Seeing 2-D In a 3-D World

I have a convergence disorder. When I focus on anything, either of my eyes will cross. For most people, when they focus, their eyes, naturally, look straight ahead together. The resulting image for me, apparently, is somewhat more flat than for typically sighted people.

Even though my brain has long-since learned to compensate for this, it still manages to impact on my functioning daily.

Take driving, for instance. Since I have a very hard time judging the distance between myself and other cars, I usually drive much further from the person in front of me than I probably have to. That may annoy some people, but at least it's safe. Parking, though, is another story. A spot has to be huge in order for me to try it. "Fortunately" for me, I have a handicapped parking placard, so I can usually find larger spots when I'm out.  Usually, but not always. Just today, in fact, I left a parking garage because the spots all seemed micro-sized to me. It was embarrassing, really, to have the parking attendant watch me attempt not one, but two spots before driving away in defeat. "Drive home safe," he told me. I drive fine. I just can't park! Oh, and never, ever ask me to parallel park. I have no idea how I did it for my driving test. Thank God I never have to do it again.

It's not just driving, though. I even have trouble simply walking. I never see little dips in the ground or bumps on the sidewalk. Especially if the color doesn't change. If I had a dollar for every weird step I made into a hole, over a seam in the cement or down a dip at the edge of the sidewalk, I'd have a tidy sum by now. Good thing I have strong bones. 

Walking in the dark is an even bigger adventure. The shadows and bits of light trick my eyes into thinking that bumps exist which don't and ones that do exist are even harder to spot. I usually hold on to things, walls, people, to avoid falling on my face. 

There have been less important ways I've had my lack of singular binocular vision affect me over the years. I can't catch, throw or hit a ball. Threading a needle can be torture. I also can't see a 3-D movie. Shrug. 

I have tried vision therapy at various times. It's really uncomfortable and there's a very slim chance that it will work for someone my age. I had that one doctor fairly recently suggest surgery to correct my eyes, saying it may even help my chronic dizziness. However, he also said it could make things worse as my brain has been used to seeing this way for so long, not to mention the fact that my eyes could just go back the way they were. Nah. I'll just hold on to things and park in big spaces. It's worked out all right so far. And I honestly don't mind missing out on 3-D movies. Or playing ball.

It all comes together

I don't know how many times I've seen that Botox commercial.

But, that night, as I listened to the announcer warn about the possible harmful effects of using the toxin, one thing jumped out at me - difficulty swallowing.

I heard something else about how the symptoms can take days to weeks to appear and then I was really intrigued. I had to read further. I consulted Google and found more of the same. 

That one piece of information was golden. It solved a major piece of the puzzle that had been my dizzy journey. 

It set in motion more research, which about sewed up the loose ends as well. But first things first. The swallowing.

When I first started with the dizziness and balance issues, my facial muscles would constantly move. My jaw would work itself back and forth and my right eye would continuously close. Although it clearly became worse when something would startle me or make me more dizzy, at the time, no doctor understood or could explain it, let alone treat it. We decided to try something unconventional at the time. I went to a practitioner that my husband at the time had a lot of faith in, because she treated a variety of problems, and was starting to work with Botox in her practice. She was not a vestibular specialist, or a neurologist or an ENT. All I knew about her practice was that she had treated my husband for weight issues. But she was willing to try the Botox and I was desperate enough to try anything. 

I remember getting some relief from the Botox; its paralyzing effects had helped curtail the movements at least. I seem to remember going for more than one treatment. Because this wasn't her area of expertise, she had to figure out how much toxin to give based on what results she expected. I completed my shots and that was that. Or so we thought. At least now I know.

The difficulty swallowing seemed to happen all at once. This was all so long ago, and I've lost many of my journals from back then, so I couldn't say how long it had been since I'd had the Botox treatments. At the time, that didn't matter, because the Botox wasn't even on our radar when the swallowing problem started anyway. All I knew was suddenly food didn't want to go down my throat. And when I got something down, my throat muscles would keep moving in a swallowing motion. It was terrifying. We had gone to the ER, but the staff there treated it first like an allergic reaction, then, when Benadryl alone wasn't "calming me down," they attributed to panic. Common assumption when it came to most of my symptoms. 

Doctors didn't know what they know now about Botox's effects. Hell, I found it difficult to find a practioner who was willing to try it with me. I can't even say for sure if she was a doctor. 

For years this remained an anomaly in my medical history.  Nobody could figure out why it happened, so it was set aside for the most part.

Then, the commercial. The research. And that part of the puzzle was filled in neatly. But then, I needed more. I had to have the rest. 

I started with the diagnosis given to me by the first ENT to test and treat me, labrynthitis. Considering how quickly the dizziness and loss of balance came on, it still fit, although it does suggest a loss of hearing as well, which I did not experience.  My primary physician at the time had originally given me a slightly different, yet more accurate diagnosis of vestibular neuritis. Vestibular neuritis produces similar symptoms to labrynthitis, but without loss of hearing. All would have been fine and dandy right then, but nobody seemed to know much about the condition at the time. At least none of the many (and there were MANY) healthcare professionals I had the misfortune of bringing myself to.

It took about 14 years of doctor-hopping, therapies, tests, medications and endless dead-ends, research, tears, prayer, and self-doubt for me to pluck the answers from the mistakes and misinformation. But the answer I was looking for was actually there from the beginning. It was just so simple (and complicated) that it was ruled out so long ago. 

The vestibular neuritis, the original diagnosis. At the time, I was told I was "taking too long to recover" so it had to be something more. My doctor was loading me up on Valium and when I wasn't sleeping, I was dizzy. She figured that there was nothing more she could do for me, and sent me to one of countless specialists who would examine me and incorrectly treat me for illnesses and disorders I did not have. 

So many years. So many doctors. Nobody could figure this thing out. I was told over and over again that I may have originally suffered labrynthitis or vestibular neuritis, but neither of those were chronic conditions, nor should they be coming and going as they were, nor do they cause any symptoms but the classic dizziness, loss of balance, etc.

I have learned that all of these assumptions about these conditions are completely false. 

Both vestibular neuritis and labrynthitis can become chronic conditions. Their symptoms can intensify and lessen and can occur as sudden attacks. People who live with these on a daily basis can suffer a myriad of symptoms beyond dizziness including headaches, difficulty concentrating, widespread body pain (from the body's constant "micromovements" which attempt to deal with being off balance), depression, difficulty walking, vision issues, etc. 

So, do I really have migraines, depression (or bipolar depression, depending on the doctor) and fibromyalgia? All of these diagnoses came AFTER the vestibular neuritis took over my life. That may explain a lot of things.

I do seem to recall a couple of doctors down the road who did acknowledge my dizziness, but insisted on calling it BPPV (benign paroxysmal positional vertigo). While they were not incorrect, they were just not being complete. The BPPV is secondary to the vestibular neuritis.

I have found good, reliable information from places like VEDA, and support from others who have been down a similar path as I. I also was fortunate enough to have found a few doctors and therapists who knew something about chronic dizziness. I have to say, though, it was hard. Really, really hard.

It still is hard. 

Nobody still believes or understands what being dizzy all the time is. And people remember a lot of the misinformation the old doctors told us. They'll refer to my dizziness attacks as "seizures," or think my facial muscles moving is dystonia. Or worse, they'll think I can just "power through it." Or "if you want something bad enough, you will get better." In other words, it's completely within my control and/or in my head.

At least now I have validation. I said I was dizzy and, dammit, I was dizzy! I AM dizzy! 

And when people ask me, I can confidently tell them that I have vestibular neuritis and BPPV.