I’ve been in hell.
I’ve never had a migraine last that long, and you know what? The one before this one lasted a full 24 hours, which is also unusual. THIS one lasted almost 72 fekking hours. So that’s been relaxing. Is this going to be my new thing, extra flavor extra fun in my migraines to come?
And of course I went to work. I just missed a whole week of work, I didn’t dare come back only to call in sick.
You know what finally got rid of it? I’ll tell you. First of all, I called my doctor today, who saw me right away. And by “saw” I mean we Jane Jetsoned it with my computer on and her computer on, talking to each other. What I like best about my doctor right now is that she needs regular glasses but then reading glasses on top of them to see the computer screen, so twice now during this plague I’ve met with her online while she’s wearing two pair of glasses, one right on top of the other like it’s normal.
I shall miss her when she dies or quits or fires me.
Anyway, she told me to take another Imitrex, along with 600 mg of ibuprofen, and she also told me she’d write me a note to get me out of work, and that I should double up on my anti-nausea pills and just go to bed. I told her what I just told you, about how I HAD to work cause I was just gone.
So my plan was to do everything she said except the anti-nausea pills, and because I can never abstain from revealing my whole life to everyone, I announced on Facebook that I was on day three of a migraine and did anyone have a guillotine I could borrow. I was half-kidding.
“Stick your feet in hot water and put ice on your neck,” said a kid I went to junior high with. I realize the best part of life is the thinner slice and also that no one calls it junior high anymore, but I’m sorry, when I was in school we called it junior high WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?
And you know what I did? I listened to the dude I went to junior high with.
AND IT WORKED.
Sticking my feet in hot water and putting ice on my neck WORKED. I had to redo it after awhile, as the pain crept back, so the second time I did it I also took the ibuprofen, but not the prescription drugs, and I’ll be damned if I’m not almost OK right now.
So there you go.
Meanwhile, you should see my house. Remember Fred Sanford’s? My house, with me doing nothing since Saturday night, is not what you’d call camera-ready. Oh my god. Oh my garsh, as my JUNIOR HIGH teacher used to pronounce it.
There were dishes in the sink, a thing that bothers me greatly in normal, nonsick life. There were opened boxes from my HelloFresh deliveries and Ring doorbell deliveries and so on. There was laundry, all the microfiber towels and that sort of kitchen linen category stuff, just thrown onto the kitchen table because I was lucky I even took anything out of the dryer at all, so ill was I.
I mean, everywhere I looked tonight after work, there was something to tidy.
And I’ve committed myself to so much STUFF this week. I told this guy who got laid off that I’d look at his portfolio. I told someone I’d write her obituary. I have two vet appointments and today I clean forgot about my flu shot at my doctor. I also have one scheduled at work later, so that’s not the end of the world, but it makes me feel icky to have forgotten.
I have a financial advisor tomorrow night, in an attempt to not end up under a bridge for my retirement.
Also I had my trainer last night and again Thursday. Can you believe I went to the trainer yesterday? As crappy as I felt? I mean, I felt rotten. And yet there I was last night, in m’workout pants and my t-shirt, the energy of a thousand suns flowing within me. It must have felt like training Mrs. Butterworth. I took my own sweet time, I can tell you that.
Why do I always opt for Mrs. Butterworth as my example? Surely there was some other odd character from my years spent before the television. Why do I never whip out Chef-Boy-Ar-Dee, or Toucan Sam? The Freakies?
But no. I always go back to the woman who bathed my flapjacks in her sweet slow syrup.
Anyway, so I feel, like, 70% better right now, and tomorrow morning I have to cram both Iris and Forest into the same cat carrier, as I own only one now, thanks to the shelter stealing mine. We have to be at the vet at 8:30, and I plan to just work from there whilst they observe Iris for thyroid and make sure Forest is a boy. I assure you he is a boy, as I have seen his Sherwood Forest. If you’re picking up what I’m cutting down. I have seen the Forest from his tree.
I’d be funnier if I weren’t coming off a migraine. It’s like June, now swathed in cotton.
Ima take all the sheets and wrinkly bedspread off and put on new stuff, as the old stuff is all twisted and I was sickly in it and I want everything to be clean and welcoming. Even when I sleep with a migraine, I am off. I know the whole time I’m asleep that I have one. And usually my teeth hurt the next day cause I’ve been grinding them against the pain.
Migraines. Go get one soon!
A woman I used to work with likes to travel all over yonder, a thing I have never had much passion for. And anyway, she was in, like, Vietnam when she got her first-ever migraine. As she lay there, she thought of all the times I had one and she could never quite understand how a headache could do me in the way it did. Till then. In Vietnam.
Lieutenant Dan, indeed.
I’ll talk to you later, after I’ve taken the cats to the vet and met with my financial advisor who is going to say, “Marry a rich man” and so forth. If you need me before then, stick your feet in hot water.