It’s 5:30 a.m. the morning after Spring Forward.
I can’t sleep.
Tomorrow morning I take my fuzzy pillow and my comfort quilt and I board a plane for the Michigan Headache and Neurological Institute in Ann Arbor.
I don’t know how long I will be there, if they can do anything, what the prognosis is.
All the anxiety I have been staving off with everything I could possibly find just hit me right now, in the 5:30 am quiet of the house.
I somehow can’t believe my headaches have gotten so bad I am going into a special hospital for them, but here I am.
If you have spare prayers, please throw a little my way. I am casting about in a tiny boat on a huge angry ocean. This is the last big try, if it doesn’t work, there isn’t any other plan.