Paula's story
Vertigo is different from dizziness. Dizziness is when you feel light-headed, weak, or a little unsteady on your feet. Vertigo is an out-of-control sensation of spinning, of the world around you spinning, of feeling completely off-balance.
I’ve been struggling with these sensations for the past four days. It’s much better now, but in the beginning, it brought with it incredible nausea, headaches, and, quite frankly, fear. It’s a scary thing to feel like you have lost control of the very ground beneath your feet.
The most common type of vertigo, and the kind I believe happened to me, comes from a problem in your inner ear, or the vestibular nerve in your brain: the structures that help you stay balanced. A typical cause of this type of peripheral vertigo is called BPPV, or benign paroxysmal positional vertigo, which is basically an inner ear disorder. It happens when you move your head a certain way, such as tipping it backward.
So, what causes this? An inner ear disorder can happen when tiny calcium particles get dislodged from their normal location and collect in the inner ear. This can occur for no known reason, and has been known to occur more often as we age. And because the inner ear is constantly sending signals to your brain about your head and body movements to help you keep your balance, these dislodged crystals wreak havoc with those signals. And your balance is suddenly shot.
For me, I sat up to get out of bed early Thursday morning, and the whole room around me spun, fast. All I could do was lie back down and wait for it to stop, which it did after a minute or two — the longest minutes of my life. James was at my side in a second, and I moved incredibly slowly, trying to keep my head at the same level, as he walked me to the bathroom. What followed over the next few days was a combination of brief instances of vertigo, yet a constant feeling of being off balance, like being on the deck of a ship in rolling seas, where you are continually grasping at any inanimate object just to stay upright, and to get from one place to the next.
James has suffered from a different, more serious form of vertigo, for years, something called cervical vertigo, which stems from inflammation of the cervical nerves in his neck. Thankfully, it has happened only three times since I have known him, but it’s serious enough to last for hours, and twice, to land him in the emergency room for IV fluids and sedatives. My point is, that he understood instinctively what was going on with me, and he was a huge help in managing the symptoms.
As the days went on, I found I felt best sitting in one position with a book held at a certain angle in front of me, so that I wasn’t moving my head; indeed, I wasn’t moving much at all. I got a lot of reading done! On the second day, I was desperate for a shower, so James stepped into the shower with me, and washed my hair as I sat on the tiled bench he had insisted on making when he renovated the bathroom, adding features like a seat and a safety handle that we thought we’d need only in a far distant future. And he had to dry my body because I couldn’t bend to towel off my legs. (That might have been a high point, actually.) Eventually, I found I could stand up and walk without the room spinning around me, as long as I held my head in the same position. I could watch television, but I couldn’t look down to eat off my plate at the same time. Bending down to pick something off the floor was out of the question. If James wanted to show me something on his phone, he had to hold it in front of me; I couldn’t turn my head to look at the images. Tipping my head back to drink was unthinkable. Getting into bed meant moving like a snail until my head gently reached the pillow, which was one of several piled up behind my shoulders, and then not turning from side to side.
Anyway, I have gradually improved, and I’m beyond grateful. It’s amazing the parts of our everyday life that we take for granted. We, all of us, stand on shaky ground as we age, and although we really don’t need the universe to remind us of that, it seems determined to do so.
Cheers!
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Annemarie's story
On thé Deck
One of my most exciting voyages was on the passenger liner SS Uganda. Usually the family's biennial trip to the uk was by plane, a journey at that time taking three intervening refuelling stops between Kampala and London. This time it was to be by boat, a part of our holiday.
SS Uganda was built in 1952 as a passenger liner then became a cruise ship. During the Falkland's War she was called up for military duty while on a cruise and her 315 cabin passengers and 940 school children were immediately discharged(dumped!) in Naples, where on docking the ship full of children could be heard singing "Rule Britannia".
I had just turned six and the children on the voyage had a certain amount of freedom to roam this vast ship, watched over and spoilt by the stewards. My most memorable moment was crossing the equator.
In the 18th century and earlier, the line-crossing ceremony was a brutal event, often involving beating pollywogs (those who have not crossed the equator before), with boards and wet ropes and sometimes throwing the victims over the side of the ship or dragging the pollywog through the surf from the stern as an initiation ceremony for the sailors. On the HMS Endeavour voyage of 1768, captained by James Cook there is a description of how the crew drew up a list of everyone on board, including cats and dogs and interrogated them as to whether they had crossed the equator. If the answer was 'no' they had to choose to give up their wine allowance for four days, or undergo a ceremony in which they were ducked three times into the ocean.
Fortunately for us crossing the equator was an excuse for a party and fancy dress. My baby brother was simply fitted with a pair of wings and went as a naked Eros. The rest I don't remember so enamoured was I of my own costume representing the ship and lovingly made by mum.
Blue skies, tropical sun, the Indian ocean alive with white horses as we crossed the equator east of Somalia. With great expectations we left our cabin, my black and white crepe dress rustling and rasping, my hat, a funnel of two black rings encircling a white ring, tethered to my hair with countless Kirby grips. Both hands gripping my tottering hat we arrived on the deck. In place of colourful deckchairs were crowds of countless one-eyed, bare-chested pirates with cardboard cutlasses (my father one of them), Neptunes bearing wonky tridents and a number of biped mermaids in shimmering shells...but...only one SS Uganda!
Anticipation and apprehension filled my 6year old self until I heard ..."and first prize goes to the little girl dressed as our ship..." I ran to collect my prize - 10 African shillings - and without waiting to hear 2nd and 3rd prize announced I tore through pirates, mermaids and Neptunes to the onboard shop. Since the beginning of the voyage I'd ogled a camouflaged army tank with a rotating gun turret. I had no idea what the vehicle was but the rotating turret had me mesmerised...and it was exactly 10 African shillings - the value of my prize. Of course the shop was closed, everyone else participating in the equator crossing ceremony. I had to wait an agonising 20 hours for my heart's desire. I loved that toy for a whole month only to have it crushed under the wheels of a car when we reached England. And I loved my funnel hat.
_______________Jackie's story
ON the 29Th of December 1959 a family left their home in Ferndown England climbed into the waiting taxi with all their worldly possessions and set off for Southampton. The taxi was stuffed to the gills with suitcases, three passengers and the driver and as it was very low on the ground, got stuck on some railway tracks. Several men rushed over to heave the taxi back on the road and tension mounted as the funnel of the boat started spewing white smoke and the horn bellowed announcing its departure.
Clutching their passenger ticket bought through Cook and Son Ltd. For 163.15 pounds sterling they boarded The Statendam cruise ship that went regularly from Southampton to New York
The family were directed to their 3 berth cabin n° 452 in tourist class and set off.
Crossing the Atlantic at the end of December in a smallish ocean liner was no joke. After the first few hours of calm weather in port and a good lunch the change was subtle, the air turned damp and heavy, the wind sharpened and the horizon darkened to a bruised slate gray. The calm sea transformed itself heaving and churning, rolling in slow, muscular swells and rain started to lash the deck in horizontal sheets.
The cabin was small and for three people they just had enough room to move around. As the parents were nailed to their sick beds the ten year old daughter managed to climb up stairs onto the deck and find a place on a window seat of a shop where she managed to curl up and wait it out.
She watched as the wind started to howl and send fine sprays of seawater high into the air. Waves towered over the railings, great walls of green seawater capped with foaming white, broke against the bow with explosions of spray. The horizon disappeared behind curtains of rain and sea mist.
The small girl clung to the window seat on deck calmly admiring the spectacle of the sea. The seasickness abated as she was outside but the announcement that stabilizers were being lowered to try to steady the boat made her and the passengers worried. Crew members tried to reassure the little girl and passed by her window seat regularly – “are you alright love, not too cold up here”? She clutched her coat put her arm through a bar in the window to stabilize and decided to stay put. The crew moved quickly and efficiently, their practiced calm offering reassurance to passengers, but even they paused to glance at the towering seas.
The boat pitched and rolled underfoot, sometimes with a lazy sway, sometimes with a sudden, stomach-dropping lurch. Plates rattled in the dining rooms. Doors slammed unexpectedly. The low groan of stressed metal echoed through the corridors, and every so often, a deep shudder ran through the hull as a wave collided with it head-on.
Then a out of the mist with horn blowing and shouts of laughter and joy the Statue of Liberty emerged. New York finally after 7 days that had seemed interminable. The little family went through customs and taxied to the next part of the journey as they made their way to Chicago then onto the Pacific railroad Golden State train to San Diego California where a new life began.
The young girl avoided any cruises, ocean crossings, ferries and anything moving on water until this day.
_______________________________
Sarah's story
On the Deck 5 no falling
(18.09.2025)
As she lay back on the deck in her two piece bathing suit (topless was a little too risky), admiring the view of the beaches and
palm trees flying past her, occasionally glancing down at her trim figure (no bulges, like some), she felt more than satisfied.
She had never been clever, but she had beauty, or so she always consoled herself. She was still young (she paid no attention to
the years that were attributed to her, in fact, she no longer counted them), she would always be young. Not like some.
But when she stepped off onto the unfamiliar wharf (they always holidayed in new and different places now that they had the
money for it), she tripped , and fell flat on her face. The wharf attendants rushed up and excused themselves and the marina for
the unfortunate accident. But as it turned out, she was all right and thanked them stiffly. She hadn't liked their helping her up,
as if she were an older person.
As she stood in front of her mirror that evening, making up her face for dinner, she smiled complacently. No wrinkles on her
face! Not like some. She smoothed the cream over, and patted her cheeks. But as she left the bathroom, she felt a bit dizzy.
And she fell. She managed to scramble up before her husband could come in and see her ignominiously crumpled on the floor.
But he caught her as she was just straightening up.
“What's the matter? Did you fall?”
“Certainly not! Nothing's the matter. I was just readjusting my dress.”
He looked somewhat dubious, but took her arm as the went down to the hotel dining room.
Once seated at their table she glanced at the menu and then looked round at the other guests, who were already being served.
The menu had two propositions for the evening: salade au saumon fumée or biftek frites. Bob of course would take the steak
and fries. At the other tables she noticed that most of the younger, svelter diners were having the salmon.
“I'll have the salad,” she announced.
Bob looked surprised. “But you've never eaten that before! You hate raw fish!”
Actually, she couldn't say she hated raw fish because she had always refused to touch it. But there was always a first time.
She didn't really appreciate the soft, slimy stuff, but she got it down. Or at least most of it. And exchanged a glance of triumph
with the young woman at the next table, who seemed in reaction to be somewhat nonplussed.
The next day she went to have her hair done. The hairdresser washed it, trimmed it and then asked her gently, “Couleur,
Madame?”
“What?” she said, and he showed her a colour chart. Shocked, she replied vehemently, “No! I am naturally blond and I don't
dye my hair!” (Not like some.) For years she had had hair so blond it was almost white, which she attributed to her
Scandinavian forbears (she had a Swedish great-grandmother in her lineage). The hairdresser looked somewhat dubious, but he
let it go.
Out in the street she tripped over an irregular paving stone she hadn't seen and fell flat on her face. People rushed up. One
took out his phone to call an ambulance. Before she knew it she was on her way to the hospital. They kept her all evening and
said she would be staying through the night. She was furious, because they had planned to go to a cabaret and she was now
locked up like a prisoner.
“At your age, Madame ...” the doctor began in his careful English.
“At my age, ridiculous! I am perfectly all right, and you must let me out!”
“I am sorry, Madame, but we cannot let you out until we have the results of the tests.”
As it turned out, the tests revealed nothing seriously out of order, but the doctor warned her to be more careful. “It's probably
just age, but ...” She didn't even give him time to finish.
He did, however, give her a prescription, which she went to the pharmacy to have filled. As she stood in the queue waiting her
turn, her eyes took in the rows of products on the shelves beside her. “Anti-chute” said one lot, “fortifiant”. She knew enough
French to recognize that “fortifiant” meant fortifying, and racking her brains she finally dragged up a memory. “Chute”
meaning falling or something like that.
“I'll have one of those,” she said when her turn came.
“La lotion?”
“Oh. And something to, er, eat?” She made the motions of swallowing something.
“Les comprimés. Bien sûr. C'est pour votre mari?”
“Mari” meant husband. “No,” she said, before she could think, “it's for me.” And then of course she regretted it. Why admit
to weaknesses? It was bad enough to have bought the stuff.
The woman looked at her dubiously, and then made the motions of rubbing her hair. “Frottez bien,” she said. Whatever did
she say that for?
Their week in France was now up and they boarded the next boat, which would take them to Greece and Turkey and
thereabouts, and ten days later, home. Her sister and her sister's husband were joining them in Rhodes. (They couldn't afford
so long a cruise as herself, she thought with satisfaction; as a child she had always been jealous of her younger sister, but things
had changed.)
As they lay on the deck, she noticed how gray her sister's hair now was, how pudgy she had become, and there was no doubt
about the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. She had never been clever like her sister, who had the brains of the family. But
she, she had the looks. She smiled internally and said nothing. But then her sister did.
“Your arms and legs have become very hairy,” she said. How typical of her sister to say whatever came into her head!
Annoyed, she looked at her arms, which she had been rubbing daily (along with the rest of her body) with the new lotion.
Indeed the hairs were longer, stronger and darker than before. She looked at her legs, which she had shaved only two days
earlier, and the hairs were already out again, sturdy and dark. “But your hair looks nice.”
Well, that was something. She had been doubtful about that part, but the package said something about “cheveux” so she had
thought she had better rub the lotion in there too. She was glad that some good had come of the product, because despite her
daily applications, she had fallen twice since she had begun the treatment.
“Let's go in to lunch,” said her sister then.
They stood up and, following her sister as the latter skipped nimbly along the deck, she tripped over a towel someone had
dropped, and fell once again flat on her face.
After the ship's doctor examined her and took her pulse, and after Bob had so inconsiderately told the man that she had fallen
several times lately, he prescribed rest. “At your age,” he began, until the gleam in her eye stopped him. “Anyway,” he
continued, “the captain has ordered that you not walk around where you might fall again. You can stay in your cabin or in this
deck chair, as you please.”
As she sat on the deck, fuming internally, she waited still for the medicine to take effect. She swallowed double doses, and in
her cabin rubbed the product furiously onto her skin. By the time they reached their home port, she was as hairy as a baboon,
but that didn't stop her falling as she stepped off the gangplank.
+ 1285 wds
