The Irony of Ironies

I saw a neurologist last week. She expressed concern over the frequency of my migraines and with the fact that the migraines seem to be worsening.

"How many days of work did you miss last month?" she asked.

"Four," I told her.

"That is too many, dear," she replied.

And she wrote out a prescription for a daily preventative medication. It's not something I have to take long-term; just an interim solution so that I don't miss any more work or time with Ben.

Because when you have a "true" migraine, you miss out on life. Most migraines come on in the middle of the night (I've never had one "sneak in" in the middle of my day) and the pain is so excruciating, that there is no possibility of standing upright. Generally, there is a fair amount of vomiting due to the intensity of the pain. Light sensitivity is a given as is a full day in bed.

In my experience, the best way to get rid of a migraine is to grab a ride to the nearest ER, curl up in a ball in the waiting room with a towel over my head (to block the light) and beg for a Demerol shot. Does the trick every time.

Lately, I've been self-medicating. Trading meds with my dad (he's also plagued with the migraine curse and the one person who can really sympathize with me) and combining opiates with ibuprofen, aspirin and Aleve. The doctor didn't much care for this strategy.

Thus, the daily medication.

But here's the kicker. The number one side effect of the migraine med? Headaches.

Oh yes, they aren't lying about that. I doubled the dose last night (per the doc's instructions) and woke up to a dull throb in the back of my head.

But at least I didn't have to puke or miss work.

Headaches. Un-freakin'-believable.