Oh goodie. I have Labyrinthitis. After three or four days of feeling unbelievably dizzy and nauseous and very, very tired, I finally went to the Doc.
I say oh goodie, of course, because the night before I saw Doc Louw my coven decided I was pregnant.
Tired? They asked, maternal eyes glinting wickedly.
(Much rubbing of hands)
Are you sure you’re not up the duff?
So I lay awake, Tuesday night. Not.Frikkin’.Sleeping. Wondering ‘what if?’ Would this would be a beginning or an end? Sure, my various mothers would be doing back flips (amazing how ‘unwed mother’ becomes less of an expletive the more the years after the dreaded egg-killing 30 tick over). And I have to admit the nesting urge has been strong of late. But it would suck a bit. Financially. And stuff.
Nevertheless. I digress.
Having reconciled myself to the fact that I could either still be drunk from M’s wedding or possibly PG, I wobbled off to Doc Louw and demanded he save me. Which he does. Regularly. Hypochondria runs deep in our family.
Viral Labyrinthitis, he declared. Authoritatively. An infection of the inner year.
Basically, the inner ear controls balance. And if the balance ain’t working, you’re stuffed. For anyone who has ever felt seasick, it’s kinda like that. Only worse. And you don’t get spectacular sunsets, dolphins and hot sea men.
So, armed with a week’s worth of seasickness tablets, rather off-puttingly called Stugeron, I’m wobbling forth. Attempting not to chunder on the Easter lunch or fall over during the Easter Egg hunt (like anyone would notice). My life! Sheesh.
Have a safe one, bloggers.