Tuesday, April 11, 2006



The migraine is slowly and reluctantly loosening its claws from the tender meat of my brain. Not gone yet, only in halting and stubborn retreat. I can think a little better now.

I didn't go to work this morning. Couldn't sleep much last night. Couldn't get comfortable. This migraine seems to be irretrievably linked to my neck, and I simply could not find a position in which my neck didn't feel full of broken glass. And I couldn't lay on my back because the back of my head was so sore that I'd swear I must have knocked it on something, but I haven't.

So when my alarm went off at 6:30 -- and I don't even want to THINK about the bolt of pain that unearthly squalling sent through my poor head -- I reluctantly admitted that I wasn't sure if I'd slept at all, so I called in sick and took one of the prescribed medications my poor Doc gave me when he caught me in a week-long migraine.

Lemme just state up front that I hatehateHATE taking medicine. It's like pulling eye teeth to get me to take an ibuprofen.

I. Hate. Medicine.

The last time I took this stuff, it made me...I dunno...kinda retarded. A little loopy, but not like I hear a muscle relaxer does. It's just like some of my wiring was crossed or just plain stripped. I'd look at my shoes and just...stare at them, wondering what I was supposed to do with them. I'd look at food and not really be able to figure out how to get it to my mouth, let alone what I was supposed to do with it once I got it there.

So I did NOT want to take it again. But even I couldn't handle that kind of pain anymore after suffering with it all day and night. So...I took my dope and tried to sleep off both the effects and the cause.

No such luck. Not only did I only doze in drips and drabs, but the migraine was still very much in effect when I got tired of trying to sleep. And I kept getting stuck on things. My mind kept getting stuck, anyway.

For instance, I spent at least an hour and a half trying to talk myself out of calling work to make sure they'd gotten my message from this morning. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I had actually called or if I'd just dreamed that I'd called. And even though I knew, academically, that I'd called, I could not get out of my mind that I should call just to make sure. I even understood as I was thinking about it that it was stupid because, if I hadn't called, they would have called me just to make sure I was okay. I did NOT look well when I left yesterday, and someone called yesterday just to make sure I'd gotten home okay.

But I couldn't get it out of my mind until I called, just to make sure.

The same scenario occurred over a song lyric that I eventually had to look up. Over whether or not I'd actually slept at all last night. The tater tot casserole I stared at for a good ten minutes, trying to remember if I'd put cheese in it or not. That little debacle cost me ten minutes of my life that I'll never get back. And it was completely POINTLESS.

And my stupid head still hurts. But I'm a little more clear-headed now, thank God.

Amusingly enough, though, the poor [new] secretary called me just after five o'clock. She'd tried to pull charts for tomorrow's appointments (trying valiantly to do even that tiny part of my job, though she hasn't been cross-trained yet), but she couldn't find some of the charts and didn't know what to do with the ones she had pulled. Frustrated, she'd just shoved the mess into the big cabinet, locked up, and left the office because the day had been so bad. The poor thing!

So, despite the fact that my head still ached like a rotted tooth, I pulled on my trusty Chiefs hat to cover the fact that I could barely stand to even brush my hair -- forget styling it! -- and drove all the way across town to spend a half hour pulling charts, attaching the appropriate billing, and filing them in the providers' drawers for tomorrow. Came home with throbbing to join the continual low hum of pain, but it's probably worth it to have everything done right.

Needless to say, I'm going to work tomorrow, migraine or no migraine.

After all, despite all the weirdness of today, I managed to read The Da Vinci Code cover to cover. Understood it and everything. I even got APPLE without any of the further hints.

Hey, that's pretty good for someone who stared at tater tot casserole for ten minutes because she couldn't remember if it had cheese in it or not. And who, now, can't remember why it mattered.


At 1:53 PM, Blogger Devgel Zo said...

*pokes casserole*

Hey, being able to cook in that state is a damned miracle in itself.

Migraines are evil and the only reason writers get them is because the wiring is tired and wants some damned rest.

Or maybe I'm pulling excuses out of the pollution around my head.

Aw, GB, sorry about your aversion to medicine, but its the lesser of two evils, ne? And why isn't your house monkey taking care of you?!

*thwaps the muse*

Help her, dammit!


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