I can’t remember the exact year, but I know it was before 1980. It was in the early days of summer, with the cicadas singing their choral din in the full trees outside. The TV was tuned to one of the daytime game shows, maybe Match Game or The Price is Right. The big picture window in the living room was wide open, with the big box fan that would follow me through my college graduation, my first apartment, and my first two houses trying in vain to pull any amount of coolness from the sweltering city air.
I was on the couch in the living room. Alone in the house as Mom worked in the office up the street, and Dad drove a truck for the local newspaper. I writhed in pain wrapped in my black robe with red piping, cocooned in a green afghan crocheted by my grandmother, shivering despite the heat, sweating despite how cold I felt. The belt from my robe was wrapped tightly around my forehead, twisted at one end, trying to calm the pounding of the demon that was trying to get out.
This is my first recollection of a migraine. I can picture that day like it happened yesterday, and my life is full of such vignettes. I can remember the days in grade school and high school when the aura would hit, followed by the headache. I can remember a trip home when a headache hit on Interstate 70 in the middle of West (By God) Virginia. I can remember the headaches at work that made me run for the bathroom, and the ones on business trips that woke me up in the middle of the night.
Like many migraine sufferers, I use a 10 scale to rate my headaches, where 1 is tolerable, and 10 is the worst pain you have ever felt. Here’s how I generally categorize my headaches:
1-2: I can still work and carry on conversations.
3-4: Work becomes difficult. I need a quiet place to relax and “defocus.”
5-6: Throbbing headache. Unable to concentrate. Can’t complete moderate tasks. Physical exertion (like walking) makes pain unbearable.
7-8: Forced to lie down, preferably in a quiet room with a warm dog at my side. Physical exertion (like turning over) makes pain unbearable.
9: I am jelly. I am crying out involuntarily. This isn’t as bad as giving birth… this is as bad as being given birth to.
10: Thankfully, I don’t know.
Looking back on my history of headaches, my most memorable were in the 6 to 8 range, which makes me wonder why it took me so long to get diagnosed. I thought these were sinus headaches because that’s what my mother thought hers were—and I thought that for almost thirty years.
So, why didn’t I get diagnosed earlier? I guess for two reasons. First of all, I’m a guy, and I fit the stereotype of avoiding health problems until the get the better of me. Second of all, at an average of one or two really bad headaches a year, I could live with it. So, why get diagnosed eventually? Fate and a woman.
Fate threw me the first curveball by increasing the frequency of my headaches. At first it was gradual. I went from two major headaches a year, to one every three months. After that it was monthly. At this point, the other half of the equation, the woman (otherwise known as my wife) stepped in and continuously planted her foot in my posterior until I went and talked to my doctor. I finally acquiesced and went to my doctor, realizing having pain in both head and rear is not a great combination.
I was on the couch in the living room. Alone in the house as Mom worked in the office up the street, and Dad drove a truck for the local newspaper. I writhed in pain wrapped in my black robe with red piping, cocooned in a green afghan crocheted by my grandmother, shivering despite the heat, sweating despite how cold I felt. The belt from my robe was wrapped tightly around my forehead, twisted at one end, trying to calm the pounding of the demon that was trying to get out.
This is my first recollection of a migraine. I can picture that day like it happened yesterday, and my life is full of such vignettes. I can remember the days in grade school and high school when the aura would hit, followed by the headache. I can remember a trip home when a headache hit on Interstate 70 in the middle of West (By God) Virginia. I can remember the headaches at work that made me run for the bathroom, and the ones on business trips that woke me up in the middle of the night.
Like many migraine sufferers, I use a 10 scale to rate my headaches, where 1 is tolerable, and 10 is the worst pain you have ever felt. Here’s how I generally categorize my headaches:
1-2: I can still work and carry on conversations.
3-4: Work becomes difficult. I need a quiet place to relax and “defocus.”
5-6: Throbbing headache. Unable to concentrate. Can’t complete moderate tasks. Physical exertion (like walking) makes pain unbearable.
7-8: Forced to lie down, preferably in a quiet room with a warm dog at my side. Physical exertion (like turning over) makes pain unbearable.
9: I am jelly. I am crying out involuntarily. This isn’t as bad as giving birth… this is as bad as being given birth to.
10: Thankfully, I don’t know.
Looking back on my history of headaches, my most memorable were in the 6 to 8 range, which makes me wonder why it took me so long to get diagnosed. I thought these were sinus headaches because that’s what my mother thought hers were—and I thought that for almost thirty years.
So, why didn’t I get diagnosed earlier? I guess for two reasons. First of all, I’m a guy, and I fit the stereotype of avoiding health problems until the get the better of me. Second of all, at an average of one or two really bad headaches a year, I could live with it. So, why get diagnosed eventually? Fate and a woman.
Fate threw me the first curveball by increasing the frequency of my headaches. At first it was gradual. I went from two major headaches a year, to one every three months. After that it was monthly. At this point, the other half of the equation, the woman (otherwise known as my wife) stepped in and continuously planted her foot in my posterior until I went and talked to my doctor. I finally acquiesced and went to my doctor, realizing having pain in both head and rear is not a great combination.
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