Yesterday, gravity quadrupled in the Untitlement household. I tried to use a blanket to hold me aloft, but it just shoved me to the couch and held me there.
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.
These days, even sunshine, happiness, and Disneyland are prone to kill you. Really. So who am I to question the fact that both headaches and their cure are going to kill me, too? I’m no hobbit turned junkie/rock star/plane crash survivor. Without Desmond Hume hanging around to save me and divert my fate, I’m just hosed. I think I’ll give up worrying about it.
I went to the great authority, Facebook, and a few friends contacted me to tell me it will all be okay. I love that. Being told that everything will be okay has to be one of the best feelings on earth. It’s even better now than when I was a kid. Why can’t the internet tell you that? Oh. Wait. It does. Right next to the page that says, “What! Are you kidding? We’re screwed! Just look at Obama and Bush and Rasputin and Captain Kangaroo, and what they did with all the deadbeats and railroad tycoons and my tax dollars!”
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.