Walking through last week’s white fluff several inches deep (a foot deep in some places) to reach a feed trough, it occurred to me that I did not quite feel attached to my feet. It seemed they had a mind of their own, though luckily, they had a mind to stick with me and go where I was going.
At the time, I thought, “Out-of-body experience.” That isn’t quite the right description. It’s more of a detachment.
I found I didn’t mind it. I’m familiar with the feeling; it happens all the time. With vestibular migraine, my ear doesn’t quite connect to my brain in the right way. There’s also a nerve that connects from ear to knee. Thanks to my ear and that nerve, when I experience a trigger like sudden bright light or a moving crowd, my knees can buckle or my feet land akilter while walking.
So when I experienced that in the snow, it was a lot more fun than if I had had a migraine.
I’m thinking about writing about what all happened with my health. It was traumatic. It was extremely painful: physically, mentally, and emotionally. I wouldn’t write it to say any cliches like, “I went through this; you can get through whatever thing you’re going through.” I would write it in case anyone needs the information I learned from the whole process. The medical stuff is difficult to navigate, and it’s made even more difficult by the fact you just don’t feel good when you’re having to navigate it.
If I were to offer this writing, I would offer it in good faith that the reader would remain open-minded and thoughtful about what I say.
It’s still an “if.” This kind of writing is deeply personal, and it can be intimidating to put it out there. Vulnerable.
I could only hope it could help someone.
Those are a writer’s thoughts for this Tuesday afternoon.