I want to hide

Tim accused me, jokingly, of wanting to sleep my life away.  (If he weren't home today, I'd have been in bed long ago, doing my best impression of the dead)>  And he's right.  I've had a migraine most of the weekend, and now I'm in postdrome.  And I'm having "brain events" as the incomparable Dr. K calls them.  "I'm afraid when the next one comes it might be a grande mal" is what I call them.  Tim wants to go out today.  Fair wish for a healthy man on a gorgeous spring day.  But I don't feel like it, and more than that, I'm afraid.  What if I go out to a nice restaurant, and the brain events finally morph into a full-blown seizure, and I'm humiliated in public.  Not that there's anything inherently embarrassing about a seizure, but the thought mortifies me.  Never mind that I've never had a full-blown seizure.  Never mind that I take enough Keppra to keep things under control (and today I had some extra just to make sure).  I am so much like my grandmother.  She has "fainting spells" as they used to be called.  Just quietly slumps to the floor with her seizures.  This brings her endless humiliation, even though it's not something she can help.  I never understood her fears of public seizures until I had an abnormal EEG.  Now I thoroughly understand.  It's a lovely day, and I'm stuck inside because I fear what might happen.  What if a seizure is on the way, and what if I don't have the nice quiet slump-to-the-floor quietly type?  What if I flop on the floor, urinate on myself, and chew my tongue?  Life would go on, but I don't think I could endure it. 

I hate that I have migraines.  I hate that my life is dominated by pain.  I hate that I never feel like going anywhere or doing anything.  I hate that my "normal" husband is bound by my limitations.  I wished out loud today that I was Buddhist, then I wouldn't have a God to be mad at.  He quipped, "So you'd want to do this life over again?"  Okay, he's got a point.  This life mostly sucks, and I surely don't want to do it again. 

I must get out of this line of thinking.  I do have things for which to be thankful.  I have a husband who tries to be as kind as possible about my quirks and pains and needs.  I have a cat who adores me, and loves to snuggle with me when I hurt.  I have a lovely job.  I have good friends; granted, most of them live in my computer, but I consider them friends nonetheless.  I find things to laugh about as often as I can (for instance, the patient in labor who practically refuses to remove her panties when she gets to the hospital.  I said, "You didn't get pregnant with them on, you're not going to get un-pregnant with them on, either."  Ahh, nursing, provider of laughs and sociological interests every day.