I had my first migraine at the age of eight or nine. It was Sunday, after church. Dad was cooking chicken. Beyond that, I only remember lying in the fetal position on the couch with a headache so blinding, I couldn't make sense of anything. Oh, yes. And also that my mom called the neighbor doctor over to make sure I wasn't dying of an aneurysm, like the other eight-year-old Heather she'd just read about in Good Housekeeping that month. I gotta say, my timing was right on target for some real, gen-u-ine maternal panic. Hoo-boy!
Since then, I've had a few memorable trips down migraine lane. Like, the insanely embarrassing time when at 19 years of age, I had to have my dad had to come get me from work, because I couldn't drive. Or stop blowing snot bubbles. Or when I lay on the bathroom floor of my New York apartment sobbing and retching until the super's wife came to the door to see if I was gonna make it. Who says New Yorkers are cold and unfriendly?
After recurring at six month intervals for most of my adult life, though, the headaches just went away. And for long enough (since October 2007, I think), that I mostly forgot what it's like to want to pluck your own eye out and stomp on it. But Sunday night, as my sodium and magic levels were returning to a post-Disney normal, I started to feel...off. Headachey, dizzy. We had the lights off and dark, foreboding-type movie on, so it wasn't until I meandered into the kitchen after some Advil and flipped on the lights that I realized what I was in for. Holy mother of bob. Was I going to have to add "Really Bad Tom Hanks Films" to my list of possible triggers? Having never successfully narrowed it down, I already had Sunday School, Barcelona and Alphabetical Filing on there. Though let's be real; even with the improved hair, the Tom Hanks one seems to make the most sense.
As far as meltdowns go, I think the pinnacle of the evening came when I was hiding out in the dark bedroom, unable to open my eyes, and realizing with acute panic that our geriatric dog had just had an accident and was in the process of loudly EATING UP the evidence.
Cue snot bubbles.
Since then, I've had a few memorable trips down migraine lane. Like, the insanely embarrassing time when at 19 years of age, I had to have my dad had to come get me from work, because I couldn't drive. Or stop blowing snot bubbles. Or when I lay on the bathroom floor of my New York apartment sobbing and retching until the super's wife came to the door to see if I was gonna make it. Who says New Yorkers are cold and unfriendly?
After recurring at six month intervals for most of my adult life, though, the headaches just went away. And for long enough (since October 2007, I think), that I mostly forgot what it's like to want to pluck your own eye out and stomp on it. But Sunday night, as my sodium and magic levels were returning to a post-Disney normal, I started to feel...off. Headachey, dizzy. We had the lights off and dark, foreboding-type movie on, so it wasn't until I meandered into the kitchen after some Advil and flipped on the lights that I realized what I was in for. Holy mother of bob. Was I going to have to add "Really Bad Tom Hanks Films" to my list of possible triggers? Having never successfully narrowed it down, I already had Sunday School, Barcelona and Alphabetical Filing on there. Though let's be real; even with the improved hair, the Tom Hanks one seems to make the most sense.
As far as meltdowns go, I think the pinnacle of the evening came when I was hiding out in the dark bedroom, unable to open my eyes, and realizing with acute panic that our geriatric dog had just had an accident and was in the process of loudly EATING UP the evidence.
Cue snot bubbles.
