Life in my head...

Walking the cat

My sweet Callie has been infected with a vicious case of spring fever, forcing her to chew on door frames, attempt to scale walls, and cry piteously while pacing around the windows.  I suppose I can't blame her; cats aren't exactly known for their supreme memories.  If she did have an attention span longer than my last trip to a strobe-containing bar, she might remember that there are stray cats living under our house who delight in kicking her ass.  Poor baby, she just wants to go out and play with the birds, while I want to avoid vet bills.  So, I have let her out for brief periods in the last couple of days, worrying the whole time.  These short recesses have just brought about more kitty schizoid behavior.  I had enough today.  Enough!  So I decided I'd walk the cat.  We have a harness left over from the last big storm (we wanted to have a way to contain Callie if we had to go to 'rents).  Tonight, with much difficulty, we dressed our obese feline in her harness (thank God it's adjustable), and clipped a retractable leash to it.  And we opened the door.  She streaked out and immediately tried to get in the hedge.  We pulled her out of the hedge, and she just crouched there, on the ground, refusing to move.  Tim picked her up, thinking maybe if she got on the sidewalk she'd quit doing her best Guillaume Barre Syndrome impression.  Nope.  We put her down and she refused to budge.  Not even the sight of the neighbor's kitten could get her large butt moving.  I was forced to carry her home in 80-degree heat, and she's no lightweight.  And now, the spoiled brat is sulking.  Oh well, that's what I get for trying to walk a cat.

Plenty of migraine content

Well, less than 24 hours after I rhapsodized about my wonderful new life, I was hit with a horrible migraine.  I sat straight up on the couch, because moving hurt entirely too much.  When the sun started going down and the light was too bright in the living room, I finally crept to the bedroom and crawled into bed.  The pain was absolutely horrible.  If Tim hadn't been so busy at work, I would have asked him to take me to urgent care.  Normally, I wait at least 3 days before I finally give in and go to urgent care or ER.  Well, it's now day 3, and I still hurt.  Not as bad, thank God, but I still hurt.  I have had some breaks, but it won't go completely away.  I managed to work last night, and I'll probably work tonight, too, but crap I hurt.

A thought

I was asked to start this blog by a dear friend.  Teri is an author, patient advocate, and fellow migraneur.  So, I did.  I thought I would have witty insights on life as a sufferer, pitiful complaints about my daily struggles, and the moans about the frustrations of ineffective medical care.  A year ago, that's exactly what this blog would have been.  As I was trying to erode the mountain of laundry in the house today, I realized that my blog contains very little migraine content.  I guess because my migraines take up less of my life now.  It's amazing that I have a multi-faceted life now.  Not that I don't have daily reminders of my chronic life.  There are the handfuls of pills I swallow every day, the trips to Dallas to see Dr. Krusz, and constant avoidance of triggers (although I do walk on the wild side every now and then and eat Chinese or some other MSG-laden treat).  I have to watch weather reports to track barometric pressure, so I can take Diamox.  And, of course, there are the migraines that still land on me every week or so.  But other than that, I'm almost living a normal life.  I worked off this morning after 6 nights on, and I'm still up.  A year ago, it would have taken me two days in bed to recover from my work week.  I still get tired easily, and there's the ever-present migraine phantom pain.  Even when I don't hurt, I always feel where the pain will be.  And there are my work days.  Although I'm working 8 hour shifts, I still have to spend about 11 hours in bed when I get home.  I can't carry a cute little clutch purse, because how would I fit the pill bottles in it?  My fashion-forward leanings have taught me the Murphy's Law of purses:  If you sacrifice functionality for style and carry the cute bag, you will inevitably need the Reglan, Relpax, and Diamox you left on the kitchen table.  A nurse at work remarked, "I know who this bag belongs to, it's full of pill bottles!"  Yeah, you got me there. 

On the whole, I'm very lucky.  I'd like to think that this is the rest of my life.  Might be, might not.  But I'm lucky, and blessed to be where I am right now.  I know people in the migraine community read my blog and probably think, "This has nothing to do with my life."  I felt the same way when I came to the migraine community and listened with amazement to people who complained about having "a migraine every two months!"  That would have been, and still would be, a miracle for me.  I understand that there may be people out there thinking, "She doesn't have it so bad."  And I don't right now.  But I did.  I once went 6 months with only 4 pain-free days.  I hope I'm blessed the rest of my life.  If not, it won't be an untraveled road.  So, I apologize for the lack of migraine content.  Maybe I'll go to Shanghai Buffet soon, and then I'll have lots to talk about.

Feeling old and left behind

My brother turns 20 this month.  I feel like I'm ancient now.  Normally the birthday of a sibling wouldn't bring out this in a normal person, but normal is something to which I've never aspired.  My only sibling is 13 years younger than me.  Technically, I could be his mother, but it still pisses me off when the clerk in Sam Goody's thinks I am.  Especially when I'm mother to no one (except Tim, but isn't every wife also a single mother, without the hope that they grow up?).  It's a weird situation to be that much older than your only sibling.  We have the same parents, but our upbringings were miles apart.  It's amazing how much people can relax and mellow in 13 years.  He is one of the most important things in my life.  He was the first person I could love completely and without reserve, and the first person that ever loved me unconditionally (it's not hard to be loved by a toddler--play with them, read to them, and provide food on demand).  But I'm not an overwhelming presence in his life.  I left for college before he started kindergarten; I've never gotten over the guilty feelings caused by him calling and asking why I didn't live with them anymore. 

While I worry over him and stand in awe of his talents, I'm sort of like a maiden aunt in his life.  There and loved, but not of vital importance.  Which is how it should be.  He's got his own life, and shouldn't be saddled with concerns about his chronically ill, prone-to-neurosis, obsessive, sometimes wacky sister.  I love that I can be here when he needs me, for a meal (serving an entire garage band and their groupies can be interesting and fun--consider this if your life is getting boring, but think about opening a signature loan for the groceries), for a place to crash (housing a garage band for the night after a gig is also interesting, but not for the faint-of-heart--be prepared to be called "baby" by a drunk 22 year old at 3 am), and as someone to love him and be amazed by him.

Dear Monkeybutt, if you are reading my blog, email me.  Your big sister is worried about whether or not you have enough clean clothes, if you're finding things to eat despite your picky appetite, and how you are enjoying Japan.  Happy birthday a bit early.  I have been astounded by you since the day you arrived, and you get more interesting every year.  Although that year you were in the second grade and wrote bad words in library books was pretty interesting.

Happy Mothers Day

Happy Mothers Day to all the moms out there.  Although the whole non-parent thing has never bothered me all that much, this year it's hitting me kind of hard.  I know, I know, I could get pregnant soon.  But, as with most things in life, I want it right now!  I say that migraines and chronic pain have taught me patience, but the real me comes out often enough.  We decided we wanted to have a baby (heh, well, Tim finally agreed.  I've known since I was 22), so in my mind, it should have happened the first month.  I've already started buying baby stuff, much to Tim's annoyance.  I have a mint-new edition of Good Night, Moon, and a cute onesie or two.  I even have the dress I wore when I had my first photo session as a wee one.  Let's hope I have a girl, a baby boy would look awful funny in a yellow dress with "Thank Heaven for Little Girls" embroidered on it.  Maybe by next year, Mothers Day will really mean something for me.

Tips from a nurse

Well, I was going to write a diatribe about drug-seekers and space-wasters, but I decided that anyone outside the medical profession wouldn't understand, and anyone with a chronic illness might get upset with me.  In fact, I just deleted several paragraphs.  I'll just leave it at:  if you need medical care, get it.  If you are bored sitting at home because your boyfriend's out with his buddies, coming to the hospital for nothing will get his attention, but it will also seriously piss off the nurses and doctor.  And these are the people you will really need to be on your side when you come in for an actual problem.  If you are hurting, tell us, but don't feel the need to overdramatize.  We are much more likely to believe someone that is quiet with a clenched jaw than someone who decides to scream and throw themselves in the floor.  People in real pain do scream, but it's usually a little more believable than the prom queen acting in the school play.

And now I will sit and chant for 30 minutes, "I love my job.  I love my job."

What happens to me

Tim and I were having a fight the other day (no surprise there, sometimes that's all we do), and he suggested that sometimes my migraines happened at "convenient" times for me.  He meant that I use them to get out of going to the ILs.  It really bothered me.  Every time I think he gets it, and truly understands and empathizes, he makes some stupid comment like this, and I know that he really doesn't understand.  And while I can understand ignorance in the masses, he lives with me.  But, I guess you can't understand, truly, until you've gone through it.

Migraine is truly a bizarre illness.  Not only do I get pain, but I get prodromal symptoms, a wide range of auras, and prodromal symptoms, too.  I guess when I do something, I do it right!  Before a migraine, when I'm in prodrome, I'll often yawn, get incredibly happy, or get incredibly touchy and easily angered.  Or I may cry for no reason.  I'll often flush blood red.  A lot of times, I'll do all of the above, or a combination.  And that's just to let me know that the light at the end of the tunnel is, in fact, a train.  Then comes the pain and the aura.  For most people, the idea of aura is seeing lights.  Yep, I do that.  I also have blurred vision.  And to just expand into all the senses, I'll have tinnitus, or I'll just flat-out hear things (books falling to the floor, doors slamming, or, the worst, radios playing in a distant room).  You have no idea how annoying it is to hear something but not be able to distinguish the details.  This can go on for hours.  And then, there's the smells.  I have olfactory aura, too.  I smell burning wood, or clean Pampers (better than dirty pampers, I suppose).  I have learned to live with most of it, but the indistinct radio is the worst!  And there's the pain.  Ah, yes, that.  Sometimes it's dull, sometimes it's agony I can't get away from, no matter what I do.  The pain too can go on for hours.  Or days.

But I've left out my "favorite" parts.  I have confusion and difficulty speaking.  I have difficulty walking.  That's part of the reason I don't practice law.  I cannot imagine being in front of a judge or jury and saying something that makes absolutely no sense.  Oh, I forgot to mention that sometimes I substitute words that don't make sense in the sentence.  I manage as a nurse pretty well, but sometimes the Dr. Seuss words pop out, and I apologize and explain that my migraines make me do it.

There is never a convenient time to experience these things.  It's not the old, "I have a headache" cliche.  Sometimes it's the worst thing I've ever lived through.  And even though I'm doing much better now, even if I'm pain-free I can still feel the headache there.  For non-migraineurs this may sound like absolute nonsense, but fellow sufferers know what I'm talking about.  It's strange, but it's like feeling a hole where a tooth once was.  The pain is gone, but there's a hole left.  I have an ever-present reminder of what my life is.