6:08 a.m. NaaNaNaaNaNaaaaa Mwowww NaaNaNaaNaNaaaaa I am really starting to hate this song as the opening riff from ELO’s “Do Ya” vibrates from my iPhone. Rolling over, I can’t quite figure out what’s wrong. Am I even really awake? No…Smile…Wait. Yes. Crud. I tap the snooze timer to steal 9 more minutes of sleep from my morning toilette and roll over.
6:17 a.m. NaaNaNaaNaNaaaaa Mwowww NaaNaNaaNaNaaaaa I definitely hate this song. And ELO. And mornings. And myself for having to pee so that I can’t use snooze again. Tumbling my cat Buffy off my back, I get up and manage to make it to the bathroom and back in my daze without tripping over any of my cats. My dog Sophie has claimed my warm spot in the bed. By now, I’m awake enough to figure out why I’m so fuzzy-headed this morning: Migraine Alert. Well, this is just great… The pain hasn’t started yet. Maybe I can make it all day before it sets in.
7:20 a.m. I’m sitting in my car waiting for the students I pick up at the nearby elementary school. I can do this. Dylan opens the car door, looks at me and says, “What’s wrong?” OK. I must look worse than I thought. I tell him it’s a migraine approaching, and he says, “Those freshmen better watch out. I’ll warn them.” He and his friend make fun conversation in the car the rest of the way.
8:15 a.m. I. Hate. That. Bell. What was wrong with the old bell that sounded like a bell? We sound like a submarine about to dive now. Each dong of the “bell system” makes me grind my teeth more than usual today. I can reach that wire. I have scissors. Then if I turned it in for repair, it would take at least the rest of this year for them to fix it. Until then, I would be free of each of its thirty-four rings. Or bongs. Or whatever.
1:50 p.m. What is that? I brush at the gnat or wisp of hair in my peripheral vision. Nothing is there. Crap. Aura. Only about an hour and a half to go. The visual aura of the migraine may or may not precede pain. Since I’ve been a little drowsy and a lot confused all day, the pain will probably come this time. It is my planning period, so I’m alone and it’s quiet. I can’t concentrate on the test I’m trying to write, so I try to just get some administrative work done. My mind wanders, though, and I can’t do anything right. Well, at least I didn’t lose a sick day.
3:15 p.m. I hate the bell a little less right this exact second. I was wrong, though. I didn’t make it through the day. The pain has started. The left side of my head is so heavy. I just want to get home to Carl and crawl into bed with the drapes closed, but I have 11 miles of twisting road between me and my haven. I finally get out of the parking lot and on my way home. Could that car DRIVE any slower? How can you drive under the 25 mile an hour limit? Drive faster.
4:28 p.m. I’m finally home, and Carl helps me get settled and prepares my shots as I take my demerol, Benadryl, phenergan, and lorazapem. Would I rattle if I got up and walked? Doesn’t matter. Not getting up. Carl gives me shots of DHE45 and Toradol. I find a familiar audiobook, a Nancy Drew mystery read by Laura Linney, to listen to as a distraction in the darkened room as the medicines carry me into an agitated sleep.
10:46 p.m. Nonononono. My headache has intensified significantly. If I came home at a 6 on the frowny scale, I’m a definite 9 now. I’ve taken everything I have. Nonononono. The nearest real hospital is over an hour’s drive away. The local hospital, a mere 10 minutes away was voted prettiest hospital, but it is not a good place. For many reasons. But it is pretty. Let’s not forget how pretty it is. Carl, beside me, knows that if I’ve wakened with that many soporifics churning in my blood, it’s not good.
12:30 a.m. I’m still uncomfortably huddled in the bright, noisy waiting room after vomiting–again. People mill around, chatting, laughing. What is this? Did we take a wrong turn? Are we in a bar, instead of the emergency room? I look around. Nope. Looks like an ER intake/waiting room. Real pretty. Carl goes and asks if they could possibly estimate our wait time. The news is not good. I can’t take it any more. We leave the Hillbilly Hoedown behind, and I return home to take more medicines. Not the best idea, just all I have since Bubba wrecked his four wheeler and sprained his thumb, Jilly-Ann’s sister’s cousin’s baby had a cold, and they all came to the Hoedown at the ER for social hour. Instead of the Urgent Care across the street. YeeHaw.
1:00 a.m. I’m sliding into sleep again. No! Nancy, don’t go into that cave! The counterfeiters will catch…
6:08 a.m. NaaNaNaaNaNaaaaa Mwowww NaaNaNaaNaNaaaaa
If you can’t laugh, you’ll cry.
I wrote this post as an assignment for Blogging U’s Writing 101 assignment to compose a series of vignettes. I got my idea commenting on a fellow blogger’s post about her own trip to the ER.