I Am Too Tough to Die
What's to hold it together when you stumble and you fall?
Last night, I danced until I developed a blister on the bottom of my right foot. Today it’s peeling, the dead skin a shell for the new pink flesh underneath, skin that will someday get rubbed by another pair of new shoes, while doing more dancing, only to be shucked off for the next layer.
Our bodies rejuvenate, even when we abuse them.
Last time I posted about not being sure if I would be healthy enough in six weeks to make an absolutely ridiculous trip to the eastern seaboard to chase the Afghan Whigs for a few days in Philadelphia, Brooklyn, and Boston. The compressed nerves stretching from my lumbar were still making it all but impossible to stand for any length of time. What’s changed?
My awesome doctor moved out of state in mid-May. Before she left I asked for referrals for everything that was wrong with me. Physical therapy had helped my back, but it was still bad. I didn’t have any answers about the ear infections I’ve developed after traveling for the past year and a half, and no answers about the terrifying allergic reaction I had during one of the infections last year. Plus, in recent months I’ve had attacks of vertigo and nausea hit me out of nowhere. One of my grandmothers died from a brain tumor, and her first symptom was balance-related, so I got concerned, fast.
Doctors have filled the first half of June, and answers abound. First up, the back: with the work of a nurse practitioner at an interventional pain clinic, I now know that physical therapy helped problems I had in my sacroiliac joints since giving birth 20 years ago, but I also have a couple of mild bulges in a couple of lumbar discs. All this pain and disability, just from discs brushing against nerves. Three weeks ago I was fitted for a back brace, and last Friday I got a cortisone shot in my spine. And it’s working wonders.
My doctor sent me specifically to an ENT/allergist combo. She had a theory that the little hairs in the deepest part of my ear might be causing my vertigo. After answering a bunch of questions about balance, dizziness, ear health, headaches, and allergies, I was diagnosed with vestibular migraines. Having always suffered from several debilitating headaches a year, I suspected I might have one of the forms of migraine disease. This one’s unusual in that the headache’s secondary. Vertigo is the primary symptom. The trigger? Stress and anxiety. Hormones contribute, and perimenopause probably boosted me into the vertifo club. Inflammation doesn‘t help. He ordered allergy tests.
I am allergic to 17 varieties of grass, trees, and mold present in the air where I live. Next week I’ll start allergy shots three times a week.
It’s a lot to take in at once, and it would probably feel devastating if any of these things were surprises and not answers to long-term problems. Just the allergies alone … I’ve asked every doctor I’ve had since I was in my 20s for allergy testing with no success. Last weekend I learned that my mom was asking for them when I was a kid and was also dismissed.
When I had CJ 20 years ago and kept running into one roadblock after another I often wondered exactly how much I had to do to prove I wanted to be a mother. This feels similar, and it’s infuriating. How hard and long do I have to fight to prove that there’s something wrong? Simple problems that have a life-altering impact but can be changed with some pretty basic treatments.
Do I even know what it feels like to feel good?
I keep asking myself that several times a day. What does feeling good really feel like? I don’t know. I have no point of reference.
I do know that I'm feeling better. My back doesn’t hurt nearly as much. When I feel the beginnings of a vertigo spell or headache, I know it’s time to take a break. Until I can start the allergy shots, I’m hitting the Sudafed and Claratin like I need it to survive.
Last night I walked up a steep flight of stairs without breathing hard from back/butt/leg pain and congestion. I didn’t know that was possible.
And that was after I had a huge day. One that had me so anxious the night before that I could barely sleep. I flew to Philadelphia on an early-morning flight with plans to see my beloved Afghan Whigs kick off their summer tour, starting with sound check.
And goddamnit, I made it.
And I know for certain, it felt good. Last night felt good. Granted, a little awkward when I told Greg I wasn’t going to ask for a kiss as a mutual friend of ours suggested. I’m pretty sure there isn’t an injection or brace to cure my anxious awkward stupidity I bleed when I meet musicians I adore. Such is life.
For the show, I somehow got a third-row center ticket. I met people and made friends. Some from the band’s online community. Others were pure happenstance and kismet. It’s a lot like my Wilco friends.
And I danced. Not like at the Wilco show after my birthday, where I was able to dance for a song, then sit. Then dance a little more. This time, I was up for a good two-thirds for their set, not noticing the rub of the blister growing on my foot. I don’t think I would have cared even if I had felt it. Why? Because I felt good.
Having learned my lesson from the last time I stayed up 19 hours while traveling, I called it an early night. The vertigo started about halfway through the show. Knowing I wasn’t going to pass out, and that it’s just how my brain reacts to exhaustion, made it easy to just hold on to the back of the chair in front of me and keep doing what I wanted to do without being scared of what might happen. But I still erred on the side of good sense and didn’t stick around for the second band. I can do that tomorrow night in Brooklyn or Friday in Boston.
I had today off. Instead of forcing myself out to do Philly Stuff in the heat dome, or feeling guilty for staying in, I’ve luxuriated in a day off. My Airbnb has a sumptuous velvet chaise lounge, along with the softest kingsize bed. I slept until well past noon, and have spent the rest of the day just being here. I made some arrangements for the next two legs of the trip to help keep things on track. Tomorrow morning I’m taking the train to New York, then taking it to Boston the next day. I have more friends to see, another sound check, another concert, another chance to ask Mr. Dulli something stupid. I’m leaning toward asking about his cat and feeling good about being that dork.
