I wake up, on any given morning, to soft sounds or loud alarms.  For a moment, one brief moment as sleep leaves me, I am free of pain.  That minute between sleep and wakefulness is a peaceful, blissful, break.  Then in a slow but steady wash it begins.

My nape begins to pulse, a slow throbbing that spreads up the back of the left side of my head into my temples. A sharp stabbing hits my right temple, jarring any remaining sleepiness away and the villain I live with comes to life.  It roars into my ears, seeps into my skull, pounding more loudly with each moment. Before too long I have no choice but to get up, sleep will not come back, lying here will do nothing but hurt.

I get up. Movement makes me dizzy as the pain moves around, front to back, side to side.  I stumble downstairs, brush my teeth, use the bathroom. The light is too bright, the sounds are too much.  I breathe.  Moving my head from side to side trying to pop my neck, stretch the muscles. Each step brings stronger pulses of discomfort.
Distraction time. Something, anything to give me a chance to push the villain behind something else in my mind.  A book, a blog post, a t.v. show. Anything.

Some days it simply will not be ignored.  On those days I struggle not to snap at my children when they hug and touch me.  Every time they jar me my head pounds, every happy laugh is a sharp stab.  I hate the kind of mother this villain tries to make me into.  I breathe.

I know they can see it in my face if I am not careful, so I do my best to mask the discomfort they cause.  They deserve a mother who loves their touch, they deserve praise and kind responses when they notice I have a headache and lovingly pat my head, unaware that the very gesture of love they give makes it hurt more.

I want to be the mother who wakes up and make pancakes, laughing and smiling in my froggy apron, joking around and bringing them smiles.  Instead I head for the coffee, and sometimes, an illicit cigarette.  The combination brings some measure of comfort, reducing the villain to a manageable background roar.  Other times I try the Cephaly, it’s electric medicine slowly spreading the sensation of thousands of ants across my head as I sit and pray this time it will work and bring relief.

I don’t take pain killers.  While they bring me an hour, maybe two of rest, the resulting kickback headache will be so much worse than the one they were meant to fix.  I drink water.  I breathe.

I eat something, as my stomach protests the coffee.

I remind myself, as my forehead demands attention, that the day will have work or play, family or friends, rest or peace, and that I can focus on those things, use my mind and strength of will to drive the villain into the background where it can just sit and be quieter.  Other days I despair, wishing I had a different morning experience. Wishing a cure could be found.  Wishing I could keep that one moment of waking pain free and stretch it out to last the day.