Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

A health update: I like savory food, but not this tasty June 17, 2023

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Nothing spicy for me last week. Nope. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

AT 7:11 PM TUESDAY I TEXTED this to my oldest daughter: Do not forget you have super sensitive taste buds & lick an envelope flap. Really bad idea.

I was the one who forgot, not her. I was the one with the hypersensitive taste buds. I was the one who grabbed my bottled water and ran to the bathroom to repeatedly rinse the strong taste from my mouth. I was the one with overly-active taste buds, just another of the many sensory overload symptoms I’ve experienced following a virus in early January.

Of all the past and present symptoms—from imbalance; short-lived vertigo (only when prone): ear ringing, popping and pain and feeling of moisture in my ear; sensitivity to light, sound, smell and touch; feelings of ice water coursing through my body; feeling like I’ve been slapped on the face; headaches; and more I’m likely forgetting right now—this taste issue proved particularly challenging. It landed me in the ER one Thursday afternoon recently with swelling of my tongue and lips and a feeling of my throat closing. That’s scary, darned scary.

Oatmeal with brown sugar, not bananas or any other fruit, was one of the few foods I could eat last week. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

WEARY OF OATMEAL

Thereafter, for the next week, I could eat only bland foods and only small amounts. Oatmeal. Graham crackers. A blueberry proved too intense. So did a grape. It tasted awful. In five days, I lost nine pounds. Not a weigh loss program I recommend. Anything I ate caused an allergic reaction, but thankfully not enough for a return ER visit.

I couldn’t brush my teeth because my taste buds couldn’t tolerate even a non-flavored toothpaste. Toothpaste set my mouth afire. Eventually, after contacting my dentist’s office, I tried baking soda. That tasted like someone dumped a load of salt in my mouth.

I feel like I’m reaching reaching for help as seen in this public art sculpture, “Waist Deep,” photographed in Northfield in 2019. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

JUST WANTING TO BE WELL

To say it was a hellish week would be an understatement. I was scared. Frustrated. Anxious. Wanting answers and hope. More than once, Randy heard me state, “I just want to feel better.” He was patient, encouraging, supportive, as he has been through the past six months of multiple building symptoms.

Back at the end of May already, I noticed toothpaste seemed especially minty. I told two of the doctors I was seeing of this occasional taste oddity. That went nowhere and perhaps I did not push the point enough. And then came that Thursday afternoon ER trip and my taste buds run amok.

This art by Faribault eighth grader Mohamed represents how I feel regarding my overstimulated senses. This art was shown at a student art show earlier this year. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2023)

TIME TO CALM THOSE NERVES IN MY BRAIN

It was at my ER follow-up visit with my primary care doctor that I found hope in a physician with deep compassion and care. I could see both in his eyes, hear both in his words. He pledged to try what he could to help me. He prescribed a medication to help calm the overactive nerves in my brain which control the senses. After one dose, I was already feeling relief. My taste buds are back to normal. I can eat without feeling like the food I just put in my mouth is starting a fire. No more throat, tongue or lip swelling. If it continues to work, and I have no reason to think otherwise, then I am grateful.

A THEORY, GUESS OR WHATEVER YOU WANT TO CALL IT

This is all a bit of a guessing game, a try and see what works process. Even my family doctor’s diagnosis of peripheral sensory neuropathy seems a best guess. The sensory part fits for sure. His theory is that the virus I had in January was COVID, even though I self-tested negative twice for the virus. Those home tests, he said, can be inaccurate if the tester doesn’t quite do things right. I am beginning to believe more and more that he’s right, that I am experiencing post-COVID symptoms.

A page from Eric Carle’s book, From Head to Toe. I ought to frame this page and hang it in my office. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

PHYSICAL THERAPY CONTINUES

I continue with vestibular rehab therapy to retrain my brain to compensate for the irreversibly-damaged 8th vestibular nerve in my right ear. That nerve controls balance. My initial diagnoses of vestibular neuritis and Meniere’s Disease (due to hearing loss caused by a virus in 2011) remain.

All of this is a lot. These are diseases that I must learn to live with and manage. I have good days and bad. But I am determined, working hard at therapy, getting out and about to build up my sensory tolerance. A recent attempt to dine out at a restaurant proved overwhelming. But I managed a dental cleaning with a sensory accommodating hygienist. A trip to a big box store nearly proved too much given the music, the people, all the visual stuff. I managed an outdoor concert with an ear plug in my good ear. I struggled to get through a meeting with a financial planner when I had to listen closely and engage in conversation. I am beginning to understand my limits, yet try to push myself just over, to challenge myself without experiencing full-blown symptoms.

These roses are for you, dear blog readers, for your kindness, compassion and support. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

WITH GRATITUDE

Onward I go. I want to pause and thank you, my dear readers, for your ongoing encouragement and support. I’ve needed both, welcomed both, felt so very loved. I am grateful. I told Randy, “I have the best blog readers!” You are. The best.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Reminded of the importance of farmers June 16, 2023

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Hy-Vee in Faribault grilled pork burgers outside its patio area on Thursday with a tractor parked nearby. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)

I LUNCHED YESTERDAY with a guy from northern Rice County who farms and runs an auto body repair shop. The shop is Andy’s primary business with crop farming secondary. He rents out some of his acreage, tending only his alfalfa field. He has plenty of customers for his hay. Mostly people with horses and dairy goats, he said.

This massive tractor provided photo ops outside Faribault’s Hy-Vee grocery store. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)

Before Thursday, I’d never met Andy. But I asked if Randy and I could join him at a patio table outside Faribault’s Hy-Vee. The grocer was serving free pork burgers, chips and bottled water as part of its “Feed the Farmers that Feed America” event. The Iowa-based supermarket chain is working with Feeding America-affiliated food banks to help end hunger. A donation jar was filling with bills.

A farm site north of Faribault, photographed from Interstate 35. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2023)

Events like this remind me just how important agriculture is to all of us. Without farmers, we’d be hard-pressed to feed ourselves. Or at least I would since I don’t have a garden or animals or anything except two broccoli plants started from seed by my 4-year-old grandson.

A tractor waits at a stoplight aside other traffic on busy Minnesota State Highway 21, just off Interstate 35 in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)

Events like this remind me also that agriculture is an important part of my community. Farm fields surround Faribault. Tractors rumble through town, sometimes past my house.

Parked at the Hy-Vee event, a corn (and beer) themed ATV. Guests enjoy free pork burgers on the patio. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)

Although I was raised on a crop and dairy farm, I don’t always consider how agriculture impacts us in our daily lives. Without farmers working the land, tending crops, the shelves at HyVee and other grocery stores would be empty. Farmers’ markets wouldn’t exist. And I’d be really hungry because, as much as I like broccoli, that’s not enough to quell my hunger.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Exploring historic Oak Ridge, more than just a cemetery June 15, 2023

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Sign on the Oak Ridge Cemetery limestone crypt. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

THEY ARE PLACES of sorrow, of history, of art, of beauty. Of stories, too. They are cemeteries.

Trees fill the historic Oak Ridge Cemetery in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

Decades ago, as a child, I feared cemeteries, thinking about the bodies buried in caskets beneath the ground. The unexpected death of my paternal grandfather when I was not quite eight shaped my thoughts then of graveyards. But my thinking and perspectives changed as I aged until I felt comfortable walking in a cemetery. I had accepted death.

The natural beauty of Oak Ridge, especially the oaks, is one of the things I most appreciate. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

Today, exploring cemeteries is an activity I enjoy. I appreciate all they hold. Oak Ridge Cemetery, set on rolling hills on Faribault’s northwest side just off Second Avenue NW/Minnesota State Highway 3, is among the countless graveyards I’ve walked.

An informational sign about Levi Nutting. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

It’s Faribault’s first cemetery, incorporated in 1857, five years after the town was founded. The death of his 26-year-old wife, Mary, on Christmas Day 1856 prompted Levi Nutting to lead founding of an official cemetery. Nutting was a man of prominence. As an early area settler, he helped shape his community, serving as mayor and Rice County commissioner. Nutting also held several state government offices, including that of a senator.

Nutting family grave markers. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

Levi and many other Nuttings lie buried beneath the soil at Oak Ridge among the oaks and spruce and maple. This place feels like a hilltop island of peacefulness. Not that it’s quiet here. But a sense of calm and serenity in this spot of remarkable natural beauty prevails.

(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

History also infuses Oak Ridge, not only in names on gravestones, but also on informational plaques scattered throughout the grounds.

The burial spot of a Civil War veteran, flagged for Memorial Day. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
Civil War veteran Michael Cook’s marker details his death. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

There are a whole lot of long ago dates inscribed in stone. The first known burial here was in 1850, before cemetery incorporation. Men who fought in the Civil and Spanish American Wars lie here. So do legislators, business leaders, farmers, paupers, immigrants and more, according to the Oak Ridge website.

Loving words on a husband and wife’s tombstone. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

“IN THEIR DEATH THEY WERE NOT DIVIDED” reads the message on the headstone of Rodney A. Mott and Mary Ripley Mott.

Markers like this can be purchased for unmarked graves. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

Hannah Jane Rockwell’s marker, installed through Oak Ridge’s Sponsor a Marker for an Unmarked Grave Program, simply lists her name, birth and death dates, and then the loving words, “Mother to 10.”

A message written in a notebook at Jeremy’s grave. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

Jeremy J. Weber’s black tombstone, still shiny with newness, is surrounded by expressions of recent grief. The 34-year-old father of three died in 2021. A waterproof case includes a notebook for messages and memories. Words written therein are loving, heartbreaking.

Beautiful urn art graces a grave. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

Grief is undeniably here. I read that, see that, feel that. But I also feel the love. These were individuals with families who loved them and whom they loved. These were individuals who were valued personally and/or professionally. They were, above all, human beings who held a special place on this earth.

Fitting for Oak Ridge, oak leaves on a tombstone. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

Cemeteries reveal all of this, if only we take the time to walk among the tombstones, aged and new. Inscriptions, art, names, dates, memorabilia and flowers placed graveside all tell stories. That is the beauty within the boundaries of a cemetery like Oak Ridge, which rises high above a city founded 171 years ago, the place where Levi Nutting moved with his family in 1855, a year later his young wife dead.

The historic limestone pumphouse sits atop the hill, in the heart of the cemetery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
This map shows a section of Oak Ridge’s lay-out. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

FYI: Oak Ridge accepts donations and welcomes volunteers to help with cemetery upkeep. Burial plots are for sale. And markers may be purchased for unmarked graves.

 

Mary the tortoise goes missing June 13, 2023

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Missing tortoise poster. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)

HOW DO YOU LOSE a tortoise? I don’t have the answer and didn’t call to ask. But on Faribault’s east side, Mary the tortoise has gone missing.

I spotted a sign recently for the disappearing reptile on the corner of Ravine Street and Sixth Avenue Northeast. I’ve seen many lost dog and cat posters in Faribault. But a tortoise? Never.

Of course, I instantly thought of the fable, “The Tortoise and the Hare,” in which the slow-moving but determined tortoise wins the race against the confident, boastful rabbit. While the hare naps, the tortoise keeps going. In the end, the loser realizes that maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t have been so mocking of the tortoise. It’s a good lesson for anyone. It’s OK to be confident, but not at the expense of putting down others.

Back to tortoises. Many years ago, one showed up on our driveway on a summer afternoon. What a surprise. No one expects an errant tortoise on their property. A cat or dog, yes. But an over-sized reptile, no.

My brave brave second daughter scooped that tortoise up, despite my motherly warning not to do so (hey, I didn’t know how the reptile would react), and carried it back home across busy Willow Street. How our neighbor’s tortoise escaped and then safely crossed the street still baffles me.

Just like Mary. What happened to her? And where, oh where, has that not-so-little tortoise gone?

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

While doing my therapy assignment, an uninvited dinner guest shows up June 9, 2023

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Kinda how my brain feels, broken and trying to piece itself back together. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

LIVING WITH CHALLENGING duo health diagnoses like mine of vestibular neuronitis and Meniere’s Disease means my life has altered considerably. Some days are good. Some days are bad. And others are a mix. I can never predict how I may feel on any given day.

But I’m determined to do the best I can to manage what has now become a part of living. My physical therapist, with whom I’ve met eight times already, has been a great support in providing brain re-training exercises and encouragement. My balance is better. My double vision is easing. My tolerance to noise is improving. Certainly not like I was pre all of this, but I’ll take any improvement.

These railroad tracks lead to The Depot Bar & Grill in the distance. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

JUST DOING MY HOMEWORK

My last assignment from Ryan, my vestibular rehab therapist, was to get out into the real world, even dine at a restaurant. I took my homework and ran with it, maybe too far. Saturday morning Randy and I stopped at a garage sale and then went grocery shopping at two stores. By the time we reached the second grocer, which is considerably larger, noisier and busier than the first, I felt my symptoms flaring from the sensory overload. Oh, boy, how would I manage lunch with his sister?

With a bit of time before lunch, I closed my eyes, rested and tried to settle my hardworking brain.

Soon my sister-in-law Cheryl arrived and we were off to The Depot Bar & Grill, housed in an historic depot along the train tracks next to the river. It’s a lovely place with typically good food. I asked to be seated in a quiet area, explaining that I have sensory issues, especially with sound. I thought I could handle it. After all, I’d been training myself at home by listening to white noise city traffic, roaring waterfalls, crashing thunderstorms while moving my hands near my face. Enough practice and I was managing that noise symptom-free.

Dining tables are right next to the train track at The Depot. A train passed during a previous patio meal there. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

A WHOLE LOT OF TOO MUCH FOR MY BRAIN

But practice is not reality. As we settled at our lower level table with only two other dining tables in that section occupied, I thought, “This won’t be too hard.” But then, as more people filled the restaurant and the volume of conversations increased, I felt my head hurting, my eyes hurting, the constant roar of people’s voices making me feel worse and worse. Finally, I conceded that we’d have to move to the patio. It was too much for me. Our waitress was generously accommodating.

She warned us ahead of time that the cottonwood trees along the Straight River were dropping their fluffy white seeds. That they were. As the white fluff swirled and danced and fell upon our table, I felt like we were in a snowstorm. After our food arrived, Cheryl covered her plate with a napkin. I didn’t, nor did Randy. Fluff landed in my water. I still wasn’t feeling well.

I tried to hang in there, taking only small bites of my French dip sandwich, offering the chips (I’m avoiding salt) to my table-mates. I tried to shut out the conversation of the two women dining near us. But their voices, even though not really loud, sounded loud to me. I tried to engage in conversation with Randy and his sister, whom we haven’t seen in a long time. It was a lot for my brain to handle—juggling listening, talking, surrounding noise, visual of swirling white fluff, staff up and down the nearby steps, traffic sounds (thankfully no train).

A dead rattlesnake inside a case at Grizzly Canyon, an antique shop in Sleepy Eye. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2019)

AN UNEXPECTED DISTRACTION

Then in the midst of this feeling awful and trying to get through this meal, I saw a long snake slither from across the railroad tracks, under the wrought iron fence and onto the patio. It slid toward the nearby empty table, under the chairs, briefly lifting its head as if to inspect. I wasn’t scared, just thankful it was not by us. The snake drew significant attention. Had I been feeling better, I would have pulled out my cellphone to take pictures. Others did, before the snake reversed and headed back toward the tracks, back toward the grassy river bank. A guy identified the snake as a gopher snake. I knew this was not a garter snake, as the women next to us said. I would have guessed rattlesnake, which shows how little I know about snakes. I know only that I don’t like snakes.

After that excitement, we continued with our meals, me mostly leaning my head into my hand in an effort to at least stay until the others finished eating. Finally, I said, “We have to leave.” My symptoms had flared out of control. I tried. And, if anything, I came home with an interesting story to tell about the uninvited dinner (technically lunch) guest down by the (former) train station.

FYI: The non-profit Vestibular Disorder Association, is a great resource to learn about vestibular disorders. Click here.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

When a motorist loses control outside our house June 8, 2023

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Damage done to the boulevard. Our bedroom was in the direct path of an errant vehicle. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)

THE SQUEAL OF TIRES, followed by thuds, disrupted our almost-asleep state of being Tuesday evening. “What was that?” I asked Randy. I was more curious than alarmed.

We live along a busy street in Faribault. Odd and loud noises are not uncommon. But, on a week night at 11 pm, this did seem out of the ordinary. Randy waited a bit, then rolled out of bed to check. Curiosity will always get you. He saw nothing except a torn-up patch of boulevard grass outside our bedroom window. No vehicle in sight.

I asked if we should call the police. “What would they do?” Randy asked. He was right. We had nothing to report except the sounds and the displaced patch of lawn. The vehicle was long gone.

Black marks on the pavement show how the vehicle veered out of the traffic lane toward and over the curb. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)

Morning shed more light on the situation. Black tire tracks curved toward the curb next to the boulevard. It is likely accurate to assume that a driver was going too fast down Tower Place (the hilly side street by our corner lot) and lost control while turning onto Willow Street. Oops. Should have slowed down and stopped at the bottom of the hill. We’re just thankful he/she did not continue on, plowing into our bedroom.

If I was a forensic investigator, I could determine the make and model of the vehicle based on this part left behind on the damaged lawn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)

This is not the first time we’ve dealt with vehicle-related issues on our property. A tire once fell off a car and rolled down the hill, slamming into the side of our house, just missing the gas meter and pipe. Other times vehicles have jumped the curb on icy streets. One landed half-way across our side yard, taking out the stop sign on the way.

Lawn litter. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)

While outside examining the lawn damage and tire tracks Wednesday morning, I happened upon a rectangular box tossed on the grass near the stop sign. It was an empty box once containing 2.0 grams of Sunset Sherbert hybrid distillate disposable vape. Pluto Labs, THE FUTURE OF CANNABIS, LIVE RESIN, the box read. I don’t pretend to know much about cannabis, except that the Minnesota legislature recently approved the use of recreational marijuana. But that doesn’t take effect until August 1.

Then I flipped the box to read that this was a SCHEDULED 1 CONTROLLED SUBSTANCE… THE INTOXICATING EFFECTS OF THIS PRODUCT MAY BE DELAYED UP TO TWO HOURS. THIS PRODUCT MAY IMPAIR THE ABILITY TO DRIVE OR OPERATE MACHINERY, PLEASE USE EXTREME CAUTION.

It made me wonder. Did the out-of-control driver toss this empty box from his/her vehicle just before rounding the corner and then slamming into and jumping the curb onto our lawn? The dots seem to connect.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

A wordsmith cites wrong (in her opinion) word usage June 6, 2023

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Almonds in a jar, our healthy snack food. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)

I AM A SENSITIVE SOUL. I am also a wordsmith. Combine the two and you get someone who responds with sensitivity to words. That’s me. Use inappropriate words in certain contexts and my emotions flare.

For example, I don’t like the words crazy, insane and nuts when applied in general to how someone is acting. If you’re talking about actual nuts, like peanuts, walnuts or almonds, nuts is appropriate. Apply it to human behavior and you have overstepped the boundaries of fitting word usage in my opinion.

You can be crazy with joy, meaning excessively joyful. I’m good with that. But if someone terms another person crazy, I recognize that for what it is, a hurtful label. Ditto for insane.

For anyone with a mental illness, especially, and for others, words like crazy and nuts sound offensive. I can’t think of any other illness with such associated disrespectful words that are loosely used in everyday life.

And then there’s the intentional use of hurtful words. A southern Minnesota craft brewery, whose name and location I choose not to share here (but which I feel needs some education by the National Alliance on Mental Illness), claims “Crazy Good Beer” with names that are spin-offs of mental illnesses. Hopzophrenia IPA. Catatonic Cream Ale. Manic Black Lager. Clever marketing or humorous, you might say. Me? Nope. This sensitive soul finds these names degrading/mean/offensive/insensitive to anyone diagnosed with and managing a mental illness.

What if, for example, the beers were spin-offs tied to cancer? Chemo Juice. Black Lung Lager. Radiated Raspberry Sour. And so on. I expect the response would be loud, and not in a good way. But it’s alright to name beers after schizophrenia, depression, bi-polar…? Nope. Not OK.

I’m not picking on this small town brewery. I expect these are fine, hardworking folks dedicated to the craft of brewing beer. Rather, it’s one public example of inappropriate word usage and the importance of recognizing the power of words.

Words matter, sensitive wordsmith or not.

THOUGHTS? Any words that spark a negative reaction in you?

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Make way for goslings along the Cannon June 5, 2023

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A family of Canada geese emerge from the grass growing along the Cannon River in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

EACH SPRING I ANTICIPATE the appearance of newborn ducks and geese in the wild. There’s something about these waterfowl that appeals to me. Perhaps it’s the cuteness factor. Or maybe it’s the reassurance that, despite the ever-changing chaotic world, some things remain constant. Eggs hatch. Ducklings and goslings emerge. And the cycle of life continues.

I spotted adult mallard ducks, including these drakes and hen, but no ducklings. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

This year I was a bit late getting down to North Alexander Park in Faribault, a prime viewing spot along the Cannon River for an adaptation of Robert McCloskey’s children’s picture book, Make Way for Ducklings. The book won the Caldecott Medal in 1941 and is a beloved classic about a duck family in Boston.

Parent and baby gosling along the recreational trail in Faribault’s North Alexander Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

On the recent day I went duck and goose hunting with my camera here in Minnesota, far from Boston, I found only goslings. No ducklings. I approached with caution. I’ve learned from experience that Canada geese are aggressively protective of their young. I already hold childhood trauma from enduring vicious rooster attacks. I don’t need to add to that.

I kept my distance from the goose family, relying on my telephoto lens to take me closer. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

And so I watched and focused, thankful for my zoom lens which allowed getting close to the geese without getting close. The young ones appeared to be at teenage stage, rather than vulnerable baby stage. Thus my trust of even the youngest rated zero.

Determined goslings assert their independence. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

I was fully aware that the geese were aware of my presence. People occasionally toss bread to waterfowl here (something I wish they wouldn’t do), so they may have expected a hand-out. Not from me. I was simply there to observe and document while dodging excrement, one of the hazards of stepping into a Robert McCloskey scene.

Despite the caution, despite the need to watch my step, I will continue to delight in this annual rite of spring which draws me to the banks of the Cannon River in southern Minnesota. Far from Boston.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Vestibular neuronitis: Challenges, info & a trip to China June 2, 2023

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A turtle, rather than a tortoise, used for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2020)

I TOOK A FIELD TRIP TODAY. Not the fun sort like my granddaughter, Isabelle, took Thursday to see a performance of “The Adventures of Tortoise and Hare” at the Ordway in St. Paul. Rather mine was into the outdoors, outside a physical therapy office in Faribault.

Friday marked my seventh vestibular rehab therapy session with Ryan at Courage Kenny. I started weekly therapy in mid April after being diagnosed with vestibular neuronitis and Meniere’s Disease. These are complex diagnoses which affect the vestibular system in my right ear. (Click here to read an earlier blog post that details my many symptoms.) Basically, therapy is retraining my brain to handle the deficiencies I’m now experiencing due to damage to my eighth vestibular nerve. And to think this all started with a viral infection in January.

Back to today. Typically I meet with my physical therapist in a small room where we review my symptoms and progress and I learn, and practice, new exercises. Last week we ventured into a long hallway so I could walk back and forth, moving my head from side to side and then up and down. I didn’t do so well, veering to the left and into the wall. But I practiced at home all week, as I do all exercise homework Ryan assigns, and I felt I was doing better. I am determined to do everything I can to reclaim my life, or at least some version of what life was before these health issues.

A scene at Falls Creek County Park, rural Faribault, used for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2022)

OK, WE’RE TAKING THIS OUTSIDE

Then Ryan announced we were going outside to try this walking and head turning activity on the sidewalk. I started out not so well, again steering left. Being outdoors added sensory input I wasn’t used to experiencing inside a small room. This exposed me to a real world environment. One with chirping birds and traffic and people crossing the parking lot and trees and clouds. Just a whole lot for my brain to try and manage. Once I’d semi-managed the sidewalk, we moved onto the lawn. Another new landscape to take in while I moved my head and attempted to walk a straight line.

That was my field trip. A change-up from a controlled environment. My ability to handle my symptoms has assuredly improved with therapy as Ryan nudges me to push myself more. And I am. I’m out and about some now, trying to do things I once didn’t think twice about doing. Trips to the grocery store, big box stores, a walk in the park, doing photography, simply being among people. It’s not always easy, especially when symptoms flare. Sometimes I fail. I recognize my limits. That includes time on the computer. Too much online time and my head begins to hurt, my vision blurs, I see double. Because of that, I’ve been publishing fewer blog posts.

This is how I feel sometimes. Artwork close-up by Bill Nagel. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

YES, IT REALLY IS IN MY HEAD

Yesterday my dear friend Beth Ann, whom I met when she lived in Iowa but who now lives in North Carolina, blogged about vestibular neuritis/neuronitis. I had no idea she was going to write this and then designate the Vestibular Disorders Association as the beneficiary of her monthly “Comments for a Cause” project. (Please click here to read Beth Ann’s well-written, informative blog post.)

Each month Beth Ann chooses a different group or nonprofit to feature and support with a financial gift. I was humbled by her desire to increase awareness of vestibular issues. And, bonus, she enlightened me about the Vestibular Disorders Association which, at quick glance, will be a valuable resource as I navigate my diagnoses. I feel validated just scrolling through the website, like I want to shout, “This is real! This isn’t just in my head. It really, truly is in my head!”

Merchandise vended by an international singing group that performed in Faribault and used for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2014)

GOING TO CHINA WITHOUT GOING TO CHINA

Earlier this week I endured an MRI per my neurologist’s orders to assure nothing else is going on inside my brain besides the already-known. I get results on Wednesday. He’s confident nothing additional will be found and I hope he’s right. While in that machine for an hour trying to manage the blasts of overpowering noise (I’m hypersensitive to sensory input), I remembered Ryan’s advice to “dig deep” to get through the procedure. I think I dug a hole all the way to China.

 Next week I will need to dig deep again to get through another hearing test, followed by an appointment with the ENT given persistent, intermittent ear pain and more. I’m documenting my symptoms (once a reporter, always a reporter). And I’m hoping for answers as I press onward, preferring not to travel internationally again.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling