This is Not a Headache

Four days in a row. It started Friday. Saturday I drove some family members into the mountains. I ended up making them drive my car while I closed my eyes in the back seat. I rarely sit in the back seat of my own car.

Constant, but not predictable. It strikes without warning. It's a migraine.

This is not a headache. It's something else entirely. Perhaps if I try to describe it in writing, I'll feel like I have more of a handle on it.

Sometimes it starts with a throbbing at the top of my skull. Sometimes it begins as as nausea and hunger at the same time. I usually ignore it at this point. You think I'd learn.

It spreads to the base of my skull and grows into a blinding pain behind my eyes. Literally blinding. I get to a point where I can't see. Put your hand in front of your eyes and try to see through the fingers and you'll get an idea.

Then there's the lightning. Painful flashes of light which come out of nowhere and really don't exist. Accompanied by pain. Agony. Add florescent lights in the office or noisy shrieking children outside and I'd rather have someone shoot a staple gun into my temples.

I always think of Mary Todd Lincoln. She'd take to her bed and require total silence and darkness for days at a time. Poor Abe didn't know what to do with her. Everyone thought she was just being difficult and dramatic. Well, I guess she was, but she deserved more sympathy than she got.

I'm not sure what exactly triggers these events. I've had them most of my life. Most of my family members get them. I understand there is a hereditary characteristic to all this. Perhaps it tends to happen with extremely sensitive and creative people (ahem).

Generally Tylenol and Diet Coke are good treatments. Most of the migraine stuff you by at the drug store are just a mixture of analgesic and caffiene. If I can get to sleep, I usually wake up feeling ok. But the ghost of the pain is still there, kind of like sore muscles after heavy lifting. I'm always afraid it will come back. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't.

My favorite treatment is to put ice packs all around my head. I think the cold constricts the bloodflow and slows the pounding.

Unfortunately, when it strikes at the office, I'm not equipped to wrap my head in ice and I certainly wouldn't be up to the inquiries it would draw. So I try to act normal. People think I'm grouchy. Well, sometimes I am, but that's another subject.

But really, no need to worry. As far as I know, people don't die from migraines. I'm just being difficult and dramatic.