August 2006: Mensis Horribilis

Back in August 2006, I caught a cold that resulted in something that looked at lot (but was not) Bell's palsy.

In 2006, everything was a combination of weird things and complete bad luck. First, I’d had a major emotional shock in the spring, and I was still trying to recover from that, and then, as usual in the summer, I went to spend July and August with my relatives. Unfortunately, both months were quite cold (at least, by my standards) and back then, Mozer considered that I was a wimp if I put on a jumper when it was 18°C outside (now that she’s seen what her stupidity did, she doesn’t make fun of me if I say that I’m cold). [Yes, I was stupid enough to not put on a jumper, but why, in the first place, was she making fun of me for being cold? Frelling manipulator!]

For a few days, my right ear whistled from time to time, but I thought it was just odd, and I was quite cold. Then, it was time to head home and back to work. 

The day I left, I remember that the right corner of my lip was tickling from time to time, but I still thought it was something odd. I fell asleep on the train, and when I woke up, my speech was slurred for a minute or two, but I put that on exhaustion (I usually need about a week to recover from such a long stay in the country).

When I arrived home, there was nothing to warn me that the next morning I’d wake up with my face half-paralysed on the right side. My cranial nerve VII had frozen.

I was in a terrible state. I wasn’t hungry, and when I got up to get some water or visit the bathroom, the Earth was spinning too fast, and my balance was so awful that I nearly collided with walls (the first time I went outside to buy a few things, I almost hit a wall, which prompted me to unearth my grandfather’s cane in order to walk in a relatively straight line).

I waited for a couple of days, hoping that the nerve would come back to life (and I was in no shape to go anywhere: the first time I showered, I fainted briefly), and when it became obvious that there was no improvement whatsoever, I dragged myself to my GP (I realized later that I could have called him to come see me, but it hadn’t occurred to me since his surgery was across my street; truth be told, I was in no shape to think straight). When I saw him, he thought it might be a stroke even after I explained how I felt the bloody thing happen over days (mind you, no one in the medical ranks believed me until they saw the MRI).

He prescribed… *drum roll, please* aspirin and ear drops (incidentally, he was so focussed on me that the prescription was for a nose spray, and it was my chemist who spotted the mistake: I had to hop back to the surgery to get it changed). Three days later, I was still in the same state, and I was to go back to my classroom about a week later (I couldn’t speak properly and I was beginning to seriously worry: I had a temporary position, and if I didn’t go to work, I could kiss that position goodbye and my status was such that I couldn’t really go on the dole, or, at best, a jobseeker’s allowance would have been available for a few months, and then… straight under a bridge, or into the river).

I went back to my GP, who, by then, was openly making fun of my being paralysed. After long negotiations, he agreed to give me antibiotics and corticosteroids – for five days. What I learnt later was that he should have done that the first time I went to see him and the treatment should have been for ten days. The corticosteroids did some good, but not enough.

I went to see another GP, who told me it was too late, and we just had to wait. Still, wanting to cover his arse, he shipped me to a clinic where I had an MRI (that I had to pay almost in full, which still makes me growl because the bloody thing showed……… nothing: pretty normal since it was a twisted virus that had done me that, and it was not a stroke).

I went to see specialists, who were puzzled, clueless and generally at sea (seriously, twenty minutes on the Internet once I was well enough to sit at my desk taught me more about my condition than any of those “pros”!).

They told me I had to wait.

Then, it was time to go back to work, and I was shown the best and worst of mankind.

Here are a few examples:

Worst	Best
One colleague saw me walk in with my cane and tense face and ran to the staff room to tell the others how funny I was, and being complete plonkers, they ran to check my face for themselves. They thought that I couldn’t understand what they were doing!	A school secretary read the Riot Act to students she’d heard making fun of me telling them that I was a very good teacher, and one who was coming to teach them whilst I could have stayed home (I couldn’t afford that, but it was nice of her to lie about it).
People saw me walking slowly with a cane, but they rushed towards me, and I was the one who had to move away (note to self: if there’s a next time, use the cane to hit them).	My boss at job #2 did everything she could to make things easier for me.
On the bus, an old lady with a big bag, and obviously very tired, refused to sit down next to me. It was obvious that she was repulsed by the way I looked.	On the bus, an old gentleman came from the back to help and escort me to his seat (I haven’t recovered from that one!).

One of my colleagues at job #1 tried to warn me that healing might take time because he knew a man who’d had something like that for about a year. Back then, a year looked so bleedingly long.

I wasn’t really in pain. I was just awfully tired and sleeping like a happy log any chance I got. However, back then, if you’d told me that inhaling a kilo of cocaine, or flour, or whatever would have healed me, I’d have done it instantly.

Later, I heard and read about several similar cases. Nerve freezings that happened around the same time (I know a lady who’s still stuck on her sofa as the Earth keeps spinning way too fast when she stands). There might have been an odd virus around summer 2006.

Why am I writing this now? Because I’m almost (crossing everything that’s crossable) healed. Six frelling years later.

The nerve keeps improving, and my face mobility gets better and better. I am lucky that it’s still improving because after two years, the Faculty deems cases such as mine “hopeless”.

Why am I writing this now? Because the muscles on the left side of my face are a bit tense and I can’t bloody find if it’s just those poor muscles that are exhausted and tense after doing most of the job for six years, or if it’s something else (for once, the Internet isn’t helping, and my new GP is hundreds of miles away – and anyway, I find him too clueless for my taste).

I do wonder if my cranial nerve VII on the right is linked to the one on the left, and if the tension is a new symptom of my healing (incidentally, if such a thing happens to me again, I’ll blow a fuse).

There was an interesting side-consequence to all this: it showed me where my real friends are.

I’m glad I typed this testimony and got that off my chest.