The Korean Bathroom

I think it's hard for people to appreciate some of the subtler aspects of living with Meniere's Disease. My Korean bathroom will seem fairly average to most Koreans, but to me it is the place I'll have to live with next time I have a serious Meniere's episode.

As is the typical style with Korean and Japanese houses, the bathroom is fully tiled and bathroom footwear is worn inside. The floor is considered unclean and will usually be wet from the previous shower - since there is no separate shower cubicle and the water flows over the entire floor where it is drained off.

When I have an episodic attack in the UK I like to slump on the bathroom floor in-between bouts of vomiting, but that will not really be possible here. In fact, really I need to try and stay on my feet or crouch down while throwing up in the Korean bathroom, which will just add to the misery of the experience.

I'm not looking forward to my first serious attack here.

The Journey

The journey with my girlfriend to South Korea began at seven in the morning, but we'd been up since five packing. In fact, we hadn't gone to bed until one as we'd been attempting a final clear-out of the house. Things had turned out as I had expected - Meniere's had got in the way of my already tight project plan and along with a few other unexpected events had conspired to leave me unable to do everything. Pieces were left for my family to pick up after I was gone.

The first flight of the day - and my first since developing Meniere's, was noisy because we were at the back of a Fokker-100 about six feet away from one of the engines. Along with a little turbulence this did nothing to make me feel any better. I noticed that every slight movement of the plane felt massively exaggerated to me even though before we took off I felt I was having a reasonably good day. Fortunately an hour later we were on the ground in The Netherlands.

We spent six hours in the airport walking around the various shops, so by the time we were ready for our long-haul flight to Asia I hoped I would be tired enough to sleep through it. After all, with only four hours sleep the night before, and almost twelve hours of travelling and walking already behind me, I felt like I should be tired. In the event though, I didn't quite manage to fall asleep before the 747 took off and this is where my problems really began.

The moment we took off I felt my stomach sinking and the feeling didn't stop for another twenty minutes. I knew I was in trouble now and desperately tried to fall asleep before a vertigo attack set in. It was a battle I didn't win, and I was forced to keep my eyes closed in a final effort to deny the fact that the seat in front of me, and everything else on the plane, was swinging wildly from left to right. Despite taking Buccastem all day I detected the tell-tale signs that my stomach was about to eject its contents and sure enough my instincts proved correct. Fortunately I'd already eyed up the location of the sick back on boarding the plane so it was over my mouth in a flat second. Even so, I still managed to throw up over myself a little. I was sick quite a lot and was fortunate that a tuned-in Dutch girl helped my girlfriend by passing over her sick-bags and some tissues she had.

I think it's the first time that I was ever sick with Buccastem when I'd taken it early enough, so it was very disappointing to realise I didn't have a magic solution to that problem. I'd worried about being sick on a plane since I developed Meniere's, but I think a lot of that worry was about the public spectacle. In the end, I have to say that I felt so ill I really didn't care what anyone thought - at least, not at the time. I tried to sleep the attack off but this was largely unsuccessful - in the ten hour flight I probably slept no more than an hour-and-a-half.

The attack did calm down after a few hours and by one in the morning I was well enough - and brave enough - to try the in-flight meal which I'd wisely foregone just before throwing up. In different circumstances I wouldn't have chosen to eat quite so quickly, but I knew I needed to because there was still a long journey ahead and I needed some strength.

Over the Gobi Desert as the sun rose I walked the plane and properly rehydrated myself with large amounts of fruit juice while talking to the flight attendant responsible for our section, who told me not to worry about my experience - though I doubt it was one of the recent highlights of her career. I even got the chance to apologise to the Dutch girl before we landed and explain I had a medical condition - though I don't know whether that counts in my defence or not; perhaps it's worse to get on a plane knowing the effect it could have on you. She was very nice about it though and I'm really in her debt for being so understanding - I'm sure it won't always be the way.

On the plane I had something of a revelation about my condition - but not a positive one. I realised that had my attack persisted for a day or two - as they are often prone to do - there would have been no way for my journey to immediately proceed despite our plans. Somehow before the trip I'd conned myself into thinking there wouldn't be a problem or that if there was, I'd muddle through it somehow. The reality of the attack forced me to face up to the fact that hiking around the streets of Seoul between stations would be impossible while suffering an ongoing vertigo attack. I've no idea what I was thinking to believe otherwise.

In retrospect, I was very fortunate that for the remainder of my journey, which involved a bus to the centre of Seoul, a walk through the city centre, a train down to Busan and a taxi-ride straight out of The Fifth Element, I was fine.

The next time I make this kind of journey, I'm going to do things differently. I've decided that wherever possible I'll take direct flights from now on, even with the expense, because you can't put a price on convenience when you have Meniere's. I'll also bring more tissues and sick bags with me. In a broader sense, insofar as I have to make various connections I'll do what I can to create contingency plans - such as knowing where to stop overnight or mid-journey should I have to.

It was a learning experience, and staying in Busan for three months makes it worth the effort, but I wouldn't have wanted to make such a journey for the sake of a short holiday. I can't say it's made me more likely to travel in future because it hasn't, but it also hasn't completely put me off the experience despite my very public illness.

Travel Insurance, Finally

I finally got my travel insurance sorted out today. It hasn't been an easy experience. Aside from the airline requiring a fit-to-fly certificate, I of course needed specialist insurance cover as none of the major companies I contacted would touch me. All is not lost in the longer run though - Norwich Union said that they should be able to cover me if my diagnosis was not in the last twelve months. It has been ten months which ruled them out - but perhaps next time I take a trip they may be a viable option.

What Norwich Union did do is put me in touch with Staysure - a specialised insurance provider which required that I go through a long telephone-based medical questionnaire on a premium rate phone line. Once done I did get six months cover at £191, which was only about £30 more than I was being quoted for normal cover by the big companies. It's a fair bet though that a smaller non-specialised company would have been cheaper than that.

In the end, while I needed specialist cover, Meniere's is clearly not so bad that I needed to pay a premium on top of their standard charge. But I'm glad that I took it out because I really couldn't take the risk of not having any cover while on my travels, and there is always a chance that in the event of a serious attack I will require some medical intervention - or some will be sought before I have the chance to assure those around me that my condition is nothing to be too worried about.

The Fast Lane or The Quiet Life

By coincidence my Meniere's began shortly after I left my job to become a self-employed daytrader, so most of the struggles I've had with my illness have taken place in the privacy of my own home. I can't pretend it's been easy to live with, but I think I've been fortunate because of my lifestyle, so I've never been particularly depressed because the compromises I've had to make have been relatively minor.

A great deal of work has gone into the business of moving to another country. There were objectives to achieve with immovable deadlines, which was more akin to a normal job than to my functionally repetitive daytrading work, and herein lies a problem. The timetable has slipped hopelessly as I have proven unable to work for both physical and mental reasons, so my affairs at home will not be neatly ordered when I leave, far from it. The experience has left me intellectually and emotionally exhausted, and for the first time since my diagnosis, I realise I am thoroughly fed up.

I have tried to rise up to the challenges facing me recently, and I haven't always succeeded. I thought the victory was in the attempt to keep pushing the boundaries of what I can do, but I've been miserable for the experience. What's the point in pushing myself to go to Leeds and Manchester, and do all these other things, if it just makes me hate my life because of it? In fact, the second line of Staying Positive with Meniere's Disease (from the Meniere's Society) says: 'Get used to living life at a slower, steadier pace. Find your own level.'

I have gone through periods in my life when I have lived it in the fast lane, and some other periods when I've led a much quieter existence. Both have had their appeal in their times. Now I'm beginning to ask myself a different question though, which is whether I need to make a conscious decision to opt for a quieter life in future - at least in the times when my Meniere's is bad. If I am to avoid feeling miserable that may be the life I need.

Fit-to-Fly Again

I was back at the doctor's today to get the fit-to-fly certificate and some more pills. My condition was a little better, so she agreed to write a fit-to-fly letter for me - but if I had looked as ill as last time I saw her she wouldn't have. Although I knew I needed a letter for the airline, I never really allowed myself to think that this would prove impossible - now it seems that I came close to another crisis with this. If the worst had come to the worst, I was going to see my consultant, but I'm not sure I would have had the time now, with only three working days left before I am due to go to Korea.

The seriousness with which the doctor has taken this matter made me reflect again on my fitness to travel, and I'm beginning to think it could be a very bad idea. The trip was planned in better days, and the last three months have not been good, which puts a different perspective on such ideas.

As the day of my departure approaches, my life has become increasingly chaotic as I attempt to complete a large number of prerequisite tasks, and it's only adding to my woes. In the last two days I have travelled to Leeds and Manchester while feeling quite unwell, and while I like to think there's something heroic in pushing myself to the limit, the truth is that it's been exhausting and miserable. The Korea trip may well be exhausting and miserable on a much grander scale, and it will not end there; much travelling will be required afterwards and there are trips to Seoul and Japan scheduled, not to mention everything that needs to be done to live in Korea for a few months.

The Danger of Showers

I've found that showering has become a particularly dangerous occupation since developing Meniere's. Some days it's hard enough standing upright without swaying around, but add in a slippery surface, steam and soap getting in your eyes and it begins to feel like a game of Russian roulette. I know that sooner or later, especially as I get older, there's going to be an accident. I suppose this means that showering is yet another aspect of my life that I need to re-evaluate. I should probably buy one of those rubber mats you can put inside a bath - but it may not be enough.