I’ve determined (based on feedback from everyone I’ve encountered in the last 12 years…it’s a good sample size, I’d say) that I’m either
- A really good liar
- A super hero
- A shoe-in for whatever I want to be in the next life
I’ve had to tell so many people about my migraines that I couldn’t even fathom a guess as to the number of oddly screwed up faces that have stared back at me over the years. And they stare back with one of three expressions. The first says “you’re full of crap – no one has a headache that lasts 12 years that never stops.” My question is…why on earth would anyone fake this? Does this actually look fun? The second one says “Uh, wha, I, but…how do you…I just…did you say TWELVE YEARS?” Yeah. These are the people who actually believe what I’m saying, they just don’t can’t comprehend how it can be possible because if it happened to them they might actually just die. And the last one (usually with either moist eyes or full-fledged tears streaming down the cheeks and arms outstretched says “oh my gosh, honey, I am gonna be praying for you. What a terrible thing to have to go through, I just don’t know how you do it.” I think a lot of these people have someone in their lives with a serious chronic illness.
I’ve meet these three people over and over and over and over again. The first one I’d be happy never to meet again, thank you very much because no, I’m not lying about my condition and no, you’re not worth my time or energy so I will not defend it to you, so you can kindly just buzz off now. The other two are interesting. My favorite is the superhero. Not because I like being thought of that way, but because I think it’s kind of ridiculous. Do you know the most common question I get is “How do you drive?” I laugh. Same as you do. Gas is on the right, brake is in the middle, clutch is on the left. I know that sounds like a snotty answer to a legitimately concerned question, but here’s the thing, when you’re chronically sick, at some point you have to just get over the fact that you’re sick and get on with living. I have some limitations. I can’t always drive when I want to. Driving at night is particularly hard. Sometimes I can’t do it at all; and sometimes I have to wear sunglasses. But I do it. Because otherwise I’d be a creepy shut-in my whole life and I really don’t want to be a creepy shut-in.
When I first started having migraines I was in high school. I remember the first one like it was yesterday. I was at my boyfriend’s house. He’d gone downstairs to get some food. My head started hurting. No wait, my head started really hurting. No wait, my head started trying to kill me. He was only gone for a couple of minutes but by the time he came back I was in so much agony I could barely speak. I was terrified; it scared the crap out of him and the only words I could get out were “call mom.” So he called my mother and with what little information he had, he began explaining what was happening. She told him to get me into the car and give me a towel to cover my eyes with – I was having a migraine.
After that first one they became a regular thing. But they went away like normal migraines. One time it lasted for three days and I had to go to the emergency room they gave me a shot of Demerol to break it. It was all fine until August 15th, 2000. That’s when “the big one” hit and just never stopped. The first few weeks were the worst because I was still waiting for it to stop. It was only when I stopped waiting and began to accept that it might NOT stop that I was able to START living again.
I was nearly half way through my fall semester of my senior year of college. My advisors and the administrators were pressuring me to take a medical leave of absence for the semester. I refused. I got all of my missed work from my classes, got caught up, finished up the semester and not only passed, but got a 4.0. I was determined not to let this headache define me.
I made a choice that fall. I chose to live. I chose to exceed expectations. I chose to survive and to thrive and to do what I wanted and what I believed I was capable of rather than what I was told I would never be able to do. People say to me all the time, “When I have a migraine I can’t do anything.” And the only way I can respond is to say “If you lived with one every minute of every day, you’d learn how to do everything with a migraine. Or you’d choose to stop living. It’s just that simple.” We can’t control the hand we’re dealt, only how we play it.