I feel like having storytime. Stories of those magical, gentle, soothing moments of…
Headaches are my thing. Some people get colds a lot, others get backaches…I get headaches. Back when I was in school and then when I was a full-time worker in an office building, I hated classrooms or meetings because I would get a headache from sitting under fluorescent lighting and no air moving in the closed room. Even worse were the migraines. There doesn’t seem to be rhyme or reason to my migraines and I don’t get them often, but when I do… ouch.
I had a migraine last night and this morning. It wasn’t pretty. I’m feeling better now, but it’s that woozy head, weird stomach kind of “feeling better.” Sllloooowwwww motion is the name of the game.
Anyway, I thought what better way to defeat the power of migraines over me than by sharing my most pathetic migraine moments of all time? Yay!
1. Epic Migraine Story #1: When I had my babies, about four days later, I would get the headache that would beat all headaches. I thought I would die. My brother and sister-in-law came to meet my first baby and I had to lie on the floor in the hallway to talk to them as they met her. After my second baby, I knew the headache was coming (these migraines were obviously my body adjusting to hormonal fluctuations post-baby), so when it hit, we went to the urgent care. I left my baby at home with my husband and was so totally sad at having to leave her. I had to wait for quite a while at the doctor and that’s I started throwing up. The only thing I could think to start doing was go for a personal best: I hit a record that day, friends. Four bathrooms. Puking my guts out.
The doctor finally saw me and thankfully, it was my favorite doc. I had to get a shot in my…uh, booty. Please, reader, see me as a four-day postpartum mommy who has just thrown up in four bathrooms, and is now getting a shot in her rear. It is only once you have lived through this that you are able to laugh at yourself… ugh.
After the shot that sweet sweet doctor put his arm around my shoulders and said, I am so sorry you are dealing with this when you should be home with your baby.
2. Second epic migraine story of my life involves my three kids – ages 15 months, 3 and 5. I was sick with a migraine and could not stand up or sit up. Those poor babies took such good care of themselves. My 5 year old had to change her brother’s diaper. He was then toddling around naked – except for the diaper askew on his little rear – and then….then? He was yelling out his window at the garbage man. “Hi, garbage man!” I died of mortification. I went downstairs after recovering and found cheerios and applesauce all over the kitchen floor.
3. Epic migraine number three happened just this past year. We were driving out to see my grandparents. I felt a headache coming on in the morning, so I took Tylenol. This was the mistake. Once you’ve had migraines, you know there is a science to when and how and what you take to get rid of it. I missed the when because we were in the car – then I missed the what by taking Tylenol because I had no Excedrin – then I missed the how, I took it with the only food we had at the time in the car – a glazed doughnut.
I have not eaten a glazed doughnut since, dear reader. I eventually ended up in the back seat of the van, puking my guts out as we rolled across Ohio. And Pennsylvania. 70 mph. Rolling hills of Eastern US. Rolling. On and On. Rolling hills.
My son reached his hand back to hold my hand in an attempt to comfort me. I felt so pathetic as a mother. He held my hand as I attempted not to move an inch. Rollllllling hillllllls.
The funny part is that the name Yadier Molina came into my head. Molina – a catcher for the Cardinals (who I hate) – is not player I like or follow at all. But for some reason, his name was the only thing I could think of. Finally, a thought came into my head, “If I can keep saying Yadier Molina, it means I’m not dead.”
Not dead. Good.
And those are my stories. Fun, right? I feel like sharing because I know lots of friends who struggle with migraines and headaches and we have a special bond of stories of suffering. If you have one, tell me. There is joy in numbers! And I feel your pain.
(But can you leave when I start puking? Thanks.)