July 13th, 2009


When sour cream goes bad, how can you tell?

And if I have brain damage ... well, see above.

Saturday I had the privilege (?) to take a short ride on one of those not-quite-an-inner-tube inflatable discs (about the size of a tube but it's solid) on a *very* choppy lake, behind a Jet-Ski piloted by a *very* enthusiastic 12-year-old boy.

This involves (a) lying flat on the disc, (b) holding on to the little hand grips for dear life and (c) if you're me, screaming your lungs out. It was about 20 percent exhilarating and about 80 percent pure terror. I was getting whipped around like crazy and the only way to tell the pilot and co-pilot (his dad) to slow down/stop was by shaking my head violently.

When it was over, I had a bad headache, which I thought I might have given myself by screaming. But here it is Monday, and I still have it, and it's resisted all attempts to treat it with my usual remedies: aspirin, caffeine and beer. It seemed to go away for a while on Saturday, then came back when I morris danced.

Which has me wondering if I sustained either whiplash or some very minor head injury in my little tubing trip. My neck doesn't hurt, so whiplash is unlikely. I didn't *hit* my head on anything, and I don't have any symptoms of a concussion -- no loss of consciousness, no disorientation, no dizziness or blurred vision. I did spend much of Sunday lethargic and weepy, but I'm perimenopausal and it was That Time -- I'd been lethargic and weepy for *days.*

From what I've read, you *can* suffer a head injury without actually hitting your head on something. That's what shaken-baby syndrome is about. Could I be -- apologies to John Prine -- the oldest shaken baby in the world?

If a headache that hangs on for days is the worst thing that's going to come of this, I'm grateful. But it doesn't mean I have to like it.

Next time, I'll ride *on* the Jet-Ski.