Shingle Bells

I’ve never fainted before. I’ve always had a bit of a sadistic want to know what fainting is like, and at the end of the December term, I got to know. Turns out it’s not the fun trip I’d anticipated; it makes you feel pretty darn awful, and it’s more than a little scary when it happens while you’re in the shower, home alone, and have absolutely no idea how long you were out cold for.

My not-very-scientific calculations suggest it was about 5 minutes. I woke up, a naked, blubbery, nauseated mess, spread-eagled on the floor of the shower with the water running directly into my face. Well, as spread-eagled as you can be when you’re 60lbs overweight and crammed into the floor of a shower cubicle designed for the body of Kate Moss. In retrospect, I’m pretty grateful I was alone after all.

I hate going to the doctor. I always feel like I’m wasting valuable NHS resources. So I didn’t go. People faint all the time, right? I was fine (ish) the following day, and fine (ish) the day after that. But after 4 days of headaches and trying to convince myself that I was fine (ish), I gave in. The doctor initially diagnosed migraine – I’d had a severe headache before it happened – but wanted me to monitor the symptoms as I’d never had a migraine or a fainting episode before. I was to return with a progress report in the New Year. Excellent. Christmas homework.

Christmas was wonderful. Genuinely. Despite my afflictions, I spent the most wonderful time with family and friends, and there were only one or two awkward occasions where a distant relative thought I was winking at them persistently as the headaches made me want to close my left eye repeatedly. I discovered that drinking copious amounts of alcohol bore absolutely no relation whatsoever to the timing or severity of the headaches. Bonus. Sadly, painkillers had no effect on the scorching sensation in my head either. Being a fiery red head began to take on a whole new meaning.

I saw the doctor again. This time I received a diagnosis of neuralgic headaches due to nerve damage probably caused by an earlier, undiagnosed bout of shingles. Grown up chicken pox. In my head. Interesting. I just thought I’d developed a particularly spotty and itchy neck in November. Seems you’re supposed to get that sort of thing checked out.

And it turns out it’s the Christmas gift that keeps giving. I’m fine one minute and feel like someone is inserting burning knitting needles into the side of my head the next. I fear I seem drunk as I regularly lose my balance on the stairs, and my head struggles to find the right words: I told my friend to stop castrating herself yesterday. No metaphor meant. But I certainly didn’t mean it literally either. Castigating Anna, castigating. Small, but fairly significant, distinction.

This is slightly worrying for an English teacher at the start of a new term. But it’s going to improve, slowly but surely I’m told. Let’s just hope that happens before I start winking at the students.