I’ve been in bed for 16 straight hours, which is interesting since I compared this migraine to labor last night and that’s exactly how long my labor was. In my haze of misery around 10pm, I thought, “if I can make it through labor, I can make it through this.” I didn’t feel optimistic as I coached myself. I was just trying to fake it ’til I made it.
I made it. Almost. Soon. I can feel it. (One more dose of meds? Another hour in bed? Here’s hoping.) This was the worst migraine I have ever had and there’s no rhyme or reason. It just was terrible. It came on slowly, like they usually do, but then all of a sudden, it kicked my ass. Nausea, unrelenting, throbbing pain no matter where I rested. No amount of pressure on my temple gave relief, as it usually does, and the worst part: I couldn’t sleep. I always can sleep when I have a migraine. That’s the only saving grace, usually. Sleep. But not this time. I lay in my bed, listening alternately to podcasts, stand-up, and silence. Flipping sides. Applying pressure to my head. Covering my eyes with a t-shirt (I lost my sleep mask somewhere in my summer travels.) Sitting up. Light on. Off.
I didn’t even have it in me to complain on Facebook. Womp, womp. Sad trombone.
I have felt, on and off, like I should see someone — a specialist — about a better treatment than multiple, ill-advised doses of Excedrin. But I am always stopped by the fact that I only get one (sometimes two) a month. I don’t know; this one might be the one that put me over the edge.