November 7, 2017
I reach for the cabinet to grab my medicine. It should kick in quickly since I caught it at the onset. Or so I hope. But mere minutes from swallowing the powder, it comes right back up. Money and pain relief literally down the drain. I am not sure how much of the medicine, if any, reached my blood stream before I threw it up. In about 4.5 hours, the Cambia will be completely out of my system. Then it will be safe to take another dose. But by then, it is pointless. Because migraine medicine only works effectively if taken at the first sign. Not hours later. So I have to suffer.
I crawl back to my bedroom, grab two pillows and a snuggie. Then I collect my frozen compress from the freezer. Back to the bathroom I go to camp out. You see, it is much easier—and cleaner—if I just sleep on the cold bathroom floor during a migraine attack. The toilet is right there for the bouts of nausea. And somehow the cold darkness is relieving. I drift in and out. Incoherent. Barely sleeping. Only feeling. The throbbing pain on one side of my head. The neck pain that prevents me from stretching out of this fetal position. The tingling in my fingers and toes. The numbing everywhere else. I feel it all.
I start the timer. Because at 72 hours, I am eligible for urgent care. The only sound I leave on is the alarm. iPhone off. iPad off. MacBook sleep. Doorbell disconnected. Blackout curtains closed tight. Any stream of light is blocked. The tiniest sliver of light or the faintest sound is magnified. It hurts to see. It hurts to hear. It hurts to inhale. Dear God, it hurts to feel.
Fast forward to when I am able to nibble on saltine crackers and a coke. I look at the time. No, where is a calendar? It can't be. I lost two (2) whole days of my life! This is my normal. This is the oh-so-unfortunate Life of a Migraineur.