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.
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.
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).
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.
© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
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