It’s been one week since they admitted me,
Took pictures of all the nerves inside me,
Two weeks since we jumped the plane,
we’re still waiting to see when I get to come home again.
Good evening. I am still here in lovely Chelsea Michigan trying to find answers to our questions and possible treatment plans for this, apparently, lifelong medical illness.
That is the biggest change resulting from treatment thus far. After attending several classes with the treatment team it has become clear that there is no cure for migraines. That there are three types of patients in every medical condition group. There are patients who are easily treated with one or two medications as outpatients. These patients experience few side effects from their medications and manage them throughout their lives with these few meds.
The second group has side effects from the medications that they try and may need more of them working together. They may spend months or years working with doctors to find a treatment that helps them manage their migraine condition.
Then there is the third group. The group that doesn’t respond to medications or treatments. All our tests come back normal, everything looks fine, but we live more than half of every month with headaches bad enough to ruin our lives. We are less fun parents, less able co-workers, disappearing friends. We try medications, surgery, atypical treatment, and so many doctors it’s impossible to actually remember who we saw when. We suffer from side effects and get no response from the meds. For whatever reason, our brain chemistry is such that we have chronic persistent migraine that will not respond to treatments.
I belong to the third group. I am 8 days in and we are only slightly closer to discovering a treatment plan. We have tried over a dozen abortive medications, a series of IV protocols, and several cervical blocks. I have another tomorrow. We have learned my neck is a contributing factor and we have found a couple of medications that help bring the daily headaches from a severe to a moderate. It’s progress.
It’s also scary and frustrating. I have managed my headaches since I was twelve. It is scary that they have changed so drastically in the last two years and that my usual methods don’t work any more. It’s scary that I am going to have to manage my condition like it’s diabetes or epilepsy. I will have to sleep at the same time, eat at the same time, wake at the same time. Take a terrifying amount of serious medications with side effects that will have management issues on their own. I will have to reduce foods, alcohol, etc.
I am not coming back from this the me I was before it began. I am not ever seeing that me again. That boundless energy I used to use to tackle everything that interested me, I won’t have that anymore. If I do get it back, I can’t use it the same way. I have to use my spoons wisely and carefully every day in order to minimize the risk of a severe migraine attack.
The doctor teaching the class said the hardest thing about migraine conditions is that society puts the burden to cure them on the patient. She’s right. No one asks a diabetic when their diabetes is going to go away or be cured, but I get those questions all the time, even from doctors. She suggested we reframe our experience to help inform people it’s a lifelong medical illness, not a headache.
Maybe it’s the sheer number of needles I have had in my body this week, or the sedation, or the protocols, or the meds, but I am very tired. I can’t comprehend a future with this much conscious living. I have to prepare for it, but I can barely focus on the concept. I am so tired.
It’s been 8 days since I was admitted, two weeks since I’ve been home. I miss everyone terribly. I am trying my best to learn how to manage my migraine illness. My unique brain chemistry is a challenge to treat. I have the country’s best migraine specialists seeing me daily. There is hope.
2 thoughts on “8 days and counting…”
*HUGS* I’m crying, now I’ve read this. I’m SO SORRY that you have to deal with this! I’d say, “too,” but I have not suffered NEARLY as much as you have, and I probably never will. *HUGS* I love you, and have for a very, very long time. It may not be much comfort, hearing that from someone you haven’t seen in nearly 20 years. But I do. I hurt for you. I hurt for me, too, and my own issues are helping with these water works. I will pray. I should never have stopped, and I’m sorry.
my heart hurts for you. I am thinking of you and all the changes you will have to make. It won’t be easy. You do have a lot of amazing friends and people in your life who will continue to love and support you whatever happens. love, judi