Johnston Hall, date unknown. (Photo courtesy of Rice County Historical Society)
IN EARLY NOVEMBER, I watched a local documentary online about Johnston Hall in the comfort of my home office. The film, “Love Inwrought: Johnston Hall and the Memory of a Building,” was created by Sam Temple and Logan Ledman. The ambitious and talented young filmmakers have, since their high school days, focused on local history through their 1855 History Team (Steamboat Media Co.). Their latest project focuses on Johnston Hall, completed in 1888 as part of Seabury Divinity School. The building was demolished in 2021 after standing on Faribault’s east side for 133 years.
Sam Temple, left to right, Logan Ledman and Troy Temple. (Photo courtesy of 1855 History Team)
This Saturday, December 16, the duo will present a public screening of their film at the Rice County Historical Society in Faribault from 5:30-6:30 pm. And while I am not able to be there, I encourage anyone interested in Johnston Hall and the fine work of writers and directors Temple and Ledman to attend.
A Q & A follows the screening. Attendees are encouraged to share their stories about Johnston Hall, which saw many uses through the years.
Johnston Hall model. (Photo courtesy of 1855 History Team)
But that’s not all. A model of the building handcrafted by Rathbun Reliquilaries plus artifacts and architectural items saved by the historical society will also be available for viewing.
Saturday’s event offers an ideal opportunity to learn more about Johnston Hall and to meet members of the team that worked diligently to create the documentary. Besides Temple and Ledman those include Troy Temple, illustrator Piper Mohring, composer Sam Dwyer, and actors Steve Searl (portraying Bishop Henry Whipple) and Eli Hastings (as the Rev. Henry St. Clair).
Documentary promo. (Courtesy of 1855 History Team)
According to Sam Temple, the title of the documentary traces to a quote by Bishop Whipple: “There is an unwritten history of faith and love inwrought in every building erected here.” The Episcopalian bishop was referencing buildings (including Johnston Hall) at the schools he helped organize.
This signage stands at Johnston Hall Memorial Garden across the street from the local hospital and clinic. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2023)
The work of Temple, Ledman and their team is top-notch professional, outstanding and deserving of accolades. These young men are passionate about history, storytelling, filmmaking and creating an appreciation for our past. Their enthusiasm and work impress me. I can’t wait to see what they do next.
The Kletscher family Christmas tree always sat on the end of the kitchen table, as shown in this December 1964 photo. That’s me in the red jumper with four of my five siblings.
TO BE OR NOT TO BE is not the question. Rather, the question is this: Real or artificial? Do you prefer a real Christmas tree or an artificial one?
There’s no right or wrong answer here. Rather tree choice is a matter of personal preference. But I am unequivocally a real Christmas tree kind of woman.
Given my farm background, my strong connection to the land, my love of simple and natural, I have always selected a real tree. Even when I lived in a college dorm and my own apartment, I had real trees. The dorm tree was a small potted Norfolk Island Pine, gifted to me by my Secret Angel, Elise, during my freshman year at Bethany Lutheran College in Mankato.
Our Christmas tree this year. I always hang tinsel on our tree. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2023)
My preference for real Christmas trees, though, traces back to my childhood. Each December our family trekked to the local grocery store—back in the days when Vesta had a corner store and a whole block of businesses—to peruse the trees leaning against the exterior storefront. I don’t recall details, only that our tree was small, short and short-needled, intentionally so.
I lived in a tiny 1 ½ story farmhouse during the first 11 years of my life. An oil-burning stove and several pieces of furniture filled the living room, leaving no space for a Christmas tree. Our tree sat on the end of the Formica kitchen table, next to the west-facing drafty window. Remembering it from an adult perspective, that tree had to be really small. But I loved the imperfect Charlie Brown tree. Everything from the colorful bulb lights to the ornaments to the tinsel draping the boughs delighted me.
Randy stands outside the garage with our tree, purchased at Ken’s Christmas Trees. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2023)
Today that childhood nostalgia deeply influences my tree choice. I prefer imperfect and smallish to anything sculpted or over-sized. Seven foot ceilings also limit the height of our tree.
When my kids were little, our friends Joy and Steve invited us to their rural property to cut down a pine tree from among those they intentionally planted for Christmas trees. I hold fond memories of our young family weaving among the trees to find just the right one. Eventually that forest was depleted and it was on to other options—like Farmer Seed and Nursery, Faribault Garden Center or Donahue’s Greenhouse. The nursery and garden center are permanently closed now, Donahue’s no longer open at Christmas.
The photo of Ken Mueller is new to the tree lot this season. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2023)
Our go-to tree source now is Ken’s Christmas Trees, a temporary tree lot set up in a parking lot next to the now-closed Taco John’s. Ken Mueller started his holiday side business years ago at a north-side Faribault site along a busy thoroughfare. Eventually, he had to move and we followed him to his new location.
Ken has since retired. Sort of. On the December day Randy and I stopped by to buy our tree, he was vending trees, wreaths and more. His kids have taken over the business, but can’t always be there. So Ken steps in. And when he’s not around, he’s still there. A life-size photo cut-out of the Christmas tree vendor stands next to a row of trees. It was a surprise to Ken, who, even if he may not admit it, appreciates the unexpected, humorous recognition.
Ken’s Christmas Trees seems to have a loyal following of customers who appreciate his fresh trees, trucked in from Up North. Sizes and shapes range from the short and Charlie Brownish to larger, sculpted. Every year I bundle up, head to the west side of town and search for my imperfectly perfect Christmas tree.
TELL ME: Is your Christmas tree real or artificial? Why? I’d love to hear your stories.
Faribo Frosty, photographed on April 2, 2023, as spring approached. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2023)
THE LAST TIME I SAW Faribo Frosty, his smile was turned upside down in a frown. That was in April, when winter was winding down in southern Minnesota and Frosty’s demise was imminent.
The latest Faribo Frosty, photographed under construction on December 2, 2023. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2023)
Now some nine months later, the ginormous snowman is back, at least partially. Faribault homeowner Andy Hoisington is busy building the 2023-2024 Faribo Frosty in his front yard at the corner of First Street Northwest and Third Avenue Northwest in Faribault. Since 2005, the Hoisington family has crafted a massive snowman, their gift to the community and now a popular winter attraction for locals and out-of-towners, young and old alike.
Jake, left, and Andy Hoisington work on Faribo Frosty in January 2020. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2020)
It’s truly a labor of love. Andy hauls trailer load after trailer load of shaved ice from the Faribault Ice Arena across town to construct the snowman. He scoops, waters, carries (up a ladder) and shapes the snow ice into the snowman which this year will stand nearly two stories tall. That’s taller than last year, when Frosty was shorter, more robust than some other years.
My then 2 1/2-year-old granddaughter hugging Faribo Frosty in 2018. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo December 2018)
Visitors are welcome to step into the Hoisingtons’ yard for photos and a closer look at Frosty, maybe even a hug.
Last year’s Faribo Frosty. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo December 2022)
Nothing, not even near 50-degree temps predicted today and tomorrow and a lack of natural snow, stop Andy in his mission to bring happiness and smiles. Faribo Frosty is his gift to us, and we are all the happier for this celebrity snowman in our community.
The Lakelanders sing at a recent holiday concert. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2023)
THEIR VOICES BLENDED in perfect harmony, their singing so flawless that I felt emotionally moved by the sheer experience of listening.
I was among those packed inside Faribault Evangelical Free Church for a recent free holiday concert performed by three area men’s choruses: The Faribault Lakelanders Barbershop Chorus, The Northfield Troubadors and The Riverblenders Barbershop Chorus from Mankato.
Their holiday selections ranged from faith-based to secular to a humorous take on “Oh, Christmas Tree” featuring a verse about lutefisk. That set the crowd laughing.
A scene from the Nativity set displayed each holiday season in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2016)
But it was the classics, the aged hymns, the time-honored songs, to which I most connected. They hold the memories of many Christmases. Memories of the Christmas story told and retold within the verses of “Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem.” Memories of singing “Silent Night” in the still darkness of a sanctuary, peace settling upon me. Childhood memories of belting out the jubilant words of “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.”
An airliner flies into Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
And then there were the secular selections. The familiar words of “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas,” the dream held by even those who otherwise dislike snow. “Deck the Halls” reminding many, including me, of the decorating yet to be done. And then the song, “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” that nearly did me in, that caused me to check tears because I can’t recall the last time all three of my adult children were together, back here in Minnesota for Christmas. I thought then of my son flying in next week from Boston and the daughter in Madison, Wisconsin, who won’t be home for Christmas. Joyous reunion mixed with missing a loved one.
The Lakelanders and the Riverblenders close out the concert together. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo December 2023)
But in the all of the holiday concert, I felt the wonderful spirit of Christmas emanating from the musical selections sung by the likes of Pastor Juan Palm and his young son, my friend Greg, Curt D. and a guy I recognize from a local grocery store. These are gifted musicians from my community and beyond who, for the love of music, the joy of singing, the desire to spread happiness, sing in sweet, blessed harmony.
And they do more than simply sing. This year the Lakelanders raised $4,500 for Ruth’s House, Whispers of Hope and Hope Center at their annual fundraising concert, “Hope in Harmony.” Representatives of those three nonprofits were recognized at the holiday concert. Through the years, the singers have given $39,000 to charities.
A sign inside Vang Lutheran Church advertised its annual Lutefisk & Meatball Supper several years ago. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
This warms my heart. This generosity of spirit given through music. These singers create harmony in the chaos of life, bring peace and lift spirits with their voices. On this early December afternoon, I was right where I was supposed to be—seated on a comfortable, padded chair behind another Audrey (to whom I’d been introduced by my friend Greg of the Lakelanders). I imagined the warmth of a blazing fire over which chestnuts roasted. I heard bells jingling on a sleigh. And I remembered the long ago taste of lutefisk—cod soaked in lye—cooked and served with warm, melted butter. Memories in music. Sweet harmony in words sung. Emotions rising.
Inside the historic Chapel of the Good Shepherd, the pews face the aisle rather than the altar. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
FYI: Holiday concerts abound this time of year. At 1:30 pm Thursday, December 7, the Faribault High School Choir performs at the Cathedral of Our Merciful Saviour in Faribault. Cathedral organist Andrew DeZiel will also play selections on the aged church pipe organ. At 4 pm on Saturday, December 9, student musicians at Shattuck-St. Mary’s School perform in The Chapel of the Good Shepherd as part of the afternoon Campus Christmas Walk. Also on Saturday, The Riverblenders sing at 7 pm at Central Building Auditorium, 501 East Elm Avenue in Waseca.
One of 64 decorated trees in the Adopt-A-Tree program in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2023)
AS I WATCHED THE LIVE TV broadcast last week of the Christmas tree lighting at Rockefeller Center in New York City, I, for a brief moment, wished I could be there. The pulse of the music, the enthusiasm of the crowd, the coming together in a singular celebration drew me in. But then I realized how much I would dislike the pounding music, the pressing crowds, the feeling of being hemmed in by skyscrapers.
Nona Boyes creates particularly interesting and lovely window displays at her shop, Keeper’s Antiques. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2023)
I much prefer the small town celebrations of southern Minnesota. The lighted holiday parades, the fireworks, the concerts, the holiday boutiques, the festive window displays, neighborhoods ablaze in decorative lights, even the blow-up Santas and reindeer and snowmen that, by morning, deflate in heaps of folded plastic.
Donated and decorated trees line the sidewalks of Faribault’s Central Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2023)
Already I’ve attended several holiday events. That includes Winterfest in Faribault where, at Central Park, children and parents lined up Friday evening for photos with The Grinch. “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” ranks as a favorite animated film with its message that Christmas joy is found in each other, not in material possessions and holiday busyness. As I observed the waiting families, I wondered how many kids actually recognized The Grinch and might even have felt a bit scared of the kinda scary looking green guy. Yet, kids and parents and grandparents pressed together, connecting in memory-defining moments.
Sixty-four trees were set up in Central Park for the Adopt-A-Tree program. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2023)
Next to the small tent sheltering The Grinch, I grabbed a bag of complimentary popcorn (and later a cup of hot chocolate) before heading along the park sidewalks to see the 64 lighted and decorated trees in the Adopt-A-Tree program. Organizations, businesses and others purchase and decorate artificial trees displayed in the park and then given to families in need. The creativity and generosity impress me as this program continues to grow each December.
More of those 64 trees to be given to families in need. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2023)
On this evening, when fires blazed in barrels and attendees rode around the block in a horse-drawn wagon and youth sang, I felt a strong sense of togetherness.
Love in multiple languages on a Virtues Trail sign. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2018)
I felt the same on Saturday while watching fireworks along The Virtues Trail, a city-owned trail lined with affirmative messages on posts. As Randy and I waited in the cold for the show to begin, we visited with friends Dave and Tammy and made new friends with a Mankato couple dining at the nearby Depot restaurant. I welcomed them to Faribault. Again, I felt the joy that comes in connecting, in conversation, in sharing a moment in time.
Local ice carver Adam Scholljegerdes carved Faribault’s symbol, a fleur-de-lis, for Winterfest. It’s located at the corner of Central Avenue and Fourth Street/Minnesota Highway 60 in the heart of downtown Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2023)
Soon fireworks burst into the dark night sky against the backdrop of the historic viaduct. Sparkles and glitter and bold booms and streams of color and light had me occasionally closing my eyes. Still, the experience, this gathering of people bundled in warm winter coats and stocking caps and scarves and mittens, brought us together on a December evening.
The single photo I took of the parade, because I wanted to be in the moment rather than taking photos. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2023)
Afterwards, we joined the throngs walking two blocks to Central Avenue for the Parade of Lights. Crowds lined the downtown street in warm 30-degree temps for the 45-minute parade. I stood next to John and Laurie, there with their daughter and her family, including 18-month-old identical twin girls. Randy stood next to a drink-holding woman who’d spent time already at a bar. She was happy, shouting “Merry Christmas” to parade participants, gathering candy to give to Randy, keeping chocolate for herself. She was fun and generous and spirited.
“Barbershop” singers performed at a free community holiday concert on Sunday at the Faribault Evangelical Free Church. They included the Lakelanders Barbershop Chorus from Faribault, The Troubadours from Northfield and The Riverblenders Barbershop Chorus from Mankato. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2023)
As I watched the parade, I, too, pocketed the occasional chocolate, waved, danced a bit, caught up in the moment. Randy dropped a circular green glow stick atop my stocking cap as The Grinch passed, one of many. Multiple Santas and kids and dogs and just a whole lot of parade participants spread holiday happiness. This, I thought, is what The Grinch felt—this happiness found not in stuff or in busyness, but in community.
A patch of dandelions at the Rice County Fairgrounds.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2023)
IN THE DRY, CRACKED soil, among the curling leaves of autumn and the litter, dandelions bloomed, on a December morning in southern Minnesota.
Discovering them at the Rice County Fairgrounds was unexpected. Dandelions are the flower, or weed (depending on your perspective), of summer. Not near winter.
But here these hardy dandelions grew, flourishing on a brilliant sunshine-filled day of low 30-degree temps, seemingly unaffected by the cold. Only a short distance away, snow lingered on the pavement, in the dark shadows of buildings. Remnants of the season’s first snowfall remain throughout town.
Seasons seem to clash. Dandelions and snow. In the summer and winter of December.
Sheets and towels hang on my clothesline Thursday morning, patches of snow still showing on the lawn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
IN THE BRIGHT SUNSHINE of a frosty last day of November morning, I clipped towels and sheets onto the clothesline. It’s a task I love, for many reasons.
There’s something remarkably soothing about the rhythm of pulling laundry from a basket and then methodically clipping it onto a line. It’s a rather mindless task, although I do consider placement, hanging heavier items in the spotlight of the morning sun.
I love how this draws me outside, to appreciate the beginning of the day. To see the sky, the trees. To hear birdsong, mostly in warm weather. To feel the wind, the warmth of sunshine and the bite of the almost-winter air.
If the patio is clear of snow and the sun shining brightly, I will sometimes hang laundry outdoors in the winter, as seen in this file photo with snow piled in the background. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Admittedly, hanging laundry outdoors in below freezing temps requires some fortitude. As I hung laundry Thursday morning, I felt my fingers numbing against the cold of damp, wet laundry. I paused half way through to step inside my warm kitchen, to put on a pot of coffee, anticipating my chilled hands wrapping a warm mug.
Then I headed back outside, remnants of snow remaining on the lawn near the patio where my removable clothesline stretches. The towels were already stiff, frozen.
Pioneer women faced the added challenge of grasshoppers devouring their laundry. This info was included in a Minnesota Historical Society traveling exhibit at the Steele County History Center about disasters in Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2016)
I continued hanging laundry, just like generations of women before me. Prairie women, pioneer women, hardy women who labored in the elements, who (unlike me) washed their clothing and bedding in rivers and on washboards. Yet, we each worked under the same sky, the same sun. We are linked in a sisterhood of women hanging laundry. I love that historic connection.
I love, too, the scent of laundry dried by the sun. Especially sheets. They smell of wind and sky and sun.
I seldom use my clothes dryer, relying on solar power and indoor drying racks to dry my laundry. My friends Jackie and Lisa do the same. They understand me, why I intentionally choose on a nippy November morning, to step outside, to methodically clip towels and sheets to the clothesline.
TELL ME: Do you hang laundry outdoors? If yes, why?
My great niece Keira painted this HOPE stone, which sits on my office desk. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I HADN’T PLANNED on writing a third post related to my health issues following a case of suspected COVID in early January. But then blog readers shared their experiences with the virus and I felt compelled to write more, to offer insights and, most importantly, hope.
In this sharing of stories in the circle of my blog, I’ve learned that some of you have endured symptoms similar to mine. Keith in New York City. Diane in Iowa. And then Beth in Michigan with an altered sense of smell.
In the aftermath of COVID infections, there’s still much to learn. I quickly recognized that during my struggles and also via your stories. Answers don’t come easily. Help can be elusive. Frustration and despair set in and it’s a challenge to be heard, to remain hopeful. Telling our stories is important, necessary.
I received this book in the mail, sent anonymously by a reader. The book and note made me laugh and uplifted me when I really needed uplifting. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
THE NEED FOR VALIDATION, FOR SUPPORT
I remember telling my physical therapist, Ryan, early on that I felt unseen because I was dealing with unseen neurological issues few seemed to understand. But when he compared my symptoms to those of someone with a traumatic brain injury, I felt validated. That’s all I needed, an affirmation that this was real, not just in my head. But it literally was in my head, in my brain.
My sister-in-law Rosie, who endured two concussions following falls, was (and is) among my biggest encouragers. She understands my symptoms, especially my inability to tolerate sensory overload. Having a key empathetic person is, in my opinion, vital. Likewise core family support is essential.
This quarter-sized token, gifted to me by my friend Beth Ann many years ago, lies on my computer desk. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
GETTING HELP& SETTING GOALS
But personal support only goes so far. I am fortunate to have a primary care doctor who listens, shows great compassion, admits when he can’t help me, and referred me to specialists. My many office visits extended well beyond the allotted 20 minutes. Vestibular rehab therapy set me on a course to better health. I started therapy in mid-April. That continued weekly until mid-September. Therapy worked in retraining my brain, in helping me manage my symptoms.
On my final day of therapy in September, I told my therapist that I had three immediate goals: to get my hair cut, to return to worship services at church and to dine in a restaurant. Within two months, I accomplished all three with varying degrees of success. I share this to offer hope.
Here’s how I managed: I alerted my hair stylist to my sensory issues pre-appointment. Donita turned off the salon music and took care overall to minimize sensory input. Worship has proven a bit harder, especially managing the organ music, which often assaults me like a tsunami. Even with an ear plug, I struggle. I’ve learned that my brain struggles most in the early mornings and evenings and in busy environments. Restaurant dining remains challenging, although I managed in a quiet chain restaurant. I have yet to try a homegrown, noisy restaurant.
Inspirational and honoring words are embedded in mosaic tile at a memorial in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
HOLDING HOPE
There is hope. Always hope. It is, and has been, my go-to word through many struggles in life. For any of you struggling with post-COVID health issues, I hope I have offered you hope, or at least validated what you are experiencing.
These mini cards were a gift from Roxy, a blog reader from Owatonna who has been one of my strongest encouragers. I have sent these cards to others in need of support, passing along the gift of encouragement. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
WAYS TO ENCOURAGE
For those of you who know someone dealing with long haul COVID, please support your family member or friend. Listen. Mail a greeting card. Text or call with encouraging words. (All helped me mentally; thank you, readers.) What we are going through may not be seen. But it is real, all too real.
This art by Faribault middle schooler Mohamed depicts how my brain felt post-COVID. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
IT’S BEEN A JOURNEY. That best summarizes the path I’ve been on since January to reclaim my health. It’s been difficult, stressful, taxing, challenging, emotional and often overwhelming. But I was determined to do what I could to reach a better place health-wise in the aftermath of unconfirmed, but suspected, COVID.
This was a virus which messed with my brain, my neurological system, leaving me with a long list of debilitating symptoms. Prior to COVID, I was healthy, medication-free, living a normal life. And then…everything changed. (Click here to read my initial post about how COVID affected me.)
My route to managing long haul COVID began with my medical team, including my compassionate primary care doctor who listened, who admitted when he couldn’t help me, who referred me to specialists, who handed me tissues when I cried in the exam room. He never gave up on me. Nor did my vestibular rehab therapist.
Some of the exercises I did in vestibular rehab therapy. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
VESTIBULAR REHAB THERAPY, MY ROAD TO RECOVERY
I credit my physical therapist, Ryan at Courage Kenny Rehabilitation Institute in Faribault, for leading the way in my recovery. He has extra training in vestibular issues. From the get-go, Ryan encouraged me, worked with me, supported me, showed deep care and compassion. Those went a long way in empowering me to work hard. And that I did.
During those initial once-a-week visits with Ryan, I barely managed conversation with him. I would mostly close my eyes and listen as he told me how we would work first on overcoming my balance problems. And then I would do as he instructed. Simple things like turning my head while seated. Then trunk rotations. Then turning my head while walking. Soon rotating while walking. Moving my hands back and forth aside my head while listening to white noise. I was building my tolerance for sensory input one exercise at a time. Retraining my brain. It took many months to progress through these seemingly basic exercises. But they were helping.
Each session Ryan gave me homework, which I faithfully did. I understood that no amount of therapy would work if I wasn’t willing to work hard at home. Soon he was encouraging me to get out, to try socializing. He even convinced me I could manage a mid-summer stay at a lake cabin, giving me coping tools to handle the long drive (close my eyes and wear ear plugs and sunglasses), to handle sensory overload (take breaks) and more. I managed that vacation get-away, but not easily. I remember the evening I snuggled next to my eldest daughter, put my head on her shoulder and sobbed, “I can’t do this any more.”
A page from Eric Carle’s book, “From Head to Toe” inspires me. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
ENCOURAGEMENT IN THE MIDST OF DESPAIR
Many times I felt despair, as if I wasn’t making progress. Ryan assured me I was improving, even if I couldn’t always see it. I often felt, too, like no one understood what I was going through (although I’m sure that’s not true). But what I had was unseen, literally in my head. And when people can’t see, or make no effort to understand neurological issues, support lacks. That said, I had a core support group of friends and several sisters-in-law who gave me ongoing encouragement.
And so the months passed. Randy and our eldest daughter, especially, offered unconditional love and support that carried me through some of my darkest days. I wanted desperately to feel better, to have my old life back, pre-virus. By mid-September when I’d advanced to virtual reality roller coaster rides, my physical therapist deemed me ready to graduate. I was ready, yet I wasn’t. I would miss Ryan’s weekly encouragement.
Here I am today, two months out from therapy’s end. I am in a much better place than when I began vestibular rehab therapy in mid-April. I am out and about. Grocery shopping, attending church, speed walking a half hour daily, going to concerts, socializing… I still struggle if I overdo it, if I have too much sensory input. I rely on ear plugs to handle loud music. I close my eyes. Sometimes I have to leave a place or event. I am not the same as I was pre-COVID.
Up next, eye muscle surgery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
UP NEXT, EYE SURGERY
In January, I will undergo bilateral strabismus surgery at the University of Minnesota to realign my eyes. It is a re-do of a 1960 surgery. As my neuro ophthalmologist explained, the eye muscles that were surgically tightened decades ago have loosened through the decades. Up until my neurological system was affected by COVID, my brain compensated. No more. I am seeing double, and not just when I read. Trying to focus my vision to see only one exhausts me.
But in the all of everything I’ve endured since January, I’ve made significant progress. I’m doing much better. Mostly managing. And that is reason to feel thankful.
IT’S BEEN A YEAR. No other words exist to define 2023, a year in which I’ve been overwhelmed by fall-out from a virus in early January. Although I self-tested negative twice for COVID, my primary care doctor suspects I did, indeed, have COVID given the neurological and other issues I’ve experienced since then. I fully agree.
This is my story, one that needs to be shared so that others understand just how viruses affect some of us. This story needs to be shared also to offer hope to others. This story needs to be shared, too, so that anyone who is ill thinks twice about going to work, the grocery store, church, concerts, family gatherings or elsewhere, thus exposing others to infectious diseases.
To tell my story, it’s necessary to give some background. In 2005, at the age of 48, I caught whooping cough. I was sick, really sick, for three months. Gasping for air sick. Coughing until my stomach hurt sick. Exhausted, unable to sleep. In 2011, I lost the hearing in my right ear due to a virus. My body, for whatever reason, does not handle bacterial and viral infections well.
And then came January 2023, and the virus that would change my life.
This artwork by Bill Nagel fits how my neurological system felt, still feels sometimes when I experience sensory overload. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
IN THE BEGINNING
Symptoms started with feeling off-balance, off-kilter, as if I was fighting the world just to be upright. I waited to see my doctor, thinking (like most of us do) that I would get better. I didn’t. I, in fact, got worse. I experienced a bout of vertigo, a rapid heart rate, high blood pressure, all new and troubling symptoms. I felt like I’d been slapped on the right side of my head, a feeling that persisted for many months. And when I tried to sleep, my legs practically ran a marathon in bed.
My primary care physician acknowledged early on that his ability to help me was limited. But he listened, tried…and sent me to an ear/nose/throat doctor for an evaluation. To even get through these medical appointments was a struggle. I had to close my eyes to converse. I felt overly-anxious and agitated, also new symptoms. I was, by then, feeling ear pain, fullness, pressure and tinnitus. I couldn’t sleep. My head hurt. My fingertips hurt. I couldn’t handle screen time. Eventually I would see a neurologist, undergo a CT scan, then an MRI of my brain to rule out a tumor or anything else. It was as if my body was being assaulted.
I felt overwhelmed. I struggled sometimes to find the right words. “Why can’t I talk?” I asked Randy. My brain seemed to be malfunctioning, misfiring, miscommunicating. My neurological system was under siege. My memory, which has always been stellar, was (and remains) affected.
This cool mint toothpaste set my mouth afire. For a while I brushed my teeth with baking soda, then switched to kids’ bubblegum flavored toothpaste. I only recently returned to using mint toothpaste. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
MAJOR SENSORY OVERLOAD
But the symptom which proved particularly debilitating was sensory overload. I couldn’t tolerate light or noise. I sat in the recliner, living room curtains drawn, body folded into the fetal position. No sound except the ringing in my own ears. I rocked 100 miles an hour, occasionally arose to pace the floor, stretched putty left from previous occupational therapy. Nothing calmed my body or mind. All I wanted was darkness, quiet, nothing stimulating entering my brain.
I struggled to get through Easter dinner at our house, missed my grandchildren’s birthday parties and a niece’s baby shower. Most heartbreaking of all was missing my son’s graduation with his master’s degree. I couldn’t handle the long road trip to Indiana, sit through the ceremony at Purdue. I couldn’t even manage grocery shopping; too much white noise from coolers and too much visual stimulation. Phone calls proved taxing, any conversation difficult. I was primarily housebound except for trips to the clinic and one to the ER following an allergic reaction to an unknown something. By then I’d been diagnosed with Meniere’s Disease and vestibular neuritis.
And then came the morning I brushed my teeth, the mint taste so overwhelming that I spit out the toothpaste. Rather than losing my sense of taste, mine intensified. For a week, until I saw my doctor (who added peripheral sensory neuropathy to my diagnoses) and got a prescription to settle my nervous system, I could eat only the blandest of foods. Oatmeal. Soda crackers. Graham crackers. I lost nine pounds in five days. Overall, I’ve lost 25 pounds this year. I’m OK with losing that weight, but don’t recommend this weight loss method. I went through a lengthy period of eating only a few bites of food at a meal.
All of this I experienced following COVID. Plus a rash and hair loss, either from the virus or from anti-anxiety meds. Nearly a year out from the virus, I am in a much better place. It took five months of vestibular rehab therapy, time and a lot of hard work to get here. Next up, I will write about retraining my brain, learning to manage my symptoms and how I found my way back to semi “normal.”
#
NOTE: I’ve been asked by several people whether the COVID vaccine caused my neurological and other issues since I am fully-boosted and vaccinated. No. My health problems began when I had that January virus, thought to be COVID. Had I not been vaccinated and boosted, I firmly believe I would have ended up in the hospital, perhaps even died. Negative comments about the vaccine and boosters will not be posted on this, my personal blog.
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
Recent Comments