migraine moment

This lovely Friday morning in October - the last Friday of October, actually - found this friendly neighborhood blogger in the lovely E.R. for a migraine. For those unfamiliar with migraines, a migraine is not a mere headache. A migraine can best be equated to being trapped in the center of an F4 tornado. Your head threatens to explode with every minute shard of light, sound, or movement that manages to penetrate the pitch dark deprevation chamber you must retreat into. And this time, mine was accompanied by nausea so virulent it felt like I was a passenger on a ferry ride across violently turbulent, stormy seas. Pleasant, eh?

Aside from the randomness of the overall migraine phenomenon, this morning's doctor visit may have been my own doggone fault. I am prone to migraines. All said, I have averaged one migraine per month since I was 15. It seems to be at least somewhat genetic, as my mother and sister also have a well-established relationship to migraine. This particular migraine of mine began on Sunday night. Why I waited until Friday morning to seek treatment is a bit indefensible. The explanation involves a complex web of my own ridiculously high tolerance for pain, equally ridiculously high failure to admit when I am actually ill or hurt, and a smattering of false guilt over burdening my darling husband with caring for our children while I traipse off to the land of tongue depressors, antisepctic-scented rooms, and pastel scrubs.

When my doctor, after administering no less then 312 injections to my gluteal area, asked me if there was anything else I needed, I replied, "what is your return policy on craniums? I'd like a new one, please. You can have this one back - it's faulty." He laughed, bless him. He has been on brittle ice with me, as there should be a limitation on needles inserted into one person's body on any given day, but that laugh saved him. And made me feel better.

Even if I wasn't entirely kidding about the new cranium quip.

So for the remainder of today, please lessen your expectations on the products my mind is capable of creating. Right now, I am focused on the simple things. Today, being able to sit up straight and form semi-cohesive sentences without falling over from the narcotic effect of the multitude of drugs that are coursing through me is a huge leap for Lachen-kind.