Diana Lee's at it again, and at last I've gotten it together in time to contribute a post. Check out the March 2010 Headache Blog Carnival, Opening Up to Family & Friends: March 2010 Headache & Migraine Disease Blog Carnival.
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
08 March 2010
06 March 2010
when you're partner's in pain, too
I wrote this during summer 2009 for ChronicBabe.com, but I never heard back from the very busy Jenni about whether or not she wanted to publish it on the site. So here it is in this form.
7/24/09
Overnight, tons of percussion instruments appeared all over my house. Congas in the living room, bongos in the bedroom, an African balliphone in the TV room, and a collection of maracas in the office. After three years together, my musician boyfriend moved in with me.
In truth, we've been pseudo-roommates since the summer we met. Downtime is at my house, dinner time is at my house, coffee time is at my house, and oh-my-god-I-hurt-so-much-I'm-going-to-throw-up time is at my house. That's right: I cope with migraine disease, chronic fatigue, and a host of other chronic problems, and my boyfriend has some chronic pain and migraine issues himself.
When I'm really low, J is a loving, caring nurse, albeit one who loses patience with his patient now and again. In some way or another, we've all been in his position: someone we love is hurting terribly and is unable to tell us how we can help simply because there is no solution, no cure. My college psychology professors would tell you that, when faced with a friend's problem, women will focus on listening while men will try to figure out what action they can take. There have been several instances wherein I've watched J's back as he left my darkened daytime bedroom--he shuts the door briskly in frustration as I've told him yet again that there's really nothing he can do.
We were pretty spoiled for awhile there: rare was the day when both of us were struck down. Then came last year. I'm not sure what happened to us, but last spring we turned into arthritic, achy 60-somethings overnight. Suddenly we were both sick and bedridden at the same time, and it. was. awful.
J and I are both fiercely independent (it took a couple months of exclusive dating and confessions of love before we actually admitted that we were boyfriend and girlfriend) and have trouble relying on others for help. Oh, another thing that's fun, especially when we're sick? Each of us is right all the time. Makes for some productive conversational volleys.
So let's return to the scene last year, when I was having some particularly rough migraine spells and his back was, after years of wear, was finally beginning to tear. We two were lying in bed, too worn out to take care of our own lives, let alone each other's. We bickered. I glared at him when he turned over in bed and woke me from my hazy, migrainey nap. He winced with a sharp intake of breath as I tried to hug him--no matter what, I always seem to forget how much his back hurts and squeeze him too hard.
It can be exhausting to be with someone burdened by health problems. Sometimes J's empathy is heightened and he really identifies with what I'm going through; other times, I think he sees too much of himself in me and, consequently, is a little too harsh and judgmental. (Same goes for me.)
Here are some things I try to tell myself when dealing with a stressed-out, ailing fellow:
1. Don't assume you know how he feels. Yes, you have similar diagnoses. No, you don't know how his pain affects him physically and emotionally.
2. Choose your time wisely. Have most of your health-related discussions while you guys are feeling good and healthy. Too often, we start Serious Health Talks when one of us is down for the count. I'm guilty of preaching to him about making more frequent doctor visits while he's completely tuckered out and feeling awful.
3. Remember that you have a choice in how you deal with what life gives you. As Jon Kabat-Zinn might say, it's important to respond to what you encounter and not necessarily react to it. The emotions you experience may not be under control, but increased self-awareness can allow you to choose between ignoring or indulging in those feelings.
4. When feeling healthy, teach each other what you'll need when you're sick. I know where J's medications are and will have them at the ready as soon as he asks; he sometimes knows where mine are, but there are lots of bottles and supplements and it can get confusing. Note to self: make a list he can consult so that next time you're in bed with migraine you're not calling out to the dude in the bathroom (as your head throbs with exertion), "No, not that bottle. The other one. The one on the right? NO, THE OTHER ONE!"
5. Give your partner the benefit of the doubt. Always remember that he loves you and wants the best for you, and make sure he knows the same is true for you. Try to be extra patient when he is in pain and vulnerable.
Our health problems have been addressed thoroughly, and each of us has seriously evaluated our futures: can we handle being with someone this sick? Can we hack it if our loved one's problems grow dramatically worse? Will we be okay if one of us is miraculously cured and no longer depends so much on the other? As for now, we're confident we can handle what the future brings--after all, we have a pretty good record so far.
7/24/09
Overnight, tons of percussion instruments appeared all over my house. Congas in the living room, bongos in the bedroom, an African balliphone in the TV room, and a collection of maracas in the office. After three years together, my musician boyfriend moved in with me.
In truth, we've been pseudo-roommates since the summer we met. Downtime is at my house, dinner time is at my house, coffee time is at my house, and oh-my-god-I-hurt-so-much-I'm-going-to-throw-up time is at my house. That's right: I cope with migraine disease, chronic fatigue, and a host of other chronic problems, and my boyfriend has some chronic pain and migraine issues himself.
When I'm really low, J is a loving, caring nurse, albeit one who loses patience with his patient now and again. In some way or another, we've all been in his position: someone we love is hurting terribly and is unable to tell us how we can help simply because there is no solution, no cure. My college psychology professors would tell you that, when faced with a friend's problem, women will focus on listening while men will try to figure out what action they can take. There have been several instances wherein I've watched J's back as he left my darkened daytime bedroom--he shuts the door briskly in frustration as I've told him yet again that there's really nothing he can do.
We were pretty spoiled for awhile there: rare was the day when both of us were struck down. Then came last year. I'm not sure what happened to us, but last spring we turned into arthritic, achy 60-somethings overnight. Suddenly we were both sick and bedridden at the same time, and it. was. awful.
J and I are both fiercely independent (it took a couple months of exclusive dating and confessions of love before we actually admitted that we were boyfriend and girlfriend) and have trouble relying on others for help. Oh, another thing that's fun, especially when we're sick? Each of us is right all the time. Makes for some productive conversational volleys.
So let's return to the scene last year, when I was having some particularly rough migraine spells and his back was, after years of wear, was finally beginning to tear. We two were lying in bed, too worn out to take care of our own lives, let alone each other's. We bickered. I glared at him when he turned over in bed and woke me from my hazy, migrainey nap. He winced with a sharp intake of breath as I tried to hug him--no matter what, I always seem to forget how much his back hurts and squeeze him too hard.
It can be exhausting to be with someone burdened by health problems. Sometimes J's empathy is heightened and he really identifies with what I'm going through; other times, I think he sees too much of himself in me and, consequently, is a little too harsh and judgmental. (Same goes for me.)
Here are some things I try to tell myself when dealing with a stressed-out, ailing fellow:
1. Don't assume you know how he feels. Yes, you have similar diagnoses. No, you don't know how his pain affects him physically and emotionally.
2. Choose your time wisely. Have most of your health-related discussions while you guys are feeling good and healthy. Too often, we start Serious Health Talks when one of us is down for the count. I'm guilty of preaching to him about making more frequent doctor visits while he's completely tuckered out and feeling awful.
3. Remember that you have a choice in how you deal with what life gives you. As Jon Kabat-Zinn might say, it's important to respond to what you encounter and not necessarily react to it. The emotions you experience may not be under control, but increased self-awareness can allow you to choose between ignoring or indulging in those feelings.
4. When feeling healthy, teach each other what you'll need when you're sick. I know where J's medications are and will have them at the ready as soon as he asks; he sometimes knows where mine are, but there are lots of bottles and supplements and it can get confusing. Note to self: make a list he can consult so that next time you're in bed with migraine you're not calling out to the dude in the bathroom (as your head throbs with exertion), "No, not that bottle. The other one. The one on the right? NO, THE OTHER ONE!"
5. Give your partner the benefit of the doubt. Always remember that he loves you and wants the best for you, and make sure he knows the same is true for you. Try to be extra patient when he is in pain and vulnerable.
Our health problems have been addressed thoroughly, and each of us has seriously evaluated our futures: can we handle being with someone this sick? Can we hack it if our loved one's problems grow dramatically worse? Will we be okay if one of us is miraculously cured and no longer depends so much on the other? As for now, we're confident we can handle what the future brings--after all, we have a pretty good record so far.
01 March 2010
one of those days
Last night I said to J., "I feel really hopeful." "Good--you should!" "I always feel hopeful and excited about things, but today feels special. Something really good is going to happen. And I really think I stand a chance with this grant giveaway." "Of course you do!"
Cue 12:01 AM, when I tried and failed to submit my Pepsi project. A few hours later, adrenaline still rushing through body after having tried to troubleshoot the technological issues that held me back from submitting my little grant application, I lay in bed trying to fall asleep.
And then today was a doozie. It's rare that I'm discouraged or down in the dumps, but man--today did a number on me, and nothing even happened! (Why did I refuse to note the signs of a migraine coming on?) While running errands, I noticed that the daylight made me squint, and my vision was blurry. I took down my photo show from the Flicker Bar, and ended up getting super-teary-eyed. Not sure why, as I know I sold well (I sold enough photos to reach my goal of having enough dough to launch the Avid Bookshop website!) and had a really successful art opening on February 1st. Hell, even if I'd sold nothing, I still would've felt proud of myself for having my first-ever photo show, for doing something public with a hobby I think I'm pretty good at.
So it wasn't regret that made me teary-eyed, and it wasn't the usual reason that I cry at the drop of a hat (um, PMS, anyone?): I think it was that I was getting a migraine. Yesterday evening, I was feeling particularly euphoric, more encouraged and productive and active than I've been in weeks! But then the prodrome really set in (my blurred vision, the bright sun, the weepiness, incessant yawning) without my realizing (or wanting to acknowledge) what it was.
Now, 22 hours after my hopeful, euphoric outburst, I'm feeling okay. A little down in the dumps, a little discouraged, and a little distracted by the discomfort that's not quite settled in behind my left eye. Tomorrow I'll begin anew, having a couple of bookstore meetings and dealing with some bureaucratic bill pay stuff that will surely find me sitting on hold, book in hand for a little while.
Hope you're well.
10 February 2009
my therapeutic yoga class
Okay, jury's in: I love my therapeutic yoga class. I was really overwhelmed after my first session--everyone in the class is amazing in his or her own way, and everyone has at least one (at least!) major health obstacle she's trying to cope with. All those fears about not being flexible enough, about not being able to keep up, about not doing things "correctly," have flown out the window. Slowly but surely I'm taking to heart my experienced yoga teacher's words: if your movements are painful, you're not doing yoga. Everyone's body is completely different from the next, so one person's ability to move in a certain way should not be judged against the next person's. In doing some arm exercises, I pushed myself to keep my arms high despite their beginning to get tingly and painful. After the class, I mentioned the discomfort to my teacher, who told me to lower my arms significantly--if that didn't work, we'd figure out another modification that would perhaps allow me to do this exercise.
Each class is two hours long but is not rigorous or stressful in the least. We move slowly and mindfully, paying attention to our breathing and always taking note of how our movements make our bodies feel. (I speak as if I'm a self-proclaimed guru at this point--this is far from the case, but speaking confidently about the practice sure can't hurt!) It's hard for me to slow my mind down, to not pay attention to the racing thoughts that flit across my brain like so many little birds.
There are two other severe chronic migraineurs in the class, and I completely misjudged how wonderful it'd be to talk with them in person. I've gained so much through web-based relationships on this blog (and in using other health websites), but to see someone's face as she describes her life with migraine is such a different experience. One woman's headaches were daily and severe. She, like me, made TONS of lifestyle changes all at once. She continually reassures me and encourages me, telling me how happy she feels that I have already begun to find hopefulness where before there was despair. This is a person who has been coming to this particular therapeutic yoga class for seven years, a chronic daily migraineur. Guess when her last migraine attack was? Over six years ago. Can you imagine that? I'm beginning to allow myself to imagine that. I'm not planning on it, mind you, but I am allowing myself to believe at last that this is possible, that after all this searching and medication and vitamins and doctor's visits there could be something that has a drastically wonderful effect on my life.
It's not easy to change everything at once. This evening my friend told me how she was about to order a greasy, delightfully cheesy Papa John's pizza. As soon as I was alone again, I thought about that pizza. Thought about dipping it in those notoriously fatty cups of garlic sauce and how wonderful it tastes.
And then I got home and heated up rice, broccoli, and onions for dinner. I feel satiated and healthy. No cheese-induced tummyache for me. But man--I do love pizza.
People, I want you to allow yourselves to be hopeful. I want you to imagine that it will be possible to live your lives without fear of a migraine coming on at the slightest provocation. For too long I have treated myself too gingerly--much of that was necessary and safe, I know, but it kept me from living my life well. KEEPS me from living my life well. (There goes Guru Jan again, acting as if she's got it all figure out, when really I'm play-acting here and there, only partly able to fully believe how healthy I am becoming.) It's so hard for me to imagine that any of these changes I've made could NOT help most of you. This from the girl who gets really frustrated when people, out of the goodness of their hearts, push so-called miracle drugs onto her--if Topamax works for so many, it MUST work for you, Janet! You're probably just not taking it right!
I fear becoming the person who pushes her ways onto you. At the same time, I can't resist trying to engage some of you in this discussion, to encourage some of you to incorporate healthier habits in an attempt to curb the number and severity of your attacks. Please let me know if I'm annoying you. Please let me know if you are interested in talking more. Please let me know if I should abandon this blog all together before driving you all crazy!! :)
17 January 2009
the PMS monster hath risen
This past week I suffered from awful bouts of irate anger (redundant, much?) and moodiness. Though the migraine frequency has lessened, the headaches still come up once a week or so. Until this week, the head pain wasn't accompanied by other migraine side effects other than sleepiness.
Until PMS time came. I had worse PMS than I can remember in recent history. I was moody, extremely sad (curled up on the couch listening to overdramatic songs on my iPod--not even using the stereo!), and flushed with anger at the drop of a hat. Yech. As I mentioned to my sister, I felt the way I did as a teenager during fights with my mom: in each case (picking a fight with my beau this week or with my mom 15 years ago), I could see the argument spinning out of control, could understand why the things I was getting p.o.ed about really were meaningless. But I couldn't stop being mad. I couldn't stop yelling or uttering huge sighs of disgust. Ew! Dear Lord, please don't make me a teenager every month. I hope that this week's tudiness will not replicate itself next cycle.
Am I the only one whose period brings different side effects every time? Sometimes I'm cool and collected (okay, that's rare--but last month I was like that!); other times I am the devil incarnate. Still other times are marked by awful cramps and no headache; the next month, I might have an 8-day Migraine with no cramps. I prefer predictability.
Until PMS time came. I had worse PMS than I can remember in recent history. I was moody, extremely sad (curled up on the couch listening to overdramatic songs on my iPod--not even using the stereo!), and flushed with anger at the drop of a hat. Yech. As I mentioned to my sister, I felt the way I did as a teenager during fights with my mom: in each case (picking a fight with my beau this week or with my mom 15 years ago), I could see the argument spinning out of control, could understand why the things I was getting p.o.ed about really were meaningless. But I couldn't stop being mad. I couldn't stop yelling or uttering huge sighs of disgust. Ew! Dear Lord, please don't make me a teenager every month. I hope that this week's tudiness will not replicate itself next cycle.
Am I the only one whose period brings different side effects every time? Sometimes I'm cool and collected (okay, that's rare--but last month I was like that!); other times I am the devil incarnate. Still other times are marked by awful cramps and no headache; the next month, I might have an 8-day Migraine with no cramps. I prefer predictability.
09 December 2008
healthy boundaries for "chronic babes"
Jenni Prokopy has this wonderful article on ChronicBabe.com this week about setting healthy boundaries in order to keep yourself and your relationships going strong.
I love it! Check it out here.
I love it! Check it out here.
05 December 2008
01 November 2008
Just another Oct. 31
I skipped Halloween tonight. This seems pretty sad at first: I mean, I have always loved Halloween and tend to dress up each year--if you exclude a handful of early high school Halloweens when I was too cool (and too old, according to my parents) to dress up and go trick-or-treating.
I've told you a little bit about my dear friend HT before. She and I are very similar in a variety of ways--it's not just our height and Germanic looks. (What an odd non-Janet-sounding sentence. I'll keep it.) We get along well for many reasons; it helps that she is perhaps the only real-life person I know who genuinely understands what it's like to live with a chronic illness. Because our personalities and senses of humor are so similar, our perspectives are that much more in sync.
Earlier this week, I called her to see if she'd be interesting in spending the night IN on Halloween. As the night is her favorite holiday, I knew she might be reluctant to commit. As she'd been pretty sick off and on for the weeks prior, I knew she'd probably end up being able to hang out with little old me. As it turns out, we did get to spend time together. We had dinner, chit-chatted, and watched The Shining for the first time in over a decade (for each of us). Let me just tell you: this movie is AWESOME. I somehow remembered it as being sort of slow and boring until the final scenes--but my 28-year-old self now scolds my high school self for not having realized how wonderfully suspenseful the film is. The experience I had watching it was lessened by the pain and discomfort I felt during the loud scenes or very bright shots. I thought to myself a few times, "Wow--this would REALLY be painful in a movie theatre!" I asked HT to turn the volume down once or twice, but the high-pitched, sitting-on-the-edge-of-your-seat squeaky strings still got to me. When I watch TV with my boyfriend, I almost always have to ask him to turn it down for me. (He's a musician who must already have irreversible hearing damage; I'm an ultra-sensitive girlfriend who is getting paid back by karma for all the times her older sister used to tell her to turn down the volume.) I can relax pretty well on my own, but now even laid-back activities are threats of pain and discomfort. I don't like that, even when I'm in a friend's quiet, smoke-free house--a place that should be lovely for a migraineur--I have to ask her to make many adjustments to accommodate me.
I suppose I feel as if I'm always on guard; that a trigger could be waiting around the corner. IS waiting around the corner, and I've got to be quick enough to catch it.
Even now I'm affected by the unintentional elements of my visit. When HT gave me a long hug goodnight, I could smell hand sanitizer on her, hand sanitizer with a strong scent (strong for me, at least). Even the hug couldn't be an enjoyable goodbye--instead I was thinking, "Oh, I hope she doesn't hold on too long, because that smell is going to wear off onto my clothes and it'll bug me!" Now I'm sitting at this computer, 30 minutes after saying goodnight, and the hand sanitizer smell is wafting through the air and sending daggers through my nose into my brain. Sorry.
So yeah. Back to Halloween. We drove downtown once to deliver HT's husband's i.d. to him--he'd forgotten to carry it along with him in his costume. We got to see a few costumes and were creepily incognito: we wore bags on our heads as we parked outside my favorite bar and waited for HT's husband to come out. Only he and two other friends knew who we were; they snapped a few photos of us. I looked beyond them and saw many of my friends outside the bar, no one knowing I was near. And then we pulled off.
And you know what? I'm not sorry I didn't got out. At this pinot, the night is over for most folks in town and I'm sure they had a great time. So did I. I continue to get used to this lower-key Janet who chooses to stay in when she used to be social, social, social. I hope I stop questioning her choices so much and trust her to do the right thing.
I've told you a little bit about my dear friend HT before. She and I are very similar in a variety of ways--it's not just our height and Germanic looks. (What an odd non-Janet-sounding sentence. I'll keep it.) We get along well for many reasons; it helps that she is perhaps the only real-life person I know who genuinely understands what it's like to live with a chronic illness. Because our personalities and senses of humor are so similar, our perspectives are that much more in sync.
Earlier this week, I called her to see if she'd be interesting in spending the night IN on Halloween. As the night is her favorite holiday, I knew she might be reluctant to commit. As she'd been pretty sick off and on for the weeks prior, I knew she'd probably end up being able to hang out with little old me. As it turns out, we did get to spend time together. We had dinner, chit-chatted, and watched The Shining for the first time in over a decade (for each of us). Let me just tell you: this movie is AWESOME. I somehow remembered it as being sort of slow and boring until the final scenes--but my 28-year-old self now scolds my high school self for not having realized how wonderfully suspenseful the film is. The experience I had watching it was lessened by the pain and discomfort I felt during the loud scenes or very bright shots. I thought to myself a few times, "Wow--this would REALLY be painful in a movie theatre!" I asked HT to turn the volume down once or twice, but the high-pitched, sitting-on-the-edge-of-your-seat squeaky strings still got to me. When I watch TV with my boyfriend, I almost always have to ask him to turn it down for me. (He's a musician who must already have irreversible hearing damage; I'm an ultra-sensitive girlfriend who is getting paid back by karma for all the times her older sister used to tell her to turn down the volume.) I can relax pretty well on my own, but now even laid-back activities are threats of pain and discomfort. I don't like that, even when I'm in a friend's quiet, smoke-free house--a place that should be lovely for a migraineur--I have to ask her to make many adjustments to accommodate me.
I suppose I feel as if I'm always on guard; that a trigger could be waiting around the corner. IS waiting around the corner, and I've got to be quick enough to catch it.
Even now I'm affected by the unintentional elements of my visit. When HT gave me a long hug goodnight, I could smell hand sanitizer on her, hand sanitizer with a strong scent (strong for me, at least). Even the hug couldn't be an enjoyable goodbye--instead I was thinking, "Oh, I hope she doesn't hold on too long, because that smell is going to wear off onto my clothes and it'll bug me!" Now I'm sitting at this computer, 30 minutes after saying goodnight, and the hand sanitizer smell is wafting through the air and sending daggers through my nose into my brain. Sorry.
So yeah. Back to Halloween. We drove downtown once to deliver HT's husband's i.d. to him--he'd forgotten to carry it along with him in his costume. We got to see a few costumes and were creepily incognito: we wore bags on our heads as we parked outside my favorite bar and waited for HT's husband to come out. Only he and two other friends knew who we were; they snapped a few photos of us. I looked beyond them and saw many of my friends outside the bar, no one knowing I was near. And then we pulled off.
And you know what? I'm not sorry I didn't got out. At this pinot, the night is over for most folks in town and I'm sure they had a great time. So did I. I continue to get used to this lower-key Janet who chooses to stay in when she used to be social, social, social. I hope I stop questioning her choices so much and trust her to do the right thing.
21 October 2008
save healthcare & our country!
Hi, guys. The Obama campaign folks sent me the following list and I thought I'd take their advice and repost it. If you're not pro-Obama, rest easy--I'm not going to pressure you to change your mind (even though I really think you should!). If you are pro-Obama, reading the following list is very important!! Repost this list if you desire.
TOP 5 REASONS OBAMA SUPPORTERS SHOULDN'T REST EASY
1. The polls may be wrong. This is an unprecedented election. No one knows how racism may affect what voters tell pollsters—or what they do in the voting booth. And the polls are narrowing anyway. In the last few days, John McCain has gained ground in most national polls, as his campaign has gone even more negative.
2. Dirty tricks. Republicans are already illegally purging voters from the rolls in some states. They're whipping up hysteria over ACORN to justify more challenges to new voters. Misleading flyers about the voting process have started appearing in black neighborhoods. And of course, many counties still use unsecure voting machines.
3. October surprise. In politics, 15 days is a long time. The next McCain smear could dominate the news for a week. There could be a crisis with Iran, or Bin Laden could release another tape, or worse.
4. Those who forget history... In 2000, Al Gore won the popular vote after trailing by seven points in the final days of the race. In 1980, Reagan was eight points down in the polls in late October and came back to win. Races can shift—fast!
5. Landslide. Even with Barack Obama in the White House, passing universal health care and a new clean-energy policy is going to be hard. Insurance, drug and oil companies will fight us every step of the way. We need the kind of landslide that will give Barack a huge mandate.
If you agree that we shouldn't rest easy, please sign up to volunteer at your local Obama office by clicking here:http://pol.moveon.org/obama/
20 October 2008
achy and lazy
Saturday I woke up tired. Tired and sore. Most likely that's because I stayed up pretty late Friday night and had one too many vodka-sodas. Fair enough. I didn't feel hungover OR migrainey (miracle of miracles), but I was achy and tired much of the day. When night fell, however, I was awake and energetic and inspired. J. and I had some sushi, went to see a friend play music downtown, and then rented a movie. I was in a silly, hyper, ridiculous mood until I fell asleep around 1:30.
The next night (last night, Sunday), I was up really late again. I saw a movie with my friend and, after walking home, took my nightly meds and planned to go to sleep. But THEN my beau came over to hang out, and we ended up making pizza at one in the morning (I had only snacked for dinner instead of eating a real meal, so I was hungry!) and watching a movie. Again, despite having a tired, achy day, my night was fun and silly and giggly. (I am pretty weird in real life, this I must admit--the last two evenings I exploited this trait for all its worth.)
I was wired and couldn't fall asleep last night. Eventually I shut the light off around 3:45 AM; of course that meant I didn't wake up 'til an embarrasingly late hour today. I've accomplished some things around the house (wrote a couple of emails, did the dishes, tidied up, visited with a good friend I've not seen in a LONG time, etc.), but I feel unaccomplished, tired, achy, and lazy overall. Wholly uninspired. It could be that my lovely time of the month is settling in for its visit. Perhaps the achiness is due to that. It could be because I skipped out on this week's exercise and yoga. Maybe none of the above. Maybe all of the above.
In any case, I feel like I'm watching myself from the outside, knowing that getting up and being active is the way to go. But since I have work tonight and a big editing assignment coming in the mail tomorrow, I feel like vegging while I can. So I continue in this pattern of achy laziness.
Let's hope I'm not so down on myself tomorrow.
The next night (last night, Sunday), I was up really late again. I saw a movie with my friend and, after walking home, took my nightly meds and planned to go to sleep. But THEN my beau came over to hang out, and we ended up making pizza at one in the morning (I had only snacked for dinner instead of eating a real meal, so I was hungry!) and watching a movie. Again, despite having a tired, achy day, my night was fun and silly and giggly. (I am pretty weird in real life, this I must admit--the last two evenings I exploited this trait for all its worth.)
I was wired and couldn't fall asleep last night. Eventually I shut the light off around 3:45 AM; of course that meant I didn't wake up 'til an embarrasingly late hour today. I've accomplished some things around the house (wrote a couple of emails, did the dishes, tidied up, visited with a good friend I've not seen in a LONG time, etc.), but I feel unaccomplished, tired, achy, and lazy overall. Wholly uninspired. It could be that my lovely time of the month is settling in for its visit. Perhaps the achiness is due to that. It could be because I skipped out on this week's exercise and yoga. Maybe none of the above. Maybe all of the above.
In any case, I feel like I'm watching myself from the outside, knowing that getting up and being active is the way to go. But since I have work tonight and a big editing assignment coming in the mail tomorrow, I feel like vegging while I can. So I continue in this pattern of achy laziness.
Let's hope I'm not so down on myself tomorrow.
21 September 2008
guided reading/bibliotherapy
Has anyone heard of guided reading and/or bibliotherapy? One of my graduate school professors is a big proponent and expert of this, and once I learned more about it, I realized I'd been doing it my whole life. A teacher or mentor helps select reading material that a student may have a meaningful connection to; during and after the student's reading, teacher leads student to talk about how he/she felt while reading, what issues it brought up, and how it can help the student cope with his/her issues. Well, that's it in a nutshell.
One thing I've noticed recently is the abundance of characters with Migraine in the books I read! I don't mean to select works in which a main character has Migraine; I think it's more likely that Migraine is so very common that it's bound to come up frequently in both fiction and nonfiction.
Ian McEwan's Atonement comes to mind. The mother in the story suffers from very frequent, debilitating Migraine attacks. Think of Virginia Woolf and her struggle with headache as described in her own works, her journals, and in The Hours. I could come up with MANY, many others if I looked at my bookshelf and gave it some thought.
Reading about people who deal with Migraine--whether these people are real or not--helps me immensely. Perhaps above all else is the fact that the author's choice to include a migraineur (or more) shows that he/she is immensely understanding of the disorder. (Especially if the description of the migraineur rings true to a reader who knows the ins and outs of Migraine!) In Atonement, Emily's children know when she's ill just by the way the house is lit, how it feels to walk in the front door. That really resonated with me: I remember running in the front door after school when I was young, realizing too late that I should've been quiet, that I should've heeded the signs. You see, my mom frequently had Migraine attacks (or what I would call Migraine--I am not sure if she was ever diagnosed, but her headaches fit the menstrual migraine description to a T) and I'd know it was that time again by the cool, dark feeling of the house, the curtains in the den drawn as she slept on the couch. Those days were always so sad.
In any case, I encourage you all to share with me (and therefore each other) any books you've read wherein a character deals with Migraine or another chronic pain disease. If you've never read any books with such a character, I encourage you to do so: you'll find a bosom friend who understands you.
03 June 2008
how to survive a vacation tip 1: don't trust the website
A couple of weeks before Memorial Day weekend, I had an epiphany: I needed a vacation. Not an action-packed trip, mind you, but a vacation. No commitments. No one to answer to. No schedule. A vacation.
Considering my health situation and limitations caused by the seemingly incessant Migraine attacks I've been suffering through the last two months or so, my first instinct was to assume that I had to go alone. Having another person there would mean I'd feel guilty if I had to bail on plans to go to the beach for a couple hours or if I sat through dinner with my ice water glass against my forehead. So I concluded I'd go it alone.
Until I thought of a certain friend of mine, one of my best and dearest friends. In the interest of privacy (read: she doesn't know I'm talking about her on my blog as we speak), I shall call her by the nickname each of us has taken to calling the other: Handicapped Twin. HT for short. She is a woman near my age with rheumatoid arthritis--this year in particular she's had a really rough time of it and we've taken turns being laid up at each other's house to watch movies and zone out in our drugged hazes.
A week or so before Memorial Day, I emailed HT, who was finishing up a particularly hectic week at work. I said something to the effect of, "I need a vacation. I'm going to the beach. You're the only person I can think of who'd be the perfect company. Interested?" Within a couple hours I got an all-caps response: "HELL YES!!!" And thus The Plan was born.
I researched lots of hotels off the coast of Georgia and South Carolina and decided we should go to Jekyll Island, a gorgeous and (for now) well-preserved island I've been visiting since I was a wee little thing. Turns out HT and her family went to Jekyll since the 70s or early 80s as well, so she was up for some relaxing and reminiscing. I showed HT the top five hotels I'd found, and we selected one with a sharp website and a claim that the entire property had just been renovated. After confirming there was a hot tub and beach access, we booked it.
A five or six hour drive on Friday afternoon led us to Jekyll. We parked in front of the lobby at what looked like a long, stretched out motor lodge. "Maybe it's nice inside," thought I, thinking simultaneously of how the hotel room price and the facade did not at all match. We got our hotel room key and anxiously wheeled our luggage to the door. First thing I noticed? Cracks and cobwebs and rust by the dingy front window. I reassured myself again: "Maybe it's nice inside."
It wasn't.
The room smelled of stale smoke and mildew. (When we left for dinner, HCTFebreezed the whole joint--after asking me if the scent would bother me. What a great handicapped twin!) The hotel had graciously put in incandescent bulbs for me but, when I went to turn on the lights, the lamps weren't working. The "new" carpet was torn in a couple of spots, there were spider webs in the corner, and the stuccoed ceiling looked almost furry in texture. I dared not look too closely above my head for fear of figuring out what the dark matter in between the white fibers of the ceiling was, exactly. The bathroom light was a fluorescent, so I brought in one of the lamps to plug in and set on the counter. Turns out the only outlet functioned only when the overhead fluorescent was on. Attempting to remove the sticky, dusty, yellowed cover off the fluorescent bulb proved disgustingly impossible. The bathroom fan cover was suffocating with dust, dirt, and "debris," as HT so affectionately called the clumps of mysterious gray matter on the intake screen.
I called the front desk about the nonworking lamps and said, "Also: I was wondering if you had any renovated rooms available..." "What room are you in?" "617." "That one is renovated, ma'am." "Um, what exactly was renovated? Because..." (Then I proceeded to give a brief description of the horror I've already described above.) "Oh, each room got new paint, new carpet, and furniture."
Oh. Well then. Ignore the typical hotel tradition of cleaning the rooms and making sure the electricity works, I guess.
That night, I fell asleep in my double bed not feeling so hot. In the middle of the night, I had to take some medication and at last fell back into a hazy, fitful sleep. In the morning, I felt great--that is, until I lifted myself from the bed. Pressure rushed to my sinuses and the Migraine attack restarted in earnest. I left the room to read outside, but the blaring sun was too much for me to take when in so much head pain. Heading back into the room to lie on the bed to read meant another rush of stale mustiness, which made everything feel worse again.
When HT woke up, she too was feeling worse for the wear and completely congested, as I was. She said, "It's the mold." "What mold?" "The mold. On the ceiling. Look." "Wait--that dark stuff is MOLD? Are you serious!?" Eventually, after we'd decided we'd leave in order to save our poor bodies, I climbed on a chair to scrape at the ceiling with a ballpoint pen. Sure enough, the white ceiling material stayed put as the wettish mold scraped off with little work.
DISGUSTING.
We went to the front desk, ready with my camera full of evidence in case the receptionist said we had to pay for the next two nights, too. Instead, the impersonal but effecient woman quickly printed up a receipt for one night and said we weren't committed to Saturday and Sunday despite the internet agreement we were supposed to adhere to. Cool.
We drove out of there and scoped out more hotels, eventually deciding upon an expensive (but aptly priced) condo farther down the main road. The space was open, clean, personal, and--get this!--not moldy in the least. We felt pretty good for a couple of days and, unsurprisingly, those pesky sinus issues cleared up as soon as we were away from Room from Hell for a few hours.
That brings me to lesson 2 in tips for surviving a vacation: paying for what you need may cost more than the cheapy places, but it's NOT splurging if you're putting your health first.
Considering my health situation and limitations caused by the seemingly incessant Migraine attacks I've been suffering through the last two months or so, my first instinct was to assume that I had to go alone. Having another person there would mean I'd feel guilty if I had to bail on plans to go to the beach for a couple hours or if I sat through dinner with my ice water glass against my forehead. So I concluded I'd go it alone.
Until I thought of a certain friend of mine, one of my best and dearest friends. In the interest of privacy (read: she doesn't know I'm talking about her on my blog as we speak), I shall call her by the nickname each of us has taken to calling the other: Handicapped Twin. HT for short. She is a woman near my age with rheumatoid arthritis--this year in particular she's had a really rough time of it and we've taken turns being laid up at each other's house to watch movies and zone out in our drugged hazes.
A week or so before Memorial Day, I emailed HT, who was finishing up a particularly hectic week at work. I said something to the effect of, "I need a vacation. I'm going to the beach. You're the only person I can think of who'd be the perfect company. Interested?" Within a couple hours I got an all-caps response: "HELL YES!!!" And thus The Plan was born.
I researched lots of hotels off the coast of Georgia and South Carolina and decided we should go to Jekyll Island, a gorgeous and (for now) well-preserved island I've been visiting since I was a wee little thing. Turns out HT and her family went to Jekyll since the 70s or early 80s as well, so she was up for some relaxing and reminiscing. I showed HT the top five hotels I'd found, and we selected one with a sharp website and a claim that the entire property had just been renovated. After confirming there was a hot tub and beach access, we booked it.
A five or six hour drive on Friday afternoon led us to Jekyll. We parked in front of the lobby at what looked like a long, stretched out motor lodge. "Maybe it's nice inside," thought I, thinking simultaneously of how the hotel room price and the facade did not at all match. We got our hotel room key and anxiously wheeled our luggage to the door. First thing I noticed? Cracks and cobwebs and rust by the dingy front window. I reassured myself again: "Maybe it's nice inside."
It wasn't.
The room smelled of stale smoke and mildew. (When we left for dinner, HCTFebreezed the whole joint--after asking me if the scent would bother me. What a great handicapped twin!) The hotel had graciously put in incandescent bulbs for me but, when I went to turn on the lights, the lamps weren't working. The "new" carpet was torn in a couple of spots, there were spider webs in the corner, and the stuccoed ceiling looked almost furry in texture. I dared not look too closely above my head for fear of figuring out what the dark matter in between the white fibers of the ceiling was, exactly. The bathroom light was a fluorescent, so I brought in one of the lamps to plug in and set on the counter. Turns out the only outlet functioned only when the overhead fluorescent was on. Attempting to remove the sticky, dusty, yellowed cover off the fluorescent bulb proved disgustingly impossible. The bathroom fan cover was suffocating with dust, dirt, and "debris," as HT so affectionately called the clumps of mysterious gray matter on the intake screen.
I called the front desk about the nonworking lamps and said, "Also: I was wondering if you had any renovated rooms available..." "What room are you in?" "617." "That one is renovated, ma'am."
Oh. Well then. Ignore the typical hotel tradition of cleaning the rooms and making sure the electricity works, I guess.
That night, I fell asleep in my double bed not feeling so hot. In the middle of the night, I had to take some medication and at last fell back into a hazy, fitful sleep. In the morning, I felt great--that is, until I lifted myself from the bed. Pressure rushed to my sinuses and the Migraine attack restarted in earnest. I left the room to read outside, but the blaring sun was too much for me to take when in so much head pain. Heading back into the room to lie on the bed to read meant another rush of stale mustiness, which made everything feel worse again.
When HT woke up, she too was feeling worse for the wear and completely congested, as I was. She said, "It's the mold." "What mold?" "The mold. On the ceiling. Look." "Wait--that dark stuff is MOLD? Are you serious!?" Eventually, after we'd decided we'd leave in order to save our poor bodies, I climbed on a chair to scrape at the ceiling with a ballpoint pen. Sure enough, the white ceiling material stayed put as the wettish mold scraped off with little work.
DISGUSTING.
We went to the front desk, ready with my camera full of evidence in case the receptionist said we had to pay for the next two nights, too. Instead, the impersonal but effecient woman quickly printed up a receipt for one night and said we weren't committed to Saturday and Sunday despite the internet agreement we were supposed to adhere to. Cool.
We drove out of there and scoped out more hotels, eventually deciding upon an expensive (but aptly priced) condo farther down the main road. The space was open, clean, personal, and--get this!--not moldy in the least. We felt pretty good for a couple of days and, unsurprisingly, those pesky sinus issues cleared up as soon as we were away from Room from Hell for a few hours.
That brings me to lesson 2 in tips for surviving a vacation: paying for what you need may cost more than the cheapy places, but it's NOT splurging if you're putting your health first.
25 April 2008
unsolicited advice
I've found the more I learn about Migraine disease--what it is and what it is not--the stronger my tendency to deliver unsolicited advice to strangers and friends alike.
Just tonight, a friend mentioned "headaches from acute sinusitis." My first instinct was to respond with, "Did you think they were sinus headaches? Did your doctor say they were? Sinus headache is actually not a valid diagnosis. You could be having Migraines."
My friend (and former professor) has been getting terrible, debilitating headaches more and more in the last couple of years. One of her nicknames is "The Human Barometer." All we informed migraineurs know this is a huge indication she's probably suffering from Migraines: debilitating pain that makes her sensitive to ordinarily tolerable stimuli, getting awful pain each time the barometric pressure shifts? A self-diagnosis of hypoglycemia because the pain rears its ugly head each time she misses a meal? She sure sounds like a candidate for Migraine disease diagnosis.
I've eagerly pushed for her to see her doctor to discuss a possible Migraine diagnosis, but, last I heard, she wasn't buying my argument. I felt I was physically restraining myself from pummeling her with a long list of signs and indications that one might be getting Migraine attacks. I tried to keep it easy, but I wanted to cry, "I love you! I hate that you're hurting! I think I know the first step to getting you better: figuring out for sure what you have!"
My sister has been getting Migraine-like headaches recently. Her over the counter painkillers aren't fitting the bill, and when she describes the headaches they sure do sound like Migraine. With a family brimming with Migraine sufferers plus a history of childhood headache, she sure is built for adult Migraine disease. But, as yet, she's not gotten a diagnosis. I want to force her to go to the doctor to figure this out; if it is Migraine, there's probably an acute treatment she can give herself when in pain. She doesn't have to suffer!
I always stop myself. I hate sounding preachy. This is one of the reasons I have proclaimed myself "The Migraine Girl"--I feel sometimes I am speaking from the standpoint of someone whose whole mission is to cut down on Migraine frequency and severity for myself and others. I want to spread the word, to share the gospel. But, in truth, a lot of people don't want to hear it. And I should respect that.
I wonder if anyone reading this has had trouble with this: seeing the signs in other folks but not wanting to go off on your Migraine disease diatribe.
Anywho. That's all.
Just tonight, a friend mentioned "headaches from acute sinusitis." My first instinct was to respond with, "Did you think they were sinus headaches? Did your doctor say they were? Sinus headache is actually not a valid diagnosis. You could be having Migraines."
My friend (and former professor) has been getting terrible, debilitating headaches more and more in the last couple of years. One of her nicknames is "The Human Barometer." All we informed migraineurs know this is a huge indication she's probably suffering from Migraines: debilitating pain that makes her sensitive to ordinarily tolerable stimuli, getting awful pain each time the barometric pressure shifts? A self-diagnosis of hypoglycemia because the pain rears its ugly head each time she misses a meal? She sure sounds like a candidate for Migraine disease diagnosis.
I've eagerly pushed for her to see her doctor to discuss a possible Migraine diagnosis, but, last I heard, she wasn't buying my argument. I felt I was physically restraining myself from pummeling her with a long list of signs and indications that one might be getting Migraine attacks. I tried to keep it easy, but I wanted to cry, "I love you! I hate that you're hurting! I think I know the first step to getting you better: figuring out for sure what you have!"
My sister has been getting Migraine-like headaches recently. Her over the counter painkillers aren't fitting the bill, and when she describes the headaches they sure do sound like Migraine. With a family brimming with Migraine sufferers plus a history of childhood headache, she sure is built for adult Migraine disease. But, as yet, she's not gotten a diagnosis. I want to force her to go to the doctor to figure this out; if it is Migraine, there's probably an acute treatment she can give herself when in pain. She doesn't have to suffer!
I always stop myself. I hate sounding preachy. This is one of the reasons I have proclaimed myself "The Migraine Girl"--I feel sometimes I am speaking from the standpoint of someone whose whole mission is to cut down on Migraine frequency and severity for myself and others. I want to spread the word, to share the gospel. But, in truth, a lot of people don't want to hear it. And I should respect that.
I wonder if anyone reading this has had trouble with this: seeing the signs in other folks but not wanting to go off on your Migraine disease diatribe.
Anywho. That's all.
17 April 2008
missing out on all the fun
My friend just called me from the Okkervil River show. One of my favorite songs of theirs, "Our Life is a Not Movie or Maybe" (which plays when you visit their site) blared through my cell phone speaker, peppered with high-pitched screams of delight from the audience and some whistles.
You see, I was supposed to be at that show. L. bought me a ticket a month or so ago as a birthday gift, and I was thrilled by the fact that I was really into BOTH bands--the opener (Okkervil River) and the headlining act (The New Pornographers). This evening, I did some yoga stretches for my neck and then took a warm shower, telling myself this was a recipe for a good evening. I'd taken a nap earlier in the day to have extra reserves of energy at my command so I could stay out late and still wake up early for work tomorrow. I did everything right.
After my shower, I wanted to creep into oversized jeans and a hoodie for comfort; instead, I put on an equally comfortable but cute dress in an effort to convince myself I was feeling better. See? Look at me! I have mascara and a dress on, plus some earplugs in my pocket to boot. Surely I'm going to have a great night out!
Went to dinner. Tried to park downtown in a [free after 6 PM] metered spot but had no luck. When I went to my ol' trusty backup free lots, I was alarmed to see that BOTH of them now charge $5 to park. Frustrated and inordinately enraged (was that me or the steroids that wanted to crash the cars in the parking lot?), I drove back through the city streets 'til I found a spot. I wanted so badly to honk obnoxiously over and over to assert my premier position as another guy tried to deftly slide into the spot I'd been waiting for for a good sixty seconds, but I refrained and kept it at a light tap. Oh, I was ANGRY. Far angrier than I should've been, I realize. I tend to get fed up easily when I'm not feeling well, when I'm out of control--I'd bet the "extreme irritability" that comes along with the steroids for some people didn't help. (Last night I nearly had a temper tantrum in the middle of the night because the damned sheet kept getting tangled--I wanted to rip the stupid thing off the bed and burn it. 'Roidy, much?)
So there I was. I parked, took a deep breath, and walked to meet my friend C.--I was now 15 minutes late. We hopped restaurants a few times 'til we found one with no wait, and, after a strange coughing attack (my throat has felt weird lately), I sat down and eagerly awaited my sub sandwich.
It was at that point it hit me. I was exhausted again. My 45-minute outing had zapped my energy. I'm sick of sleeping, sick of lying down, sick of being inside my house. But going to a loud rock show was going to be a silly move, most likely. In any case, there's no way for me to see which one would be the better option in reality, to go to the show or to skip it--I have to choose one path with every decision I make and there's never any knowing what could have been. Maybe the show would've had me relaxed, jumping up and down, and feeling better. And maybe the crowded theater, the loud music, and the high-pitched cheering would have been a recipe for disaster.
L. came to where I was sitting with C. and hung out for a couple minutes. She has always been so loyal and so good to me regarding my Migraines. "I don't want you to go if it's going to make you feel bad," she said, and having her support allowed me to officially bail out, guilt free. I've known her for years now, and instead of getting more frustrated at my self-set, self-preserving limitations I make as time goes on, she's more understanding and less apt to pressure me to do something my body can't handle.
As I walked past the theater on the way to my car, I heard another favorite song ("A Hand to Take Hold of the Scene") playing from the stage. I paused. I peered in at the stage and saw the small figures bouncing to the sound of their music. The trumpets joined in.
I kept walking, the sounds of the music echoing off the small city block. As soon as I climbed into my car, there was someone else waiting to take my spot.
You see, I was supposed to be at that show. L. bought me a ticket a month or so ago as a birthday gift, and I was thrilled by the fact that I was really into BOTH bands--the opener (Okkervil River) and the headlining act (The New Pornographers). This evening, I did some yoga stretches for my neck and then took a warm shower, telling myself this was a recipe for a good evening. I'd taken a nap earlier in the day to have extra reserves of energy at my command so I could stay out late and still wake up early for work tomorrow. I did everything right.
After my shower, I wanted to creep into oversized jeans and a hoodie for comfort; instead, I put on an equally comfortable but cute dress in an effort to convince myself I was feeling better. See? Look at me! I have mascara and a dress on, plus some earplugs in my pocket to boot. Surely I'm going to have a great night out!
Went to dinner. Tried to park downtown in a [free after 6 PM] metered spot but had no luck. When I went to my ol' trusty backup free lots, I was alarmed to see that BOTH of them now charge $5 to park. Frustrated and inordinately enraged (was that me or the steroids that wanted to crash the cars in the parking lot?), I drove back through the city streets 'til I found a spot. I wanted so badly to honk obnoxiously over and over to assert my premier position as another guy tried to deftly slide into the spot I'd been waiting for for a good sixty seconds, but I refrained and kept it at a light tap. Oh, I was ANGRY. Far angrier than I should've been, I realize. I tend to get fed up easily when I'm not feeling well, when I'm out of control--I'd bet the "extreme irritability" that comes along with the steroids for some people didn't help. (Last night I nearly had a temper tantrum in the middle of the night because the damned sheet kept getting tangled--I wanted to rip the stupid thing off the bed and burn it. 'Roidy, much?)
So there I was. I parked, took a deep breath, and walked to meet my friend C.--I was now 15 minutes late. We hopped restaurants a few times 'til we found one with no wait, and, after a strange coughing attack (my throat has felt weird lately), I sat down and eagerly awaited my sub sandwich.
It was at that point it hit me. I was exhausted again. My 45-minute outing had zapped my energy. I'm sick of sleeping, sick of lying down, sick of being inside my house. But going to a loud rock show was going to be a silly move, most likely. In any case, there's no way for me to see which one would be the better option in reality, to go to the show or to skip it--I have to choose one path with every decision I make and there's never any knowing what could have been. Maybe the show would've had me relaxed, jumping up and down, and feeling better. And maybe the crowded theater, the loud music, and the high-pitched cheering would have been a recipe for disaster.
L. came to where I was sitting with C. and hung out for a couple minutes. She has always been so loyal and so good to me regarding my Migraines. "I don't want you to go if it's going to make you feel bad," she said, and having her support allowed me to officially bail out, guilt free. I've known her for years now, and instead of getting more frustrated at my self-set, self-preserving limitations I make as time goes on, she's more understanding and less apt to pressure me to do something my body can't handle.
As I walked past the theater on the way to my car, I heard another favorite song ("A Hand to Take Hold of the Scene") playing from the stage. I paused. I peered in at the stage and saw the small figures bouncing to the sound of their music. The trumpets joined in.
I kept walking, the sounds of the music echoing off the small city block. As soon as I climbed into my car, there was someone else waiting to take my spot.
18 February 2008
turning off the stress faucet
I'm in the midst of a really stressful situation. It involves money, acquaintances, neighbors, friends, and lots of blame and he said-she said. Suffice it to say it's entirely unpleasant and extremely stressful, especially as I seem to be the key player in terms of who gets scolded and/or dumped on.
Today I had three back-to-back phone calls from people relating to this Stressful Issue and was near tears during all three of them. To my surprise, I kept my wits about me and didn't start to cry. (If I start to cry, then everything goes to the3 dogs: my arguments, my careful planning, my usually diplomatic nature, and so on.) After the first phone call ended, I cried--I admit it. But I didn't cry DURING the call, so I still appear tough and vigilant! Ha. My boyfriend, whose praises I've lauded before, encouraged me to stop crying, knowing full well that a Migraine storms in full-blast after I burst into tears. After a minute or two of indulgence, I got it together and followed his advice.
Not crying doesn't mean you don't want to, though, and it doesn't make the stress any better. Crying, for the most part, relieves my stress for an instant but tends to have rough payouts later, as a headache most certainly comes marching along eventually.
It's after nine at night and I have the beginnings of a Migraine attack, my third one in four days. I cannot give in. Somehow it feels like getting a Migraine will mean admitting the stressful situation has won out. And that just makes me even more riled up.
Grrr!
Growlingly yours,
TMG
Today I had three back-to-back phone calls from people relating to this Stressful Issue and was near tears during all three of them. To my surprise, I kept my wits about me and didn't start to cry. (If I start to cry, then everything goes to the3 dogs: my arguments, my careful planning, my usually diplomatic nature, and so on.) After the first phone call ended, I cried--I admit it. But I didn't cry DURING the call, so I still appear tough and vigilant! Ha. My boyfriend, whose praises I've lauded before, encouraged me to stop crying, knowing full well that a Migraine storms in full-blast after I burst into tears. After a minute or two of indulgence, I got it together and followed his advice.
Not crying doesn't mean you don't want to, though, and it doesn't make the stress any better. Crying, for the most part, relieves my stress for an instant but tends to have rough payouts later, as a headache most certainly comes marching along eventually.
It's after nine at night and I have the beginnings of a Migraine attack, my third one in four days. I cannot give in. Somehow it feels like getting a Migraine will mean admitting the stressful situation has won out. And that just makes me even more riled up.
Grrr!
Growlingly yours,
TMG
11 February 2008
February Headache Blog Carnival is Posted!
This month's headache blog carnival is posted. Click here to see it! In the words of organizer Diana Lee, this month's theme is "how to have love and romance in your life when you also have headaches and migraines."
31 January 2008
Single migraineur finds her match!
I see my natural state as single. I am comfortable on my own and am fiercely independent--at times, this is a hindrance, as it's hard for me to ask for help (and hard for me to accept it). I've met guys over the years whom I've liked spending time with now and again, but no one seemed worth all the extra effort. Don't get all huffy on me, imaginary audience full of all the guys I've ever dated: I don't mean you weren't worth it. I just mean that our connection wasn't strong enough to merit my carving out a niche for you in my busy life. A life that was (and is) full of friends, family, spending time on my own, and spending time with my Migraine disease.
The year before I was diagnosed with Migraine disease, I sat on a swing in a park with my then-boyfriend. A Migraine headache had been creeping its way into my head for the last hours and had finally made its nest behind my left eye, as usual. I described the pain to him as best I could, explaining that only a dark room and a nap had ever made me feel any better. How the two doctors I'd gone to had said that if Excedrin worked once in awhile, I should try to stick with that, that it sounded like I just had a bad headache. How the prospect of having to return to work in thirty minutes to conduct a meeting for a large group of rambunctious, gabbing teenagers in a room lit only in fluorescents was one of the last places on earth I could imagine finding any respite. In retrospect, the way I described my headache to him then sounded as if I was reading off a list of classic Migraine signs, signs it's amazing my doctors hadn't read. He was sweet and sympathetic but not empathetic--athletic and robust, he often talked of never having had a headache or a sick day.
Fast forward two years. I'm in Europe visiting a "dating friend" about a year after having been diagnosed, a year after having been prescribed what was then my lifesaver: Imitrex. I carried the pills in their blister packs around with me in a fold-over plastic sandwich bag. Maybe my headache frequency back then was such that bringing two or three pills for a two week trip seemed like plenty.
It wasn't.
It was around three in the morning and I was down to one pill. I believe we were in some German town at one of his friend's places, but I can't be sure now--many of us were camped out all over the place, including three or four of us in the carpeted bathroom. The party was still going on in the living room, bass pumping, people taking shots and laughing, and no one showing any signs of slowing down. These were the days before I started carrying around earplugs, not that they would've helped much here. My Migraine headache was in its worst stage, throbbing incessantly--tears seeped out of my eyes involuntarily, and when a search for my last pill came up dry, I began to sob in pain, wanting nothing more than to be in my own bed back home, not on some stranger's bathroom floor. My sometime-beau was very sweet and supportive and helped me find the Imitrex, and I guzzled it down with handfuls of water I drew from the bathtub, which was just inches to my left. He was kind and helpful and always had a listening ear to lend, but he didn't get it.
Now it's 2008, and I've been with the same person for nearly two years. This is, as I've hinted, rather unlike me. I believe that a lot of my reluctance to depend on others and to ask them for help stems from the huge, mixed-up bucket of emotions I have regarding my Migraine disease. I want to spread the word and make sure people are aware of its prevalence, and one key way I can do this is to tell my story. On the other hand, telling my story means talking about myself, and talking about myself makes me feel like I'm complaining about my illness. The moment I write that, I want to respond to myself by saying, "Self, Migraine disease sucks! It's okay to complain! You should allow yourself some time to vent!" But the softer voice inside me says, "Now, now. You know lots of people are worse off than you are."
Hmmph.
Let's get back to the boy, shall we? It took me several months to ask him to do the most simple things. I'd heave two huge bags of trash out to the curb and refuse his offers to help. Why? Because I'm fine on my own! I can do it on my own, thank you very much! I wanted to be seen as competent. I wanted him to see me as kind, efficient, thorough, independent, and capable. If I were to ask for his help or (more shockingly) accept his help were he to offer it, he wouldn't see me as those things anymore, right?
WRONG. I can be all of those things and still lean on him for support. And boy, oh boy, do I. Though we have come to support one another in almost every arena, our health is something that comes up frequently. You see, my friends, he is a long-time chronic Migraineur. He, as they say, knows where I'm coming from. He talks me down from crying jags during my headaches, pointing out calmly and lovingly that crying hard tends to make my head pain worse, so how about I stop and try to drink some herbal tea or water instead? He brings me tiger balm and rubs it on my forehead and temples when I'm too dizzy to get out of bed. If in the middle of the night or in the early morning I'm awakened with a Migraine, he gets me a fresh glass of water and my Relpax. He makes sure to ask after me frequently (but not to the point of annoyance-ha!) and spends hours listening to me talk about my medicines, my massage therapy, my neurologist, the cost of prescription drugs, and even this blog.
I can't convince him to see a doctor and get any triptans for himself, as he's a staunch believer in refraining from using pills if possible. I won't go into his philosophy here, but he sits through a Migraine attack and sweats it out despite its agony--the one time he did have a Relpax sample, the headache went away but he felt queasy and strange afterward. He said he prefers going through the usual routine: the feverish feeling, the sweats, the silk eye patch, the long, dreamless nap. To each his own, I suppose. I'll be there to rub tiger balm on his temples and forehead and to be there when he wakes up to give him tea and water.
It helps so much to have someone to talk to, someone to understand. And I do realize how lucky I am to have found that person in a partner. Happy love month--enjoy your friends, your family, and your significant others if you choose to have them!
The year before I was diagnosed with Migraine disease, I sat on a swing in a park with my then-boyfriend. A Migraine headache had been creeping its way into my head for the last hours and had finally made its nest behind my left eye, as usual. I described the pain to him as best I could, explaining that only a dark room and a nap had ever made me feel any better. How the two doctors I'd gone to had said that if Excedrin worked once in awhile, I should try to stick with that, that it sounded like I just had a bad headache. How the prospect of having to return to work in thirty minutes to conduct a meeting for a large group of rambunctious, gabbing teenagers in a room lit only in fluorescents was one of the last places on earth I could imagine finding any respite. In retrospect, the way I described my headache to him then sounded as if I was reading off a list of classic Migraine signs, signs it's amazing my doctors hadn't read. He was sweet and sympathetic but not empathetic--athletic and robust, he often talked of never having had a headache or a sick day.
Fast forward two years. I'm in Europe visiting a "dating friend" about a year after having been diagnosed, a year after having been prescribed what was then my lifesaver: Imitrex. I carried the pills in their blister packs around with me in a fold-over plastic sandwich bag. Maybe my headache frequency back then was such that bringing two or three pills for a two week trip seemed like plenty.
It wasn't.
It was around three in the morning and I was down to one pill. I believe we were in some German town at one of his friend's places, but I can't be sure now--many of us were camped out all over the place, including three or four of us in the carpeted bathroom. The party was still going on in the living room, bass pumping, people taking shots and laughing, and no one showing any signs of slowing down. These were the days before I started carrying around earplugs, not that they would've helped much here. My Migraine headache was in its worst stage, throbbing incessantly--tears seeped out of my eyes involuntarily, and when a search for my last pill came up dry, I began to sob in pain, wanting nothing more than to be in my own bed back home, not on some stranger's bathroom floor. My sometime-beau was very sweet and supportive and helped me find the Imitrex, and I guzzled it down with handfuls of water I drew from the bathtub, which was just inches to my left. He was kind and helpful and always had a listening ear to lend, but he didn't get it.
Now it's 2008, and I've been with the same person for nearly two years. This is, as I've hinted, rather unlike me. I believe that a lot of my reluctance to depend on others and to ask them for help stems from the huge, mixed-up bucket of emotions I have regarding my Migraine disease. I want to spread the word and make sure people are aware of its prevalence, and one key way I can do this is to tell my story. On the other hand, telling my story means talking about myself, and talking about myself makes me feel like I'm complaining about my illness. The moment I write that, I want to respond to myself by saying, "Self, Migraine disease sucks! It's okay to complain! You should allow yourself some time to vent!" But the softer voice inside me says, "Now, now. You know lots of people are worse off than you are."
Hmmph.
Let's get back to the boy, shall we? It took me several months to ask him to do the most simple things. I'd heave two huge bags of trash out to the curb and refuse his offers to help. Why? Because I'm fine on my own! I can do it on my own, thank you very much! I wanted to be seen as competent. I wanted him to see me as kind, efficient, thorough, independent, and capable. If I were to ask for his help or (more shockingly) accept his help were he to offer it, he wouldn't see me as those things anymore, right?
WRONG. I can be all of those things and still lean on him for support. And boy, oh boy, do I. Though we have come to support one another in almost every arena, our health is something that comes up frequently. You see, my friends, he is a long-time chronic Migraineur. He, as they say, knows where I'm coming from. He talks me down from crying jags during my headaches, pointing out calmly and lovingly that crying hard tends to make my head pain worse, so how about I stop and try to drink some herbal tea or water instead? He brings me tiger balm and rubs it on my forehead and temples when I'm too dizzy to get out of bed. If in the middle of the night or in the early morning I'm awakened with a Migraine, he gets me a fresh glass of water and my Relpax. He makes sure to ask after me frequently (but not to the point of annoyance-ha!) and spends hours listening to me talk about my medicines, my massage therapy, my neurologist, the cost of prescription drugs, and even this blog.
I can't convince him to see a doctor and get any triptans for himself, as he's a staunch believer in refraining from using pills if possible. I won't go into his philosophy here, but he sits through a Migraine attack and sweats it out despite its agony--the one time he did have a Relpax sample, the headache went away but he felt queasy and strange afterward. He said he prefers going through the usual routine: the feverish feeling, the sweats, the silk eye patch, the long, dreamless nap. To each his own, I suppose. I'll be there to rub tiger balm on his temples and forehead and to be there when he wakes up to give him tea and water.
It helps so much to have someone to talk to, someone to understand. And I do realize how lucky I am to have found that person in a partner. Happy love month--enjoy your friends, your family, and your significant others if you choose to have them!
18 September 2006
a partner in crime
In her essay "In Bed," famous migraineur Joan Didion mentions how fortunate she is to have a husband who is also a Migraine sufferer. Don't get me wrong here: she's not grateful that he has to go through painful headache episodes. Rather, she highlights the invaluable importance of connecting with someone who understands that a Migraine is not "just a headache."
As a woman in my mid-20s who sees her default status as "single," it's always been hard for me to accept the idea of depending on someone else for assistance. This, in part, may be one of the reasons I've not actively sought after a boyfriend figure for many years. One hurdle I feel I am never ready to jump over is the Migraine revelation: in the words of All in My Head author Paula Kamen, I rarely feel comfortable or prepared enough to "come out" as a Migraineur. Men (or boys, as they case often was) who've heard about my CDH and Migraine disease have had a variety of responses, both long- and short-term. No one has responded in a deliberately negative fashion, thankfully. I've had the ones who react with the, "Yeah, we all get headaches, so why don't you just plow through it or take an Advil?" (but delivered politely). And I've talked with people who have been patient with me, wanting to do their best to help me through the pain but not really having any idea what I was going through. Maybe it was my fear, but I really felt as though they would not have wanted to stick around for real life with me: as much fun as my life often is, there is a darker side to it, a side where I am teary-eyed and blinded with pain, needing to be locked in my room with earplugs in as I try to block out the world. I don't think that anyone I've dated thus far has been prepared to stick around for that; I don't know if I've wanted any of them to be the ones to do it, either, so I'm not trying to badmouth them.
As I mentioned in my last entry, I started dating someone a few months ago. I believe it was during our first long conversation out on my screened in porch, only hours after we had met, that I went ahead and told him about my Migraines. (I could be wrong--maybe it was a couple of nights later--but it was very soon into the dating period for me, uncharacteristically soon, which speaks well of him and of my comfort level.) He told me that he, too, suffered from debilitating Migraines and had had them for decades. Fast forward three months later, and we have had the [un]fortunate opportunities to take care of one another during our times of illness: times when he felt so sick he had to lie down on the cool hardwood floor under the bed, times when I felt so awful I sobbed until he quietly held me and patiently explained how crying would probably increase the pressure in my head and make the pain worse, and could he make me some herbal tea instead?
Knowing that someone understands what I'm going through has made a world of difference. I do have friends who suffer from Migraines, friends with whom I discuss Migraine attacks, possible triggers, and medication. But in recent years I've not had someone there to help take care of me when I'm in severe pain, and it is turning out to be some of the best medicine around.
I'm still ill, and I don't think any one thing or one person will cure me: I'm beyond such wishful, nonsensical thinking. But I do find all these things to be grateful for that are all around me. I have only $48 in the bank right now, but I have a credit card that's not maxed out, so I can pay for my drugs when I need them, and I realize how fortunate that makes me. My friends and family will be there emotionally whenever I call for them and, quite often, when I don't. I think I do need to learn to call for them when I need the help they're so willing to provide.
As usual, I feel I've gone off on a tangent, so I'll close for now.
Goodnight.
As a woman in my mid-20s who sees her default status as "single," it's always been hard for me to accept the idea of depending on someone else for assistance. This, in part, may be one of the reasons I've not actively sought after a boyfriend figure for many years. One hurdle I feel I am never ready to jump over is the Migraine revelation: in the words of All in My Head author Paula Kamen, I rarely feel comfortable or prepared enough to "come out" as a Migraineur. Men (or boys, as they case often was) who've heard about my CDH and Migraine disease have had a variety of responses, both long- and short-term. No one has responded in a deliberately negative fashion, thankfully. I've had the ones who react with the, "Yeah, we all get headaches, so why don't you just plow through it or take an Advil?" (but delivered politely). And I've talked with people who have been patient with me, wanting to do their best to help me through the pain but not really having any idea what I was going through. Maybe it was my fear, but I really felt as though they would not have wanted to stick around for real life with me: as much fun as my life often is, there is a darker side to it, a side where I am teary-eyed and blinded with pain, needing to be locked in my room with earplugs in as I try to block out the world. I don't think that anyone I've dated thus far has been prepared to stick around for that; I don't know if I've wanted any of them to be the ones to do it, either, so I'm not trying to badmouth them.
As I mentioned in my last entry, I started dating someone a few months ago. I believe it was during our first long conversation out on my screened in porch, only hours after we had met, that I went ahead and told him about my Migraines. (I could be wrong--maybe it was a couple of nights later--but it was very soon into the dating period for me, uncharacteristically soon, which speaks well of him and of my comfort level.) He told me that he, too, suffered from debilitating Migraines and had had them for decades. Fast forward three months later, and we have had the [un]fortunate opportunities to take care of one another during our times of illness: times when he felt so sick he had to lie down on the cool hardwood floor under the bed, times when I felt so awful I sobbed until he quietly held me and patiently explained how crying would probably increase the pressure in my head and make the pain worse, and could he make me some herbal tea instead?
Knowing that someone understands what I'm going through has made a world of difference. I do have friends who suffer from Migraines, friends with whom I discuss Migraine attacks, possible triggers, and medication. But in recent years I've not had someone there to help take care of me when I'm in severe pain, and it is turning out to be some of the best medicine around.
I'm still ill, and I don't think any one thing or one person will cure me: I'm beyond such wishful, nonsensical thinking. But I do find all these things to be grateful for that are all around me. I have only $48 in the bank right now, but I have a credit card that's not maxed out, so I can pay for my drugs when I need them, and I realize how fortunate that makes me. My friends and family will be there emotionally whenever I call for them and, quite often, when I don't. I think I do need to learn to call for them when I need the help they're so willing to provide.
As usual, I feel I've gone off on a tangent, so I'll close for now.
Goodnight.
17 September 2006
it's been a long time...
I suppose I should address this blog to myself and not to my nonexistent readers. I started it as a tool to help myself and instead of sticking with it, I sort of let it fall by the wayside. No, I definitely let it fall by the wayside. I could chalk it up to the Great Computer Crash of 2006 (read: spilled a whole glass of water on my old laptop) or to lots of travel from May - July that interrupted my writing patterns, but I won't. I had plenty of time to write and didn't use it. I should have made it more of a daily thing and I didn't. And that's that.
From early June until mid-July, I had an amazingly wonderful time in my little old head. (Or, as the case may be, my oddly large head--though I am a thin young lady, I usually have to wear hats in size XL...hmm.) I could count on one hand the number of times I had to take a Relpax pill to take care of a Migraine attack, and my daily headache pain was at a nearly undetectable level. I tried to avoid a feeling of invincibility, but it sure was difficult: I felt GREAT!
Some of this had to do with the stress of school being over and done with. I finished all my course work and comprehensive exams for my Master's degree in early May. Maybe a couple weeks after that my body got used to the new feeling of not having school-related stress. I let go of some dating situations that were causing me grief, and maybe that contributed to my overall feelings of health. I also had had time to get used to the Zonegran, so maybe I was experiencing that wonderful period where my brain was working well with the new medication and getting along quite well with it. There often comes a time when new medicine kicks in, so to speak, and works really well. (Unfortunately, this miraculous period usually has an end.) A few weeks into feeling pretty good, I had the pleasure of beginning a new romantic relationship, one with a great deal more potential than any others I had had in the past several years. The accompanying feelings of euphoria (and the upped levels of serotonin that went along with that giddy beginning) probably helped, as well.
But in late July the pain returned a little bit, here and there. And in August it really made itself known. By late August and early September, I was having a really rough time of it yet again. I've been trying pretty hard not to take Relpax too often (see older entry regarding rebound headaches; also think of how expensive it is to purchase said medicine when your insurance doesn't cover prescription drug costs), and I've been aiming to break the drug cycle in general. This doesn't help the immediate pain, but I think it might help in the long run. (Of course when I feel the pain pass a certain threshold I most certainly do take a Relpax--I'm not going to torture myself when I know there's a way for me to feel better. I'm talking about the moderate levels of Migraine pain, not the severe ones.)
Point is: the pain levels have been fluctuating over the past months. I partly gave up on writing this blog for awhile because I got a bit cocky and figured that perhaps I was getting better at last. I need to realize deep down that CHRONIC PAIN IS A WAY OF LIFE for me. Some days I'll be able to control it better than others.
That's all for now.
From early June until mid-July, I had an amazingly wonderful time in my little old head. (Or, as the case may be, my oddly large head--though I am a thin young lady, I usually have to wear hats in size XL...hmm.) I could count on one hand the number of times I had to take a Relpax pill to take care of a Migraine attack, and my daily headache pain was at a nearly undetectable level. I tried to avoid a feeling of invincibility, but it sure was difficult: I felt GREAT!
Some of this had to do with the stress of school being over and done with. I finished all my course work and comprehensive exams for my Master's degree in early May. Maybe a couple weeks after that my body got used to the new feeling of not having school-related stress. I let go of some dating situations that were causing me grief, and maybe that contributed to my overall feelings of health. I also had had time to get used to the Zonegran, so maybe I was experiencing that wonderful period where my brain was working well with the new medication and getting along quite well with it. There often comes a time when new medicine kicks in, so to speak, and works really well. (Unfortunately, this miraculous period usually has an end.) A few weeks into feeling pretty good, I had the pleasure of beginning a new romantic relationship, one with a great deal more potential than any others I had had in the past several years. The accompanying feelings of euphoria (and the upped levels of serotonin that went along with that giddy beginning) probably helped, as well.
But in late July the pain returned a little bit, here and there. And in August it really made itself known. By late August and early September, I was having a really rough time of it yet again. I've been trying pretty hard not to take Relpax too often (see older entry regarding rebound headaches; also think of how expensive it is to purchase said medicine when your insurance doesn't cover prescription drug costs), and I've been aiming to break the drug cycle in general. This doesn't help the immediate pain, but I think it might help in the long run. (Of course when I feel the pain pass a certain threshold I most certainly do take a Relpax--I'm not going to torture myself when I know there's a way for me to feel better. I'm talking about the moderate levels of Migraine pain, not the severe ones.)
Point is: the pain levels have been fluctuating over the past months. I partly gave up on writing this blog for awhile because I got a bit cocky and figured that perhaps I was getting better at last. I need to realize deep down that CHRONIC PAIN IS A WAY OF LIFE for me. Some days I'll be able to control it better than others.
That's all for now.
19 March 2006
a little human touch...
So maybe having someone hug me, hold me, talk to me, or stroke my hair is particularly soothing during a Migraine attack mainly because I am an extraordinarily affectionate person to begin with. But I just wanted to say how incredible it is to have others' support while I'm feeling awful.
I've mentioned before that I don't always tell people what's going on with me, health-wise: "Oh, I'm just tired." "Oh, I have a lot of work to do." "Oh, something came up--I'm just not going to be able to make it." In recent months, I've really tried to tell friends the truth as to what's going on in my brain: chaotic, throbbing pain.
To my relief and joy, people have been supportive. Here are just a few snippets of what some exceptional people have contributed to my life lately, causing me to smile and helping the pain be just a little less sharp.
1. My friend R. learned about my Migraine disease several weeks ago during a chat over beers. He has turned out to be incredibly supportive of my search for new methods to help my pain. Some things he's done? Well, he told me he would give me his head if he could. (Silly, but the sentiment was genuine!) He also has done research on Migraine and has forwarded me some enlightening articles.
2. I've said before that I've been getting "weekend headache" during the last several months. A couple of nights ago, I had to go home early due to the pain. Wanting to be supportive of my friends tipsy hunger, I told L. I would try to eat with her downtown. Unfortunately, the restaurant's lighting was entirely too bright and I couldn't stand it. She made her order a take-out one and stood outside with me, making me change benches so that the seemingly glaringly bright street lights wouldn't blind me--she stroked my head as she stood strategically in between my throbbing eyeballs and the street lamps.
3. That same night, I got home and took my medication. Checked my email for the hell of it and one of the boys I'm not-dating-but-not-not-dating was online. As one who's especially vulnerable when trying to endure a Migraine attack, I told him what was going on with me. He stayed online with me as I typed to him how I was feeling. Though he lives really far away, he let me know how he would hug me and hold me if he could. As cheesy as it sounds, that support was so very comforting.
4. Final vignette, and then I'm off to bed.
My insurance plan allows me to spend $1000 on prescription drugs before I have to start paying for the medications myself. Surprise, surprise: with the cost of Migraine medication, my allotment was out after only 3 months of being on my 12-month insurance plan. Recently I got my refill on Relpax & Effexor XR (for Migraine treatment and not for depression, as it's commonly prescribed). The pharmacist was kind but impersonal as she had me sigh the check. "So, you don't have insurance?"
"Oh, I do, but the prescription allotment ran out."
(No comment from pharmacist.)
The grand total for one month of Effexor plus 12 Relpax pills was well over $300. I tried to beam like a champion as I signed away what little money I have in my account. I wanted the pharmacist to smile or do something to acknowledge my situation. Nothing.
Then, as I handed her my signed copy of the receipt, she looked at me and said, "God bless you, ____." I'm not religious, and I must note that her tone was more of one used by a lovely girl raised in the South who uses the phrase frequently rather than one who is extremely Christian.
Just those words, along with her look of genuine empathy, were enough to drive me to tears. I said a quick thanks and made my way out of the building as my eyes filled with water.
Just these little moments make things feel so much better. Just having someone make the effort to connect with me and say that he/or she understands a bit of my struggle means the world...
I've mentioned before that I don't always tell people what's going on with me, health-wise: "Oh, I'm just tired." "Oh, I have a lot of work to do." "Oh, something came up--I'm just not going to be able to make it." In recent months, I've really tried to tell friends the truth as to what's going on in my brain: chaotic, throbbing pain.
To my relief and joy, people have been supportive. Here are just a few snippets of what some exceptional people have contributed to my life lately, causing me to smile and helping the pain be just a little less sharp.
1. My friend R. learned about my Migraine disease several weeks ago during a chat over beers. He has turned out to be incredibly supportive of my search for new methods to help my pain. Some things he's done? Well, he told me he would give me his head if he could. (Silly, but the sentiment was genuine!) He also has done research on Migraine and has forwarded me some enlightening articles.
2. I've said before that I've been getting "weekend headache" during the last several months. A couple of nights ago, I had to go home early due to the pain. Wanting to be supportive of my friends tipsy hunger, I told L. I would try to eat with her downtown. Unfortunately, the restaurant's lighting was entirely too bright and I couldn't stand it. She made her order a take-out one and stood outside with me, making me change benches so that the seemingly glaringly bright street lights wouldn't blind me--she stroked my head as she stood strategically in between my throbbing eyeballs and the street lamps.
3. That same night, I got home and took my medication. Checked my email for the hell of it and one of the boys I'm not-dating-but-not-not-dating was online. As one who's especially vulnerable when trying to endure a Migraine attack, I told him what was going on with me. He stayed online with me as I typed to him how I was feeling. Though he lives really far away, he let me know how he would hug me and hold me if he could. As cheesy as it sounds, that support was so very comforting.
4. Final vignette, and then I'm off to bed.
My insurance plan allows me to spend $1000 on prescription drugs before I have to start paying for the medications myself. Surprise, surprise: with the cost of Migraine medication, my allotment was out after only 3 months of being on my 12-month insurance plan. Recently I got my refill on Relpax & Effexor XR (for Migraine treatment and not for depression, as it's commonly prescribed). The pharmacist was kind but impersonal as she had me sigh the check. "So, you don't have insurance?"
"Oh, I do, but the prescription allotment ran out."
(No comment from pharmacist.)
The grand total for one month of Effexor plus 12 Relpax pills was well over $300. I tried to beam like a champion as I signed away what little money I have in my account. I wanted the pharmacist to smile or do something to acknowledge my situation. Nothing.
Then, as I handed her my signed copy of the receipt, she looked at me and said, "God bless you, ____." I'm not religious, and I must note that her tone was more of one used by a lovely girl raised in the South who uses the phrase frequently rather than one who is extremely Christian.
Just those words, along with her look of genuine empathy, were enough to drive me to tears. I said a quick thanks and made my way out of the building as my eyes filled with water.
Just these little moments make things feel so much better. Just having someone make the effort to connect with me and say that he/or she understands a bit of my struggle means the world...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
My blog has moved!
You should be automatically redirected in 6 seconds. If not, visit
http://migraine.com/author/the-migraine-girl/
and update your bookmarks.
Posts
