On Flailing

There was a moment during the pandemic when my whole body seemed to be going haywire. I’ve always had obtrusive allergies, but this was different: I was in constant pain for more than a year, I couldn’t eat much of anything, my heart was periodically racing and beating irregularly, and most nights I wasn’t able to sleep more than a couple of discordant hours.

I felt like I was dying. There were a few times I almost called an ambulance in the middle of the night because it seemed like this was probably the end. And if it wasn’t, that might even be worse in some ways, because how could I keep living like this?

I should say that things are a bazillion times better now.

A combination of (at that point undiagnosed) Hashimoto’s messing with my thyroid, unrecognized (and significant) bruxism messing with my TMJ and connected musculature, and some significant inflammation in my sternum tissue led to a cracked tooth (hidden under a crown), persistent all-over upper-body pain, a visceral sense of my own heartbeat, and a not-fun pairing of anxiety and hypervigilance about, well, everything.

So today I’m good. At the time, though, I was flailing.

And as a result, I was willing to consider anything that seemed like it might bring relief, including all sorts of supplements and advice from online influencers I would have previously scoffed at.