The vestibular dysfunction test, on the other hand, is literally worse than death.
I had it because of skyrocketing vertigo and couldn't find out why. I finally wondered if I could have otolithiasis, or Meniere's syndrome. This would require a vestibular dysfunction test. To put it bluntly, to see if the brain balance functions well. If it's not good, when the balance is upset, you naturally get dizzy and spin around.
The test has six items. Everything else is tolerable, just one test. I don't know what the terminology is, but in the words of the people, it is, pumping air into the ears.
The first thing I did was to put on the blindfold, and it was so dark that I couldn't help but get nervous. I asked the doctor who was adjusting the equipment next to me, "Does it hurt to do this?"
The doctor replied with a big grin and a disdainful smile, "It doesn't hurt, it doesn't hurt at all."
This is good. I had just put my heart down when I heard her say slowly, "Maybe, you'll get a little dizzy."
"How dizzy can it be?" I asked. I asked, and she didn't answer. Later I realize that the reason for not answering is because, well, she's quasi-never experienced it.
She inserted a tube into my ear and told me to pump air into my ear four times, once hot and once cold in each ear, and to keep pumping until maximum vertigo was produced.
The cold air went into my ears a little and filled my head. I felt the heavens and earth begin to shake, with my blindfold on and my eyes closed, but my brain was spinning, I felt my body spinning, I was practically tumbling under the bed, I clutched the doctor's arm with my hand and let out a sharp moan, "Dizzy. Dizzy. Can't take it."
The doctor took the good advice and stopped injecting gas into this ear. But doesn't end the test; it's time for that ear over there.
The tube was pulled out of this ear, and the dizziness didn't stop; I felt like I was, still, in the meadow, rolling over and over again as if it would never stop.
Then, in the other ear, there was another injection of cool, cold air, more and more gas, it felt like it filled the whole brain, it felt like all the organs in my head, all out of their original position, like floating in a space capsule. I was so dizzy that I wanted to shout to stop, but I couldn't make a sound, I could only mumble like a dreamy voice, "Dizzy! Dizzy!"
On the verge of passing out, I said with all my strength, "I'm not doing it. I'm not doing it!"
That's when the doctor stopped pumping. She told me that the cold air was done and it was time for the hot air. Still one side at a time.
"No. I'm not doing it." Like a wounded warrior, I told my comrades not to waste their time for me. The doctor smiled back. Agreed not to do it. Presumably, with experience, she knew that the stronger the reaction, the less likely the vestibular dysfunction. The fact that I was reacting so strongly, probably, ruled out having the disorder.
I was left like I was on the battlefield, and even though there was a line of people behind me waiting to get it done, the doctor didn't push me to get up, and told me to keep lying down to recover. Instead, she stood guard over me.
I was almost asleep before I heard the daiyoukai yell, "Time to get up," like my mom yelled at me to go to school when I was an hour old.
In fact, I was still swirling in the aftermath of vertigo, so naturally I couldn't get up. I was assisted by several people to sit up, and my body, like a noodle, was still slumped over, with the possibility of continuing to lie down at all times. Being assisted out of the door of the clinic, I fell like a lump of mud onto the bench in front of the door. I didn't even take off my shoes, I was lying on the chair, no one was surprised, and no one advised me to take off my shoes. I guess I was as white as someone shoveling snow and dumping it on my face.
After all this time, that agonizing experience on the test bench is so painful to think about that my heart palpitates when I think about it, and it's painful to think about.