The Surgery, Part Three.

Sorry for the long delay...as in six month delay...but I wanted to complete the trilogy with The Surgery, Part Three - Med/Surg Floor and Discharge.

Someone from transport came up to my room in the ICU and I made my way to the wheelchair. I went from the third floor to the first floor. On my way, I learned that I would be sharing a room...not my first choice, but the neuro med/surg floor hasn't been updated and there's still shared rooms. I arrived in my new room still a little sleepy but excited that I was progressing enough to move out of ICU.

My neurosurgeon, Dr. Weinstein, came to visit. He said that he was pleased with the progress I was making, but still wasn't comfortable enough to send me home. However, he said that if I continued to progress the way that I was, I would likely be able to go home tomorrow. After he left, I took a nap. I knew my sister and dad would be coming, so I wanted to make sure that I was alert, especially for Sam.

After waking up, I attempted to order lunch. Daniel helped me to brush my hair and get cleaned up a little bit. I was looking forward to more visitors, though the quarters were a little cramped. Daniel and I decided that I should take my first "long" walk since the surgery, so away we went. I leaned on the railings along the hallway with Daniel holding my hand and supporting me every step of the way. We made it to the end of the hall, turned the corner, and went half way down the next hall. By that point, I was dizzy and tired, so we made a u-turn and headed back for my room. I crawled back into my bed and power napped until my family showed up.

I sat up in bed and, soon after, my mom, dad, and sister arrived in my room. Four people in my tiny half of the room was a bit squished, but it was extremely nice to have them there. We talked and laughed and I took a stab at eating a quesadilla for lunch. I still wasn't super hungry, but I knew I wanted to go home so I tried to eat. After I rested a little longer, Sam, Daniel, and I took another walk down the hallway. I wanted to be able to show Sam that I was doing well and I wanted to show everyone that I was ready to go home.

The checks weren't as frequent as they were in the ICU, which was nice, as fewer interruptions allowed for more rest. My family went home, followed shortly by Daniel, then I was tucked into bed for what would hopefully be the last night in the hospital.

I slept ok...my room was outrageously hot, so I turned on the fan that Daniel had set up in my room. A few hours later, I was woken up for a vitals check and to take my meds. I ordered breakfast and waited for rounds. The PA arrived in my room and asked me if I wanted to go home. After a resounding YES from me, he said, "Ok, boss. Go home." Discharge paperwork got started and I excitedly called Daniel and my family to let them know I was coming home (and that I needed someone to come get me). IVs were pulled out, hospital gowns got switched out for people clothes, and someone with a wheelchair arrived at my bedside.

As soon as the doors to the hospital opened, I inhaled as much fresh air as I could and got into the car. Meds were picked up and I sleepily observed on the drive home. As soon as I got home, my sweet dog came bounding out to the car, greeting me as if I had been away forever. She gingerly walked beside me as I was escorted into my home. MY home. I crashed on MY sofa surrounded by the best support team a girl could have.

In that moment, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. First, and most importantly, to a Heavenly Father with a perfect plan. Second, to my family for being patient and loving through the highs and the lows. Third, to my fiance, who didn't have to be a part of this journey but chose to be and loved me through it. Finally, to countless doctors and nurses who never gave up on the mystery patient and worked to help me find my way off the tilt-a-whirl.

Thank you.

The Surgery, Part Two.

Ok, folks, I'm back. So let's take a look at The Surgery, Part Two - Recovery and The Intensive Care Unit.

I have very little recollection of what happened in the recovery room. I remember opening my eyes once and being asked questions, but that's the majority of my memory there. Next thing I knew, I was being wheeled up to the third floor intensive care unit. I have a vague memory of seeing a group of doctors and hearing those transporting me laughing about interrupting rounds.

When I arrived in my room in the ICU, I very much wanted to try to gather myself. My bed was placed in the middle of the room, which was quite spacious. I anxiously awaited the arrival of my mom and Daniel, hoping that familiar faces would get me through and get me going.

Still rather drowsy, I was thrilled to see them both walk through my door. They shared the good news...that the surgery was a success and that it took about an hour less than they had anticipated. After spending some time with them, my mom went home to rest and take care of Lilly, but promised to come back.

I attempted to eat a popsicle, but hardly made it through before returning it to the a cup and nodding off again. Morphine and tylenol, and eventually zofran and oxycodone, became good friends to me while in the ICU.

Every hour, I had some neuro testing done. Stick out your tongue, smile, squeeze my fingers, hold up the pizza boxes, lift both legs, where are you, why are you here...my nurse eventually had to switch it up so that I wouldn't just start on my own the moment she walked in the room.

When my mom returned, Daniel went to a nearby friend's house (thank you Alex, Michael, and Si!) for some much needed rest. I talked with my mom between naps and neuro exams. I begged to have my catheter out, but that wasn't an option because I wasn't losing as much as I was taking in, so they had to make some adjustments. Antibiotics were pumped through my IV. I eventually attempted to order some real food. Due to the muscle that was cut at my jaw, chewing wasn't an option, so mac and cheese was what I ordered. When it arrived, my belly just could not handle it. Don't get me wrong, it looked delicious, but the smell was too much for my stomach to handle.

Daniel returned and I spent some time with my mom and him. Eventually, I tried to eat the mac. One noodle and I was done. Mom left for the night. She absolutely deserved the rest...she had been up with me since 4 o'clock that morning. Daniel stuck around for a little while and we decided to try some soup. Three bites and then it came back. So food wasn't in the cards for me that first night.

Daniel eventually went home and I decided to rest. I was introduced to my night nurse and then it was time for some sleep. Throughout the night, the hourly wake ups for neuro testing continued. It cramped my sleep style a little, but for the most part, I was able to fall asleep shortly after he left and wake up about 10-30 seconds before he returned to my room.

When I finally woke up for the day, I decided to order a muffin and some juice to see how those would go. They stayed down (HOORAY!) but I could really only get through the top of the muffin before feeling slightly queazy. But it was a little victory and, less than 24 hours post-surgery, little victories were everything.

Friday morning's little victory...let me tell you, folks, that blueberry muffin was delicious.

My day nurse (who was the same one from the day prior) returned. She said that rounds would determine if I was off bedrest and able to have my catheter taken out. The PA came and saw me...all was well! Out it came and I was able to walk around. The nurse brought a recliner into my room and I was allowed to sit up in a chair. The dizziness definitely kicked in, but it felt SO nice to be out of bed. Daniel was pleasantly surprised when he arrived to find me resting and watching junk TV in my comfy recliner.

Shortly before 11, I was informed that I would be moving down the the neuro post-surgical wing, which was on the first floor. I was glad to know that I was doing well enough to move, but a little sad to have to leave what was such a comforting and restful place for me.

Kaiser Sunnyside ICU...you guys were WONDERFUL. I cannot thank you enough for your kindness, gentleness, and loving care. I felt so cared for. Thank you a million times over!!!

To be continued...

The Surgery, Part One.

Here's my plan. Looking at a computer screen for an extended period of time increases the amount of vertigo I experience (which is to be expected), so I'm going to break up blog posts about the surgery into shorter stories.

The Surgery, Part 1 - The Before and the During.

Wednesday night, my mom came up. We spent some time with Daniel, watching TV and eating Subway for my last meal before surgery. I made sure everything was packed and went to bed early. I struggled to fall asleep, even with a sleep aid on board, but eventually drifted off. 

Thursday morning, I woke up without issue and much earlier than I anticipated. But it allowed me the time to make sure all that I wanted at the hospital was ready to go. I wandered around the house aimlessly, claiming that I was working on something so that I didn't look too much like a crazy person. A little before 5:00, Daniel came over. We got everything ready and then I was covered in prayer by mom and Daniel. Mom and I shared some tears but then it was time to go.

On the way to the hospital, my mom and I talked a little bit about things that made us laugh and we listened to "Jesus is a Friend of Mine" (Seriously...if you haven't see it, please watch the video here). We checked in and then it was time for me to head back to the surgery prep area. Mom and Daniel couldn't come back with me right away, so I spent the first 45 minutes anxious and alone getting stuck with needles, being visited by different medical people, and silently crying out to my Heavenly Father. 

Daniel and my mom came back to visit, allowed me to cry, but gently reminded me of all the good that was about to come. They had someone from pastoral services come visit. She reminded me that it was okay to cry and covered me in prayer before I was wheeled back to the OR.

On my way back, I cried more. The neurosurgeon was so comforting through the process. The OR nurse played with my hair and tried to make me laugh. The anesthesiologist comforted me and tried to make me smile. I asked if it was normal to feel like I wanted to get up and walk out of the OR. The nurse said yes, but suggested against it. I eventually drifted off to sleep.

More to come in the next blog post (this one took forever...I needed to walk away a couple times to stop spinning). 

In my time in the Word before we left for the hospital, I asked for a verse for peace. I was directed to Philippians 4:6. It was a winner.

Mom shared this with me the morning of. It was a lifesaver as I recovered and would get frustrated. 

Short Post.

Hey all.

I'm home from the hospital as of about seven hours ago. It's so nice to be home. I only spent two nights in the hospital, but Dorothy said it perfectly...there's no place like home.

I'm going to blog more once I'm back on my feet a little better and have more of a grip on reality again. But I just wanted to say a HUGE thank you to everyone that was so thoughtful, prayerful, and loving throughout the past 72 hours. I honestly could not have gone through this as well as I did had it not been for positive thoughts and prayers that covered me.

Surgery is done. It was successful. I'm home. Life is good.

A Gnome for the Win.

My boys are precious. Ok, so technically they're not mine, but I've considered them to be "mine" while I'm at work.

Today, as we were getting ready to reminisce about a young man that will be graduating while I'm gone, one of my boys approached me. "Hey Ms. Lee?" "Yes?" "So...I know I kind of ruined the gnome in your office when I tried to fix him, so I wanted to give you this." And he hands me a little ceramic garden gnome. "I know you'll be gone for a month, and I hope you're know that we're really going to miss you. But I figured this guy could watch over you and make sure you feel better."

Cue the waterworks.

They may tantrum and call me names. They may tell me that hate me and say that they're going to refuse to meet with me. But gosh darn it, at the end of the day some days, I think they secretly like me.

Tomorrow is my last official day at work for the month. I'm still not 100% sure as to how I feel about it. Part of me is sad to go, part of me is a little happy about the break. Most of me knows that I'll be excruciatingly bored. But this isn't a blog about me or my job or my boys. It's about the fact that, in 36 hours, I'll be in the surgery prep area awaiting the close of one chapter in my life.

I've cried a few times today. In the shower this morning, I was convinced that I had made the wrong decision in choosing to do this surgery. When the gnome was placed in my hand, I teared up a little bit as I thanked the kiddo for his thoughtfulness. As I was driving home, realizing what the next few days would bring, I let out some tears of anxiety. Nothing's wrong with that. But it's certainly not comfortable at times. Funny how I again need to practice what I preach.

I don't doubt for a second that tomorrow will be difficult. And that tomorrow night, I wouldn't be surprised if I fell apart. But you know what the most glorious thing is? If I do fall apart, I have people in my life that will catch me and help me put the pieces back together. I am richly blessed for that.

Maybe my little gnome will bring me luck on Thursday and throughout the month of my healing. Maybe I'll give him a buddy once I get off the tilt-a-whirl and play some carnival games. Giant inflatable bat, anyone?

I'm Scared...

As I went in to work today, a number of people said to me, "Why are you here this week?" The answer is simple...I have to be busy. 

This weekend, I had the opportunity to really prepare. My hospital bag was checked off and packed. I planned out what I needed to do. I created a schedule and asked questions and tried to coordinate visitors and meals and so on and so forth. But all that busy work surrounding preparation made me realize something...I'm scared. 

I want people to realize that I appreciate the encouragement and the positive, forward thinking. Those are all VERY good things and VERY necessary things. However, sometimes I just need to be reassured that it's ok to be scared. That what's happening is scary and that what I'm feeling is normal. Normalizing can be a very comforting thing. 

As the six has now become three and, in just a few short hours, will become two, I'm allowing myself to feel that healthy level of nervousness and fear, all the while realizing what a wonderful thing I have to look forward to. But I can be scared and happy all at once, right?

Get ready, carnival. This girl is ready to go home.

Just looking at this picture makes me spin...so done with this ride...

Six...

On the drive home from Easter dinner with my family, I downloaded a countdown app on my phone. It was suggested to me that I don't because of the anxiety it could create, but I thought it would help me. It did a little of both.

I remember when it hit 30. I thought that was crazy because it meant the surgery was only a month away. I remember when it went under 20. Today, as I searched for another app on my phone, I came across the little red dot. In it was the number 6.

Whaaaaaaat

We're down to less than a week, folks.

Remember in my last post how I talked about the trip I'm going on and how it doesn't involve packing bags weeks beforehand because it's not exciting? Weeeeeeelllllllllll...my bag for the hospital may or may not have been mostly packed by last weekend.

All of my crazy coping skills have come into play over the past week. For example, my big exciting plans for Friday night involve me planning out my schedule for the next five days to ensure that I'm completely ready for the hospital, for surgery, and for the month I'll be home.

Work has been rough. I've relinquished my caseload to the interim case manager. I have full faith in her and I know she'll do a great job. But it's quite boring for me (selfish, I know). My boys are hit and miss. One of them threw a teenage tantrum because he didn't want me to leave. Another is extremely concerned that I won't be there for an important meeting next week (I'll be there). Yet another thought I had left without saying goodbye because I wasn't in his particular session that day. They definitely aren't helping with the guilt trip, but I just try to validate, acknowledge, and work through it with them. I try to make them realize that I'm human and that this is hard for me too.

I'm currently trying to determine if all this yuck I'm feeling about leaving work is just my anxiety about the surgery being channeled into something else. The counselor in me wants to know. The patient in me doesn't really care. The human being in me is just ready for all of this to be done and over with.

Only six more days until that can start.

It's a Trip...

...Not the good kind, either. Not the kind where you pack your bag weeks in advance because you're so excited to go. Or the one that you brag about on Facebook through pictures and status updates that passively rub it in people's faces that you're doing something awesome and they're not. No, it's the kind where your heart hurts a little and your stomach is in knots. It's the guilt trip.

As I'm preparing to transition out of work in less than two weeks, I'm dealing with way more guilt than I ever expected to. It's only a month that I'll be away, but little did I know that there were a lot of things happening in that month.

As I left work yesterday, I had someone ask me to speak at their graduation, which I always take as an honor (and I try to make sure that they know I feel that way). With a lump in my throat, I asked when it was. As fate would have it, it's over the month that I'm gone. As are two other graduations that I would love to be at.

Driving home today, I found myself thinking about letting people down. I thought about how much it sucks and how much we, as a society, value the needs of others over our own. It's not true of everyone by any means, but maybe I just see it more in my field.

Am I letting people down by taking this time to heal? More than likely, yes. But if I don't utilize this time to take care of myself, what could happen? In all reality, the future let down could be one hundred times worse. To my clients, to my family, and to myself.

Maybe I'm being selfish. Maybe it's self-care. Maybe it's just complete exhaustion. All I know is this...

For the past seven years, I've hidden what I go through. I don't want pity or sympathy so I don't share what I'm feeling. In doing all of that, I've let myself down.

The take away from this blog post shouldn't be that I'm asking for sympathy or that I'm throwing a pity party for myself. In fact, it's the exact opposite. I'm taking a stand for myself. I'm telling the world that I have vertigo and sometimes it can be really hard to deal with. But I'm going to take care of myself and let everyone else know that it's ok to do that. To show your scars and your hidden hurts so that they can heal. To take care of yourself.

My name is Shannon and I have Superior Semicircular Canal Dehiscence. But I'm going to get better. I'm going to get off the tilt-a-whirl and discover other things about the amusement park. I'm going to enjoy cotton candy, take in the view from the top of the ferris wheel, ride a roller coaster, and, at the end of the day, leave with the knowledge that I'm the best version of me.

And We Breathe...

My family is the best. Don't question me. Don't argue with me. Just accept it and move on.

I just returned from a tour of the hospital where I will be having surgery and where I will be staying. My cousin works for that hospital and showed me around to help me ease my anxiety. Kim, I cannot express to you just how grateful I am that you were willing to do that.

Kaiser Sunnyside Medical Center

She showed me the surgery waiting area and talked about what my family could expect. She explained that while in the SPA (Surgery Prep Area...yeah, talk about a let down...), I need to challenge myself to relinquish control and know that everyone there knows what they're doing. I'm sure that comment was made because she knows how much of a Type A I can be.

Surgery Waiting Area

She showed me the ICU and talked to me about what to expect there. She challenged me to remember that I know myself and I know my body, so to tell what I'm feeling and what I need. She explained how food works and how I can measure how far I walked based on the number of hearts I walk past (1 heart on the wall means you've gone 25 feet).

She showed me rooms on the medical floor and explained what to expect there. She explained how to get around and where to go and how to get needs met. She basically took my anxiety down about 17 notches, which is MIRACULOUS, considering where I am right now with that.

Hospital Lobby

While I still have a long way to go to get rid of the anxiety, and I'm certain that won't happen until well after the surgery is over, I was reminded today of the amazing support system that I have around me. From friends recommending what to bring, to coworkers who are willing to visit me and take care of my house while I'm in the hospital, to family who is willing to drop anything to be there, I have to be one of the most blessed people on the face of the Earth.

The crazy family I'm blessed to call mine. Kim is on my left in the cream-ish colored sweater. 

Coping Skills.

Three weeks from today, I will have walked out of my office at work for the last time for a month. That still seems crazy. I'm still trying to figure out how three weeks can seem like such a long time and such a short time...hmm...

Anyways. As I was working with one of my clients today, we were discussing the idea of coping skills when they feel anxious. I started thinking about that...obviously I've been experiencing some anxiety. How do I cope?

When I feel anxious, I feel like I don't have a lot of control. And when I feel like things are out of control, I find ways to feel like I have control. So I organize. I make lists. Spreadsheets. Tables. To-do lists. My planner looks like a rainbow threw up on it with all the color coding I do. Sometimes it borders on ridiculous.

When I went to my appointment with the neurosurgeon, I came with a full, typed page of questions for him. As I'm preparing for my pre-op appointment next week, I've started a new page of questions. I've already started thinking of what I want with me at the hospital and have a bag set aside that I'm putting stuff in. Like I said...I sometimes border on ridiculous.

I'm EXTREMELY thankful that I have a cousin that has worked/does work at the hospital that I'm going to be having the procedure done at. In my anxiety, I asked her if she knew if it would be possible to have a tour of the hospital so that, after having my body go through a trauma and being exhausted and in pain, I'm not also trying to understand my surroundings. I can go in knowing what to expect. She responded by letting me know that she would be willing, on her day off, mind you, to take me on a tour and talk to me about other things to think about. When she told me that she would do that, I was gently reminded of how blessed I am by my family and friends.

So I can be borderline ridiculous at times. Aren't we all?

30 Days...And How Do You Feel About That?

It struck me today at work...today is April 22. One month from today is my surgery. 30 days from now, at this time, I'll be in my room in the intensive care unit. I don't know how I'll be feeling, whom I'll be allowed to see, or what the next 48 hours will hold for me. But I do know one thing...30 days from now, I'll be holding firm to the belief that my life will have just changed.

I've done my best to be as strong as possible for everyone. In the coming month, that strength is going to have to increase, as I still have to share with my boys at work that I'm going to be leaving for a month. I don't know how they'll react, but I know that there is going to be challenges ahead for all of us.

I feel like I've done a decent job being strong. I'm far from perfect at it, but I feel like decent can be ok sometimes. I've only had one big break down. While that is often seen as a sign of strength, I whole-heartedly believe that there is just as much strength in the process of breaking down. In allowing your feelings to show. I try to tell that to my boys...maybe I should practice what I preach?

There's a word I've been trying to eliminate from my vocabulary lately..."should." I keep telling myself that I should be strong. I should be the rock for everyone else. I should wait until I'm alone to break down.

No.

I tell everyone I know that being their genuine self is perfect. That it's ok to be real and to have feelings and to share those feelings. Right now, my genuine self is scared. And I need to tell myself that it's ok to be scared. This is a big deal.

So how do I feel? Scared. Anxious. Sad sometimes. But richly blessed and ready for this new chapter. Maybe even ready to chow down on a corn dog because it's time for me to enjoy more at this amusement park than just the tilt-a-whirl.

What is Superior Semicircular Canal Dehiscence (SSCD)?

Let’s be honest. I had never even remotely heard of this thing before. Heck, the only part of the ear I knew about was the eardrum. When the ENT called (the one before the one at OHSU…the second time at OHSU) and said that this might be a diagnosis, obviously I went online and googled that ish. As I’m reading about all the symptoms, I’m thinking in my head, “Yep,” “Oh, that’s the technical name for that,” and “Wow, this sounds exactly like me.” Here you go, folks. SSCD in a blonde, twenty-something’s words.

Let’s break it down, shall we?

Superior Semicircular Canal: As you can see in the photo below, the semicircular canal is located in the inner ear. It is lined with cilia (tiny ear hairs…gross, right?) and filled with a fluid called endolympth. Every time the head moves, that fluid moves the cilia. The movements of the cilia are communicated to the brain, making it a motion sensor of sorts. The brain then knows how to keep the body balanced. The semicircular canal has three (main) parts: horizontal, posterior, and superior canals, each of which provides a separate sense of directional balance. The superior canal detects head rotations on the anterior-posterior axis (up and down movements of the head).

The ear. Duh.

Dehiscence: There are a number of different kinds of dehiscence in the medical world. But here’s what it means in terms of SSCD: it is a thinning or opening of the bone in the skull that covers the superior semicircular canal. In my case…the bone is missing. I’ve tried to show it in the photo below. The right side (labeled ‘normal’)…look below the ‘m’ in normal…that’s what it should look like. The left side (labeled ‘dehiscence’)…look below the first ‘e’ in dehiscence. See the big black space? That’s where the bone has eroded away. There isn’t really a clear answer as to why the bone has eroded, but it has.

Inside my head...I know, really, who wants to be there?!? 

Diagram of SSCD

About 17 years ago, a doctor by the name of Lloyd B. Minor at Johns Hopkins University was doing his doctor thing. He found that eye movements evoked by sound and pressure stimuli often align with the plane of the superior canal (sorry, no blonde terminology for that one…that’s in the works). He and his colleagues published information about the syndrome and created a surgical procedure to correct the problem and relieve the symptoms. I don’t know him personally, but I’m going to go ahead and call Dr. Minor my homeboy.

The man that changed my life...Dr. Minor

I’m still trying to gain some answers myself as to what is happening in my head (aren’t we all?), but I tried my best to give you the information I have as of now. Feel free to contribute via the comment section with any questions or any information you might have about the diagnosis!

Four Score and Seven Years Ago...Minus the Four Score Part...

I was asleep at my parent's house in January 2007. My alarm went off and I got myself out of bed. I stood up to walk out of my room and before I knew it, the room was spinning around me and I had a date with the floor that I didn't know about. Extremely confused, I tried to pull myself off the ground, but I simply could not stop the room from spinning. I called out to the person staying with me at my parent's house and they came rushing in. They attempted to help me to my feet, but I couldn't even steady myself enough to stand up. I sat on the edge of my bed, completely confused.

Once the clinic was open, I called my doctor to make an appointment. She informed me that I was experiencing vertigo. She said it happens to people sometimes, recommended rest and plenty of fluids, and sent me on my way. Later that night, I attempted to go to sleep. As soon as I tried to crawl into my bed, the room started to spin around me again. I couldn't lie down to go to sleep, so I propped myself up in a chair with a footrest and, for the next few months, that's how I slept.

After a while, the vertigo continued to get the best of me. So I went back to my doctor, and she recommended that I go to an ENT (ear, nose throat doctor) in the area. I made an appointment with him. After an examination, he informed me that he believed that I had a condition called Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo (BPPV). This condition brings on vertigo when the head is placed in certain positions. For me, it was the right side. He gave me some exercises to do at home to correct the problem and sent me home. 

More time passed and the exercises weren't helping. I made another appointment with the ENT. He referred me to another ENT in the Portland area. This ENT decided that he wanted to do some vestibular testing. For two hours, I was spun around, had water rushed into my ear, and did my best not to lose my lunch. All of that testing again pointed to BPPV. The Portland ENT recommended that I see a highly specialized ENT at OHSU. I desperately hoped that, after two years, he could give me some answers. 

For the fourth time, I told my story of spinning. More testing. More medical imaging. More vestibular therapy. More exercises to try at home. Nothing was working. I was so done with all of this. The ENT suggested a surgical correction. At this point, I had been spinning for almost two and a half years and I was desperate to have my life back. In May of 2009, they did some work on the inner ear on my right side, plugging a canal so that crystals in my ear, which are a part of how we balance, can't move to the wrong spot and cause vertigo. It was a day surgery and I went home with high hopes that I was finally cured.

The recovery was a little rough, but I made it through. I noticed mild improvements, convincing myself that it would get better as time marched on. It did get better, but there were still remnants of the spinning that just never seemed to go away. 

Fast forward four years...July 2013 to be exact. I was attempting to meet with clients at work, but I could not get off the tilt-a-whirl. I left early and tried anything I could to make it stop, but it just wouldn't. I made an appointment with my doctor, who referred me to an ENT. He didn't seem sure of what to do, but he gave me some motion sickness medication to tame the nausea associated with the vertigo and sent me home, telling me to call back in a month if nothing had improved. 

In that month, I was with someone who was opening a box. As they ripped the cardboard, I screamed. The sheer volume sent me into a horrendous bout of vertigo. The next day, I made another appointment with the ENT. He sent me to the best ENT my insurance could offer without an outside referral. Here we go again...

It was late fall or early winter by this point. For the seventh time, I told my story. This time...it felt different. She explained to me a two different conditions she believed I could have...Meniere's Disease or Superior Canal Dehiscence Syndrome. She ordered a specialized image of my head and more vestibular testing. 

A few weeks after all the testing had been done, the ENT called me. She had finally received everything for review and was referring me to a specialist at OHSU. He was a neuro-otologist...someone specializing in the ear-brain connection. It took three months to get in to see him, but it seemed worth the wait. 

For the eighth, and hopefully final time, I told my story. They did a thorough exam, asked me quite a few questions, and reviewed my images with me. "You have a condition called Superior Canal Dehiscence Syndrome." The correction...surgery. I was able to ask questions, he gave me the run down. I wanted to move forward. He explained to me that I would need to meet with the neurosurgeon to make it official and put in the referral.

As I was driving away from OHSU, my phone rang. It was the neurosurgeon's office. An appointment was scheduled and, two weeks and a full page of questions later, I was waiting to meet with the neurosurgeon. He explained the procedure and patiently answered all my questions. I knew that I was ready to be done. I knew that this was not the quality of life I was meant to have. So I scheduled the surgery. 

It's still about a month and a half before the surgery, so there's obviously some anxiety, but I feel surprisingly at peace. It's time for this chapter to close. It's time for the amusement park attendant to pull the lever and tell me it's finally my time to get off the tilt-a-whirl. 

Join Me On The Tilt-A-Whirl?

I'd like to open with this...I'm terrible at this blogging thing. I set one up, get on a roll for a while, then it falls off the face of the Earth. However, here's where I stand with this blog. Since I went "public" on Facebook today with the information about my diagnosis, I've received a great deal of encouragement from people. Texts, phone calls, comments...they've all come through and I'm beyond blessed. I want to make sure that everyone who has been so kind and loving on this journey so far has the opportunity to get updates. So I'm reaaaaaaaaaally going to try and make this blog work.

But this blog isn't just for you guys (no offense...much love). It's for me. It's the chance for me to get it all out there. Today, I had a bunch of people tell me that they had no idea. That I've done a great job of hiding the constant spinning. While that can be a wonderful thing when used properly, I want people to know that they can talk to me about it. That I'm happy to answer questions and share my journey. People don't realize how much something so "hidden" can really affect a person. Which leads me to my third and final point.

This blog is also for people who are going on this journey, or one very similar. After my diagnosis, I jumped online and did as much research as possible. There's a whole heap of medical journals, doctor speak, and stuff like that. But there isn't a lot on the people. The one's that live with this every day. The people that have to pretend like they can get through the day without feeling as though they're going to revisit breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The people that like things quiet and have a small heart attack with every loud noise because their vertigo flares up and all of a sudden we're doing forward rolls down a hill. This blog is for my SCDS peeps (shout out!).

We're in this together folks. Join me on my tilt-a-whirl. But I'm planning on getting off that ride soon.