Brain fog

The frog equivalent of fog

Or as I like to call it, my brain frog. Brain fog is a technical term, doctors use it to describe the feeling when you're trying to use your brain, but it's harder than usual: the mental equivalent of trying to walk through mud, or, as it says, thinking through a dense fog. Many of us experience brain fog without even realising it. When you're exhausted, drunk or hungover, you will have gone through brain fog. For me, it's when my vestibular problem hits, when the vertigo is so bad I can't think straight. My concentration is shot, that includes with my eyes, it takes a few more moments for something to sink in and, for me, it manifests the most when I speak. My brain frog is a literal frog in my throat, robbing me of my usual powers of speech. I can be a Mrs Malaprop at the best of times, but it gets worse when the brain fog manifests. My vocabulary gets more limited and the words just won't come out, or the wrong words do, usually ones that are very similar. That's why I call it my brain frog because, when I try to describe it to someone when I'm living with it, I invariably tend to say frog instead of fog.

For someone who reads a lot and prides themselves over their use of words, it's frustrating. For someone who usually thinks nineteen to the dozen and has a quick mind, it's horrible. For someone who's trying to write this blog post, it's almost impossible and takes ten times as long. Of all the symptoms of vertigo and the consequences, such as the lack of sleep which doesn't help in itself, the balance problems, the motion sickness, the nausea and the energy it saps from you just getting through the day, the brain fog is the worst as it makes you feel like you're not yourself anymore. It can last for hours and sometimes days, even after the main spinning sensations have gone, leaving you feeling hopeless.

There are ways of dealing with it, not least taking it easier, going slower, triple checking what you're doing, making notes and creating reminders. I rely on muscle memory, especially when I'm getting around, remembering routes, room numbers and people's names. So don't take it personally if I get your name wrong or don't say it at all. Mostly, you have to be kinder to yourself, like me forgiving myself for the little mistakes my anxiety usually berates me over and over again with and managing your own expectations of yourself. Chronic illness is difficult if you remember how you were before; you have to accept the fact that person is gone. So I have befriended my brain frog and have even become amused by it. It's a funny friend and one that is here to stay.