Learning Not To Fear Vertigo

My experience with benign paroxysmal positional vertigo

BPPV (Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo) is the most common disorder of the inner ear and can become worse with age.

Positional vertigo involves microscopic calcium crystals dislodged from one part of the inner ear into another part of the ear, resulting in mixed messages to your brain.

Usually this happens upon first waking up or turning over in bed. It strikes without warning and can be very frightening.

Vertigo is not a woozy lightheaded feeling but a spinning or whirling sensation like you are on an amusement park ride.

When your world around you stops spinning, you still feel unbalanced. Sick to your stomach. You may even vomit. Your head feels foggy, and it’s hard to think straight. You may experience fatigue.

As a child, I loved making myself dizzy. I used to spin on an old organ stool in our living room and then try to walk across the room, dizzy. I’d entertain myself like this for hours. But it wasn’t much fun when the spinning continued in bed at night, when I no longer wanted it to.

There is the risk of falling. As children falling is fun, as an older person it can be life threatening.

Vertigo is not something we welcome as we get older. It can also lead to anxiety about when it might happen again.

I’ve had episodes of vertigo since I was in my thirties, before I learned what it was. The episodes were brief, and I easily brushed them aside.

I would wake in the early morning hours to the room spinning. I’d stagger down the hallway. But unlike when intoxicated, this dizziness came with feelings of dread.

Fear of what may be wrong with me. Was I coming down with a flu or cold? Could it be something more serious, such as a brain tumour?

I’d take a non-prescription anti-nausea drug, Gravol, that would make me drowsy, and I’d try to sleep it off until the periods of spinning stopped.

In my mid-40s, I saw a doctor at a walk-in clinic who suggested using Serc instead of Gravol. Serc is a Betahistine that improves blood flow to the inner ear.

The inner ear contains three semicircular canals responsible in part for sensing movement and maintaining balance. If these crystals get out of place, it makes you sensitive to position changes, bringing on vertigo.

I switched from keeping Gravol in the medicine cabinet to keeping Serc.

As I got older, these “dizzy spells” lasted more than a few hours and eventually a doctor suggested I get a proper diagnosis. He referred me to an ENT (Ear, Nose and Throat) specialist.

The ENT doctor explained I had BPPV and told me not to take Serc anymore. He referred me to a nearby balance clinic, Atlantic Balance and Dizziness Centre in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. It was there I learned about positional vertigo.

Frequently, I’d experience small spins when tilting my head back or sometimes turning over in bed, but nowhere near as severe as what I experienced in 2011.

When vertigo started that year, I thought it would be short-lived, as usual. But I was wrong.

For a week I slept propped up on three pillows. Couldn’t sleep on either side. Desperate, I booked an appointment at the balance clinic.

After a routine question and examination, she explained the treatment procedure.

She had me sit on one end of a wide treatment table. Placed strange looking googles over my eyes, reminding me of something out of a Mad Max movie.

These goggles had an infrared camera inside which allowed her to study my eyes through video images on a computer screen while she took me through the Epley manoeuvre on the bed.

She had travelled outside of Canada to be trained in vestibular rehabilitation through Emory University in Atlanta, Georgia.

The Epley manoeuvre moves the free-floating particles back to where they no longer cause a problem.

The goggles had a lens cover that could open. On the wall in front of me, I saw a scenic picture. When she closed the metal flap over the lens, I was in complete darkness.

She placed one hand supporting the back of my neck. The other on my back. She told me to relax and let her guide me. It reminded me of a trust exercise where you fall backwards for others to catch you.

As she took me back, it reminded me of how scenes from a movie of a water immersion baptism.

It required me to trust in her abilities.

She would hold my head in a certain position, and the spinning would start. Like a spin top, fast at first, slowing before it stopped.

In the dark, with nothing to see, my body tensed and muscles reacted as if I was actually spinning.

She would hold my head in that position and watch the computer screen until my eyes stopped moving, a sign the spinning had stopped.

She’d let me rest for a moment. Then turn my head to another angle. The spinning would start all over again.

Some spins were not so bad. Others felt like I’d die. I didn’t know how intense each one would be.

The experience was one of the worst in my life.

I can be very vocal in times of distress. My husband, who was waiting in the reception area, would later tell me he could hear me cry out, and yes, utter swear words.

When all the head rotations were completed, she brought me up into a sitting position on the bed and opened the lens in my goggles.

Sitting upright brought on another spin. The picture on the wall would appear and disappear as my brain interrupted the mixed messages it was receiving.

The spinning would stop, and the picture would appear before me as normal. But things were far from normal.

She would let me rest for a while before she took me back down.

After over a half hour, I felt I couldn’t take it anymore. She said enough was enough. “You’ll need to return for one or more treatments.”

I left disappointed and anxious. It was worse because I knew what I’d face next time. I didn’t know how I’d get through it again.

On the drive home, every time my husband stopped at a red light. I went into a spin.

When he pulled away, I went into another spin.

I’d never experienced such severe vertigo in an upright position before. It made me even more afraid. Before, the spinning had only happened if I leaned forward or looked up.

It took the rest of the day for the vertigo to settle.

Before my next appointment, I went to a local walk-in clinic and got a prescription for Ativan. He prescribed me ten pills. I hoped not to need that many.

The Ativan helped me get through the next appointment, and would help me get through the one after that.

“Only 3% of people get it in the horizontal canal,” she told me. “It is the most difficult one to treat.”

I also learned that anxiety over dizziness is often much worse than the actual dizziness itself.

The third time at the balance centre did the trick. I was free of vertigo.

After that session, my husband told me he’d heard my laughter coming from the treatment room. It was fun going through the maneuvers without the spins.

Since then, I’ve had other, much less severe periods of vertigo.

Knowing the diagnosis has helped me deal with it. Understanding it is benign.

Often when I turn over in bed, I will go for a brief spin, but it doesn’t scare me anymore like it used to.

When you talk about BPPV to those who know nothing about it, and you mention “crystals” in your ear, their eyes widen and they look at you like you’re talking some strange new age stuff or spaceships and aliens. They are the fortunate ones who’ve never experienced it firsthand.

To those of you who’ve experienced BPPV, I hope you never go through a prolonged horrible episode like the one I did in 2011.

But I’ve learned that I’ll never go through a treatment again without Ativan.

The other trick I use to help alleviate the room rotating is to not look off into the distance, but to hold my hand in front of my face and focus on my hand.

Hopefully, this has been helpful to you and I’ve offered you some insights into benign paroxysmal positional vertigo.

BARBARA CARTER is a visual artist and writer with a focus on healing from childhood trauma, alcohol addiction, and living her best authentic life.