vagus nerve

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

(A Guide for People Who Are Sick of Medical Bullshit)

Let’s be honest: if you’re reading this, you probably already suspect the vagus nerve is responsible for half the weird crap your body does and you’re not wrong. The vagus nerve is basically the body’s faulty fibre-optic broadband, running all the way from your brain down through your chest and into your gut, sending messages like a drunk carrier pigeon on a windy day.

It’s the longest nerve you’ve got, and when it behaves, life ticks along nicely. When it misbehaves? Your whole system goes down like a dodgy second-hand Dell tower from the 90s.

Here’s the real breakdown the stuff they never explain properly while you’re half-collapsed in A&E, being poked by somebody who can’t pronounce “vagal.”

The Vagus: The Autopilot Wire

The vagus nerve runs your parasympathetic nervous system, which is medical jargon for the “calm down, chill out, don’t die” mode. It’s the opposite of fight-or-flight. It’s rest-and-digest. It’s autopilot.

The problem? When this giant nerve gets irritated, inflamed, or just decides it hates you, it can pull the emergency brake on your entire body with zero warning — which is why vagus-related symptoms always come out of nowhere and hit like a bloody freight train.

1. Your Heart’s On a Leash

This nerve tells your heart when to slow down. That’s lovely until it overdoes it.

Too much vagus activity? Heart rate plummets.

Cue dizziness, sweating, that “oh, this is it then” feeling, and your blood pressure going on holiday.

2. It Runs the Gut Literally

Every vomit, every bowel spasm, every time your stomach has a tantrum the vagus nerve is involved.

If it’s irritated or under-performing, expect:

nausea

diarrhoea

constipation

stomach cramps

digestion that behaves like a toddler with a drum kit

Basically, it decides whether food moves… or doesn’t.

3. Blood Pressure: The Vagus Controls the Dimmer Switch

It works with your baroreceptors (those tiny sensors in your arteries) to keep things steady. When the vagus goes rogue? Blood pressure drops like a stone and you’re left gripping the kitchen counter thinking this is how you die — again.

4. Breathing

Calm vagus = slow and steady. Stressed vagus = shallow, panicky little puffs.

Ever wondered why deep breathing exercises work? They’re literally tugging on the vagus nerve to force it to chill out.

5. Stress, Panic, the Whole Sensory Meltdown

The vagus nerve mediates your stress response. When it freaks out, YOU freak out. Even if nothing’s wrong.

That’s why vagal attacks feel like:

impending doom

full-system shutdown

heart weirdness

tunnel vision

sweating

trembling

fainting

sudden need for a toilet you cannot reach in time

It’s the nerve pulling the plug on itself and everything else.

6. Why People With MS Get It Worse

Your wiring’s already compromised. MS damage → hypersensitive nerves → vagus acting like a frayed extension lead.

So triggers for you can be:

pain

heat

eating

standing

lying

stress

not enough stress

random cosmic spite

Basically: your vagus nerve is a diva.

7. Why Doctors Don’t Take It Seriously

Most GPs are trained to see the vagus nerve as “the fainting nerve.” They don’t get that it affects:

heart rhythm

gut function

blood pressure

breathing

swallowing

voice

inflammation

fatigue

neurological flare-ups

migraines

seizures

pain

It’s involved in almost everything your body does automatically — so when it misfires, it’s bedlam.

In Plain English

The vagus nerve is the massive communication cable between your brain and your organs. When it behaves, it keeps you alive. When it glitches, you become a collapsing, sweating, nauseous sack of biological chaos wondering who you upset in a past life.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

So here we are, Wednesday afternoon, reflecting on the last week and yeah, it’s been a bloody rough one.

I ended up at the doctor yesterday. Now I’ve got to wait a week for blood tests and a week-long ECG strapped to me like some kind of cyborg pensioner. Apparently my heart rhythm decided to join the circus right at the peak of Saturday night’s vagus-nerve meltdown. Typical.

I can honestly say hand on what’s left of my sanity that was the worst attack I’ve had in my entire life. Absolutely mind-bending. Proper frightening. I thought I’d moved past these big episodes with diet changes, lifestyle tweaks, and all the other nonsense we tell ourselves to stay optimistic… but no. My body looked at my efforts and said, “Cute. Watch this.”

So now I’m stepping into a new chapter where my vagus nerve has gone totally rogue. The doctors are muttering about AF, but let’s be real that was likely just my blood pressure falling through the floor when the vagus nerve threw its tantrum. Still, they’re taking it seriously, so off to cardiology I go. Beta blockers and blood thinners were mentioned. We’ll see.

This throat issue? I’ve had it for over forty years. Ambulance out about seven times in the last decade. The major attack always lasts 30–40 minutes of pure hell, and then the “come-down” hits like the aftermath of a grand mal — shaking, drained, disoriented, wondering what the hell just happened to your own body.

It’s been a few days and I’m only just starting to level out. The strangulation feeling in the throat has eased a bit. The burning at the back of my throat is still there annoying the crap out of me but survivable.

That’s it for today’s blog. A bit raw, a bit sideways, but it’s all I’ve got.

Have fun, world.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

Some weekends hit you with a light slap. This one picked me up, shook me like a cocktail, and threw me at the floor for good measure.

Saturday night… well, that one’s going straight into the “Top 3 Worst Episodes of My Life” hall of fame. My body didn’t just glitch — it staged a full-scale neurological mutiny.

The Hit

It came out of nowhere. One moment I was fine, the next my entire autonomic system pulled the emergency brake and launched me into panic hell.

My throat tightened. My swallowing screwed up. My stomach dropped like I’d been pushed off a bridge. My vision became a muffled, tunnelled mess. And my whole body went cold not “a bit chilly,” but corpse-cold.

I’ve had MS for years. I know its tricks. But this was different. This was violent. This was instant.

And here’s the truth I left out the first time: I was scared. Properly scared.

I thought, “Shit… this is it. This is the one where I don’t get back up.” Calling 999

Albertine had to call an ambulance. I didn’t have a choice. This wasn’t a “ride it out” moment. This was the full autonomic shutdown vibe sweating, trembling, throat closing, body shaking, heart refusing to “thump” properly, brain screaming doom.

And then came the worst part:

Forty minutes. Forty minutes of waiting, fighting my own body, trying to stay conscious, trying not to choke, trying not to spiral.

If you’ve ever had a neurological event and waited for an ambulance, you know exactly what that wait feels like. The clock becomes a sadist.

My ears were ringing. My blood pressure tanked. I genuinely thought I was dying.

By the time the ambulance arrived, I was a wreck. They checked me over, confirmed the BP was ridiculously low, stabilised me, and got me back into something resembling a human shape but the damage was done. My system was fried for the night.

Sunday: The Aftershock

Sunday wasn’t much better.

My head felt like a pressure cooker. That weird prickly sensation on the right side of my skull the one that always shows up after an attack set in like an uninvited guest.

My hands pulsed. My head pulsed. The tinnitus screamed like it was trying to win an award.

Breathing felt “off,” not in a dramatic gasping way, but that unnerving internal panic: “Something’s wrong… but what?”

My vagus nerve the drama queen it is had clearly had enough and was still sulking.

And my cognition? Let’s just say I’ve had smoother days. I felt detached. Off. Like I was watching myself from two feet behind my own head.

Monday: The Reset

Now it’s Monday afternoon and I’m calmer, but still not quite right.

The pins and needles are doing their usual “good morning, we live here now” routine in my hands and feet. My head pressure has moved to the top middle that annoying “brain has opinions” spot. My throat feels clogged with half a ton of imaginary phlegm.

But I’m stable. I’m talking. I’m thinking. And I haven’t keeled over.

That’s progress.

Tomorrow: The GP

I’ve got the doctor sorted for tomorrow, and that’s the sensible move. I’m not messing about after this one this was the worst in years, and we finally know enough to start demanding answers instead of shrugging and hoping.

Chest tightness? Swallowing issues? Autonomic chaos? Blood pressure on holiday? Yeah, the GP can have the whole bloody report.

I’m not going down early because I tried to “tough it out.” I’ve seen too many people die playing that game.

Why I’m Writing This

Because this is the real face of chronic illness not the brochure version, not the charity-approved inspirational poster. This is the gut-level reality.

My blog is about truth. Raw, ugly, darkly funny truth.

Life with MS isn’t pretty. It isn’t tidy. It isn’t inspirational every day. Some days it’s a war you didn’t ask for and you fight it anyway.

If you’re going through similar, I want you to know this:

You’re not weak for being scared. You’re not dramatic for calling 999. You’re not overthinking it if your body is shutting down. And you’re not alone.

We survive these attacks by being honest, prepared, and stubborn as hell.

I’m still here. Still fighting. Still writing.

Tomorrow will be another chapter. I’ll survive that too.

I thank my wife Albertine she saved me I love you forever....

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

"The vagus nerve is supposed to keep you alive. Mine seems to have a death wish. Living with MS means living with this burning wire misfiring 24/7.You can't see it. But it's killing me, slowly."

Let me introduce you to the nerve that’s been puppeteering my misery for 40 years:

🧠 The vagus nerve.

Longest cranial nerve in the body. Part of the autonomic nervous system. Runs from the brainstem all the way down into your guts, like a bastard serpent lodged in flesh.

It’s meant to regulate “involuntary” things. Heart rate. Breathing. Digestion. Mood. Inflammation.

Mine regulates suffering.

With MS in the mix, my vagus nerve is like a drunk electrician with a machete and a grudge.

— My heart rate drops so low I black out. — Then shoots so high I think I’m dying. — My diaphragm spasms and I stop breathing mid-sentence. — My throat closes. — My stomach decides to reverse course — vomiting, choking, retching. — Food sits there, like a funeral buffet no one touches.

And the gaslighting begins. “Anxiety.” “Stress.” “Try mindfulness.”

Fuck off. I’m not hyperventilating. I’m being strangled from the inside by a goddamn nerve that's been glitching out since I was a teenager.

I’ve lived four decades like this. Forty years of waking up choking. Forty years of feeling my own body betray me. Forty years of doctors shrugging, guessing, dismissing, or overdosing me on meds for symptoms they don’t understand.

It’s not just discomfort. It’s unrelenting bodily horror.

Imagine being electrocuted through your spine while trying to eat a sandwich. Imagine trying to breathe but your diaphragm spasms like a car crash in your ribs. Imagine shitting yourself with a heart rate of 40 and then vomiting while you go unconscious.

You ever had diaphragmatic myoclonus? That charming thing where your gut convulses so violently you can’t breathe or speak? That’s the vagus nerve on a rampage.

People talk about Vagus Nerve Stimulation like it’s hope in a box. Sure. Stick electrodes in my neck. I’ll try anything once — hell, at this point, if you told me licking a toad would help, I’d be Frenching Kermit by tea time.

I’ve been laughed at. Medicated into a coma. Ignored.

This isn’t just MS. This is autonomic hell.

So yeah — fuck the diagrams and polite educational pamphlets.

My vagus nerve isn’t a calming force. It’s a loaded gun wired to my internal organs.

And some days, I honestly think it’s trying to finish the job.

And yet — here I am. Still alive. Still typing. Still wheezing and swallowing around the broken circuitry that is my body.

You want honesty? This is it.

Welcome to my living hell.

    “The views in this post are based on my personal    
      experience. I do not intend harm, only honesty.”   

           “By ink and breath and sacred rage, I write.
                      By storm and silence, I survive.”

                       🧌✨ @goblinbloggeruk ✨🧌