Saturday, September 12, 2015

The glamorous life of migraine

I woke up this morning after 8 lovely hours of sleep, (probably helped along with the sumatriptan last night) feeling relatively okay, with just a hint of migraine in the background.  I let Kitten out, made my coffee, made her breakfast, and was planning mine.  I drank my coffee, caught up on the news, posted to this blog, and texted with a few friends to try to cheer them up.  (I got a smile out of one, so that was good.)

Suddenly, I wasn't feeling so great.  I managed to climb the mountain of stairs (one flight) to go lie down and start one of my calming (to me) podcasts.  That lasted about 10 minutes, until I decided a detour to the bathroom would be in order.  Don't worry, I'll spare you most of the gory details. 

There was a lot of writhing in pain on my bathroom floor, looking up at the skylight and praying to any and all deities, none of whom I believe in, to smite me now, knowing full well I was absolutely fucked on my own.  Interspersed with that was some projectile vomiting.  Which my hair managed to catch.  Yuck.

The whole time, I still had the podcast going.  [Steve, if you read this, thank you for your calming voice during my horrible morning.]

I knew I had more meds that would help in the other room, but the pain kept me from being able to move even enough not to puke in my own hair.  So fkn pathetic.  I did have visions of dying a la Bon Scott, so I tilted my head enough not to.  You're welcome.  :)

I'd popped a pill just as I was feeling poorly, so I was hopeful some of that made it into my bloodstream before my stomach decided to reverse gears.  Eventually, the pain subsumed enough for me to crawl into the shower.  I was too weak to stand, or do much of anything except let the glorious hot water pour over me.  That was my first hair-washing.  When I felt clean enough, I dragged my sorry ass to bed, wrapped my hair in a towel, and passed out for a bit.  I woke up and went straight into the shower and washed my hair three more times.  Then I brushed my teeth and gargled with peroxide.  

I cleaned the bathroom and special-ordered the clowns for my GIANT PityParty (which I will NOT succumb to).  After starting a load of contaminated laundry, I finally settled down to a light breakfast at 2:30 pm.  

Is she a celebrity who partied too hard and spent the next morning vacillating between passed out & puking?  Or just a glamorous migraineur? 

No comments: