When the headache wins

When the headache wins, no amount of sun/light protection (sunglasses, shades, hat brims, eyelids) is enough to block even minuscule amounts of light.

When the headache wins, no prescription, no matter how strong, is sufficient to banish the pain totally.

When the headache wins, vision is a unique blend of terror and torture. Driving in twilight with headlights coming at you (because you hoped to make it home from your knitting group before it got too bad but you really wanted to finish that row of knitting first) is incredibly difficult. (Did I mention that migraines make you stupid, too?)

Even the thought of eating my favorite comfort foods (lime Tostitos or home-popped, buttered and salted popcorn with a dash of Parmesan cheese)… elevates nausea to a gagging level.

When the headache wins, I retreat to the darkest den in my home, crawl under the covers, and weakly whimper. And moan.

Migraines are not a charming disability. One does not lounge back on a chaise in silk pajamas or negligee (I don’t even own one of those), lace-edged hankie to pale brow, looking frail. One definitely *feels* frail, but the actual look is one of haggard pain with grayish blotches in wrinkled whatever-I-last-wore-still-on-me garments. I may or may not have managed to get a cool cloth to cover my brow. Said cloth frequently drips down on pillow because I do not have the strength to wring it out properly.

Do not get me started on the plethora of pharmaceutical chemicals  OTC medications, and God help me – actual migraine prescriptions in my arsenal. Purveyors of migraine medicines delight in making packaging deceitfully difficult to open. Damn it peoples! I am in pain here, more fumble-fingered and uncoordinated than usual because of said pain, and you want me to open individual blister packs without a hacksaw? Once freed, the pill pops up and arcs over to snuggle and hide in the midst of a dust rhino under the bed! I’d scream but that would hurt way too much.

More (totally justified) whining ensues.

——

Twelve hours (and three doses of meds) later:
I am up and semi-functional, but not headache free. I can move about the house, as long as I stay away from the gloriously sun-drenched windows because it still hurts to look at light. Yes. I wear sunglasses inside.

I could totally understand becoming a hard core drug addict if it could promise prompt relief from migraines.