than morph into the objective type. Subjective vertigo is where I feel like I'm moving. Objective vertigo is where the world seems like it is spinning around me. Like how you feel when the Roundup starts twirling and you realize you've made a terrible mistake by eating your corndog before the ride rather than after.

The Epley is like a slow motion head waggle followed by a half-pirouette, performed horizontally. You can't picture it? Well, like I said, there are multiple methods to execute an Epley, but the one I am finding easiest goes like this: (while lying on your back with your head hanging over a pillow), BAD side head back and hold 60 seconds, then GOOD side head back and hold 60 seconds, then roll on the good shoulder, look down, and SPIT. Hold until the boat stops rocking or you are thoroughly disgusted.

Well, actually the spitting part is optional, I just added that because usually I've found that I'm not miraculously cured when I roll over and that makes me so angry I feel like I could spit. But at that point, my nose is all but buried in my lime green shag rug and I'm thinking as I'm counting the seconds in my head: ants, cat barf, dust mites. I feel obligated to refrain from adding my spit to the mix, mostly because who knows what will rush in if I open my mouth. Besides, according to my older brother, when I was about five, I proclaimed in my sleep, if you turn over and spit, you'll die, and even though that was 50-some years ago, I'm not willing to press my luck.

The thing about the Epley is this: It's not an instantaneous cure. It takes time for the ear rocks to settle in properly, and some of them still seem inclined to go gallivanting. So if you are going to try this at home, you may have to do it more than once. I also read that you should sleep sitting up for two nights afterward, but I haven't been able to accomplish that feat. Maybe that is why I'm still whining about vertigo. Well, hell. If it wasn't this, it would be something else. Like, ants on my desk? WTF!?