|"If you go out in the woods today, you'd better not go alone. It's lovely out in the woods today, but safer to stay at home."|
I curled up, eyes closed, wondering, "Is my heart slowing? No, it's speeding up. Or is it slowing? Or speeding! Wait, am I breathing? Am I breathing now?" I couldn't feel my heart beating. Can I ever feel it, though? If I stopped trying to breathe, would I still be doing it? And who did I call first, if this continued -- 911 or my kids' school to tell them I'd be late picking up my sons?
It was just a trippy hour -- my first experience with the migraine drug, Imitrex. But I will say this -- the pain was gone. And since I've considered having my head amputated while in the throes of a headache, it was well worth the angst.
I'd like to read about Imitrex online, but the internet is useless in that it contains all answers -- as in it will tell you both yes and no to the same question. A few maybes will be in there. A few others will link any topic in creation to Obama (insert snotty voice) or to Bush before him (same snotty voice). And every medical site, from Joe-Bob's Fixin' Hut to the Mayo Clinic, brings everything down to one unavoidable prognosis: You're going to die.
Migraines? Could be nothing, could be you're gonna die.
The treatment for migraines? It might help, but after Eastern and Western medicine wage a battle with swords and muskets and laser guns to prove that nothing really works and that everyone is lying about it, it all comes down to the fact that you're probably going to die because of the meds.
|I'm tellin' you, brother. I'd have made a better Aragorn.|
Anyway, I'm still here, and I even managed to squeeze in my daily quota of NaNo words, although every last one of them is crap.
I will leave you today with these words: It's okay (or not). Everything is going to be fine (or it isn't). And it's all [insert name of choice]'s fault.