The Migraine

I wake up this morning and it is still dark. My stomach falls as I realize what woke me up. My head knots up and I squint my eyes to try to combat the pain. I know I need to get medicine or else I will not be able to get out of bed when everyone wakes up, but I know I am not going anywhere. I turn to the clock and see that it is only 4:30am. I lie there on my back and tie a small blanket around my head. The pressure soothes it slightly. I am sleepy enough that I fall back asleep. At 6:45, I wake up again. This time, I have to wake up Chris to ask him to get me some Excedrin and say a prayer that it will work because I hate prescription pain medications. He does, I take it and wait. I wait with my eyes covered for the medicine to dull the headache. I see squiggles and dots, kind of like a fireworks show, except it isn't cool looking at all, it is a cruel show that makes me feel dizzy like I am spinning around. Inside my head it feels like a lightning storm. Each noise I hear from the kids waking up is like an electric pulse with shards of glass cracking like lightening in my brain.

Lane and I just finished reading "Farmer Boy" from the Little House on the Prairie series. Having toddlers reminds me of farm life, because you can't just take a day off. You can't take a morning off. You feed them, you clothe them, you change diapers or encourage using the potty and on days like today, you put them in front of a movie and hope they want to watch it. Toddlers and migraines don't work. Especially when what's sweeping the toddler nation is the current fad of screaming excitedly back and forth, raising the volume every time.

Back to my bed, Chris takes care of the morning toddler farm chores. I roll to my side. The nausea overwhelms and again I start to pray that it won't lead to that. I hear Chris downstairs and feel frustrated with myself. The pain discourages me, and then the anxiety discourages me even more. Why can't I be like all of those strong women in my life? Why do I always have to rely on others and constantly struggle? The tears start to prickle the back of my eyes. I get even more upset, knowing tears are the worst thing to feed a migraine. I think about all of the times in my life where I see failure. I try to stop, but then Chris walks in with some crackers to help the nausea and I start to sob. As the door cracks open, the sunlight coming in feels like daggars in my tear-filled eyes. I feel so sad that I am not stronger and I need help. My husband has to go to work all day and then night law school and also has the difficult job of helping me. Not just with me lying in bed with a migraine, but also knowing that I have these limits. "These limits" of pushing myself too hard and then breaking down like a 2 year old. "These limits" of getting migraines.  "These limits" of my self hatred crushing me until I shut down; the never ending battle of balancing the wisdom between pushing myself harder and taking a break. What is best for my children? What is best for my husband?

There was a portuguese poet I studied in a literature class I took named Fernando Pessoa. He wrote a poem that has stayed in my mind. He dedicated this entire poem to his envy of a woman working in the fields. Undoubtedly poor and uneducated, he envied her position of freedom from crippling thought and guilt. The downside of being a brilliant poet was that he could never escape his mind. I struggle to swim out of my own sad thoughts to think about my blessings and gifts. One of the worst parts of migraines is that you cannot distract yourself with anything. Conversations would hurt way too bad, tv is out of the question and reading makes the throbbing, squiggles and dots more extreme. You are left helpless inside your own mind.

I had a conversation with Lane last night as she was trying to memorize our family scripture. "Adam fell that men might be and men are that they might have joy." 2 Nephi 2:25. I told her (from experience) that even though Adam fell from Heavenly Father's presence, it was a good thing because without pain, we could never experience joy. I think of Chris and the huge blessing he is in my life. I try to push away the feelings I feel of guilt and frustration that he has to take care of me and think of only him. What a great man he is to serve his wife so kindly. I think of how Christ-like he is to serve the lowliest without much reward. I try to think this way so that I can express that gratitude, instead of expressing the feelings of inadequacy and humiliation that usually manifest itself first.

My mother told me once that she remembered her mother getting migraines when she was young. She remembers that she went up to her dark bedroom for hours and my mom was on her own. I wonder what my children will remember from my migraines. Will they remember me begging them to lower their voices? Will they feel mad at me that I couldn't take care of them or that I flat out had to ignore them when the pain was at its peak?

I suppose what is left is faith. Do I have the faith to realize that this experience will be for my good? Can I use it to help others and be more humble and accept that I am tiny in the sight of God (like Moses knew) and that I am totally and completely reliant on the Lord, and the ones around me. Including my children...who I never want to feel that they have to take care of their mom!

Nothing to do but press on and try harder and accept that I'm not invincible and realizing that is kind of the whole point of the plan (ie we can't do it alone, we need the Savior); if I am being honest with myself.  Things aren't always easy but I know this. Migraines have become a great test of my belief system. The test is to really accept the atonement. One of my favorite heroines, Jane Eyre, battles her own temptation:

"Laws and principles are not for the times when there is no temptation: they are for such moments as this, when body and soul rise in mutiny against their rigour; stringent are they; inviolate they shall be. If at my individual convenience I might break them, what would be their worth? They have a worth--so I have always believed; and if I cannot believe it now, it is because I am insane--quite insane: with my veins running fire, and my heart beating faster than I can count its throbs. Preconceived opinions, forgone determimations, are all I have at this hour to stand by: there I plant my foot." (Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontee, 2001 pg. 270).

The pain slowly dulls and eventually I get out of bed. Chris takes Lane to school and leaves for work. The headache is far from gone, but has decreased enough that although the screaming fits bring new levels of sharpness, I can get back to my farm-like chores. They won't be done well, so don't swing by today expecting a clean house or tidy children but thank goodness the worst is over. I feel totally stupid about it, but have to cancel my meeting with the Primary this morning, and call the ballet school to tell them that Charlotte will not be making her first ballet class today.