The origins of motion sickness are intriguing. A skeptic might argue that such a statement could only be conceived by an individual who has recently dealt with the aftermath of a distressed child’s upheaval while arriving at a highway rest area. This person may not be prepared to address that experience at this moment.
The root cause lies within the inner ear, resembling an airport lounge envisioned by Salvador Dali, housing the cochlea for hearing and the vestibular organ for balance regulation.
The familiarity with these dual functions of the inner ear had ceased to provoke curiosity in me until now. Instead of recollecting the unpleasant task of cleaning up a child’s vomit, I now ponder over the peculiar nature of this arrangement; where hearing and balance are governed by a cluster of intricate wiring and peculiar shapes housing two vital organs with distinct purposes, akin to a rural Irish pub doubling as a funeral parlor.
For a diversion from the unpleasant task of dealing with nauseating fluids, one might contemplate the disparate functions performed by various body parts – the skin producing hormones, bones generating blood, and the tongue deriving pleasure from roadside service station snacks – but I digress.
The vestibular system detects movement through the sensations experienced during a car ride. Motion sickness arises when these movement cues conflict with the visual input perceived by the individual’s eyes, which fail to register the motion while inside a vehicle. The reasons behind this discrepancy are indeed intriguing, particularly to someone hunched on the pavement surrounded by a growing pile of soiled wipes, partially inside a stationary car under the pouring rain.
Although I observe the external world in motion through the car windows, providing clear evidence of movement, my daughter’s eyes fail to acknowledge it. Similarly, her stomach, in a seemingly misguided attempt to cope with the perceived motion, resorts to expelling its contents, creating a messy situation for herself, her brother, and her new coat.
It appears rather imprudent for the human eyes to signal the stomach to unleash its contents throughout the vehicle before comprehending the situation, especially when still an hour away from home, contemplating the availability of spare clothes for the baby. However, I am not prepared to delve into that discussion just yet. Let’s just say the complexity of it all is truly captivating.
Did Ye Hear Mammy Died? by Séamas O’Reilly is available now (Little, Brown, £16.99). Purchase a copy from guardianbookshop at £14.78