This blog all started with a text to sister which read:
Good morning ☀️
Sorry I missed you. Another bad neck, back, and migraine day. Please, pray for me. I can’t lift my head up. That will change when the meds hit. I am still so glad I didn’t let that ass of a pain doctor cut the major nerve in my neck. It was an experimental procedure that he had done once. The woman came in to talk me into having it and she showed me her fishy floppy range of motion. I seriously thought her head was going to spin around as she spewed pea soup and asked me if I could take still hear the lambs, Clarice. I said no. Wrote “NO” on the papers he gave me and ran to my safe place- Mom- who exploded. I don’t know what she said to him except something about cutting the major nerve to his penis, but we high tailed it out of there and to McDonald’s where, when eating dessert Mom turned to me and said, “You know, you’re doctor is an idiot and a real dick.” Then, she kept on eating.
I am going to flesh that out and use it as my blog today. Thank you forget letting me remember that things have been worse.
I started getting migraines when I was sixteen. Granny (Mom’s Mom) explained that they were from her side of the family . Back then, at the turn of the twentieth century, migraines were called take to your bed headaches. Women took to their beds with ladanum. Men hit the saloons and stayed there until it was over. Their wives didn’t mind much due to the raw mood they were in. This was if the family had money for servants and trust worthy business partners which mine did. I have always felt a pang of pain for those less fortunate and wondered what they had done though now living in a farming community has proven to me how much they stick together and do for one another without the single thought of reciprocity.
My longest migraine lasted 281 days. I was in and out of the hospital. Finally, my hospitalist put me on a self-controlled migraine drip. I always do best when I am in control of my medication. I knew the staff wanted me out of there- not because I was a whiney hiney little girl about it. But, because I wore dark sunglasses which meant they couldn’t read me, needed a dark room, and had to have the cold, wet washcloth replaced every fifteen minutes. I remember to this day when the pain stopped. I didn’t push the little blue button for more morphine and tried my hardest to relax. Then, another minute went by and no need for morphine…then another and another until it had been forty-five minutes. I hadn’t spoken so much as a peep because I didn’t want to jinx it. But, there I was, migraine free for the first time in 281 days. The doctor came in with a nurse. After I told them, she jumped up and screamed. I responded with a clenched face, “Let’s not do that just yet.” They kept me another day for observation with the morphine on just in case. Then, I went home.
And, I hated to tell Granny this news, but my migraines weren’t inherited from her side of the family; At least not the way she thought. They began from me fighting my dad’s football coach hands pushing me down to suck his penis. My neck was injured. My hamartoma grew and the rest, as they say, is history. Only now, it’s MY story.