How to describe a migraine? This is a difficult concept to explain to those who do not suffer from them, and I have to admit that lately I’ve been feeling a bit spoiled because of the lack of migraine appearances in my life.
Wellll, let me tell you, evidently what my body has been doing over the past few months is storing up all the migraine strength that was yet to be used and preparing to unleash it on me in a relentless fury. Right now, I have a hammer or a chainsaw or a grenade that resides right behind my eyes, and every now and then something will happen to make it just up and give me a good whack just for the heck of it. You know, like if a horn honks or a light turns on unexpectedly, or if someone wearing incredibly potent perfume crosses my path. (And what’s up with the perfume anyway? Ugh.)
So here’s how the last few days have gone. I go work out, go in to work, and commence eating Excedrin by the handful until I feel nauseous enough to need to eat lunch. I usually grab something small-ish to wash down the next fistful of aspirin as I pray to get food in my stomach before I actually hurl all over the place right here at work. Then, after lunch, the hammer in my head slows to a slow, dull tapping that gradually accelerates as I approach the end of the day.
I then crawl to my car, begging to be hit by a Mack truck on the way…because that would be less painful. I drive home in relentless traffic, and when I finally get to collapse on our couch, I take a migraine med. which proceeds to turn my tense and aching body into jell-o over the next 30 minutes or so.
After about half an hour, the migraine starts to ease up, and I actually feel like I might be able to function and interact with my family. And I could. If it weren’t for the drugged feeling I get from the migraine pill. It sort of feels like I’m laying around in a big marshmallow, sort of that drunk, almost-buzzed feeling you get after a couple of drinks, but without the bad side effects that would normally come with drinking.
So, my kids are left to assume one of two things. Either they are afraid that my head might spontaneously combust if I actually take my hands off my temples (usually I’m sitting there with my hands on my head, as if physically trying to hold it together). Or they are left to think that post-medication Mommy is a fuzzy, drunken lump of listless spaghetti on the couch. I have yet to decide which of these is better.
Please let the migraine fairy come and sprinkle magic fairy dust (or aspirin) that will immediately get rid of this pesky throbbing in my head!