False Auras

I’m standing at the front of a classroom observing. After glaring at a child for misbehaving, my eyes sweep the room. Out the corner of my eye, I catch a flash of color. I focus on it without looking directly at it. The wall is painted an off yellow. My stomach rolls.

My normal aura is like static, on the peripheral of my vision. These are blocks of color.

I frantically try to remember what I had for breakfast, if I had breakfast. I try to remember if the car ride this morning particularly bumpy. Is it residual car sickness or prodrome?

The rain picks up outside again.

I take a deep breath. The panic remains at bay. I’m not in the best place to have a migraine, I’m not even in a good place for it. This isn’t the time or place. This is the last place I wanted to have a migraine. This could be the nail in the coffin. I’ll be down and out for the count before I even get started.

I can deal with it, I just have to make it for a couple more hours and I’m good to go.

My eyes move but the red squares do not follow, they do not lay over the children’s faces. My eyes flash back to the wall and they’re still there. I move my eyes around the space and they remain. I’m confused for a moment before I realize that it’s a stain on the wall, not an aura. It is residual car sickness, nervousness. My head still pangs with another downpour. A headache, not a migraine.

Conversations (24)

I look up when I feel her eyes on me. She has concern written all over her eyes. How long has she been looking at me?

“You all right?” she asks me, “you’re quiet.”

I realize I haven’t said anything beyond a greeting when she first sat down. It wasn’t an awkward silence, she was talking with someone else. It’s while he’s talking that she noticed I haven’t said anything.

I sit back, running my hands through my hair. I rest my hand on the back of my head, where it’s throbbing.

“Yeah,” I say vaguely, and shake my head, “no, no,” I give my hair a tug, hoping I could dislodge it or something. “I’m working on something fun back here,” I finally say.

I lean over and dig around in my bag and pop an Aleve.

 

It’s later when I sit back down for an impromptu study session I greet her with a wide smile and a warm greeting. I’m must more animated. She returns the smile. “Can you tell I’m feeling better?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she nods.

I realize that when I first met her, I was like I was in the morning all the time. Now there are times when I’m more like how I use to be, how I should be.

Weekend Update (4)

I have a big exam tomorrow afternoon. I have a migraine now. I can still see and I’m not experiencing a lot of sensitivity so that means I have to study.

When Push Comes To Shove: Self Care

Self care is something I’ve only recently indulged in. It’s something I feel like I deserve now, rather than something I can do if I have time. I go to bed early, I read before sleeping, I relax for longer periods of time. I take Saturday’s entirely for myself. I guess I don’t push myself as hard anymore. This is becoming a problem. While self care should come before all other things, I find it hard to justify it when I’m not getting results in school. To go to bed early, 10 pm, means I end up neglecting other things. I might not finish my homework, or only partially finish it. I might only scan reading instead of analyzing it. I leave it all for the next day. While I have a two hour break in the day, it’s not enough to finish all my homework. It’s barely enough time to get really started on anything. Ends are not meeting. I don’t want to stay up later to finish everything if that means I’m going to feel worse in the morning. It’s a negatively fed loop. I all ready do not feel as confident in my studying as I need too. Midterms are coming up. I have an exam on Monday, a test to do over the weekend, and a paper to write on Monday. I’m just stressing out over. I’m taking more classes than normal. Six classes or 18 credits. The normal is 12-15 credits, 4-5 classes. I want to stop and take a deep breath but becoming idle is making me anxious. There is always the looming migraine on the horizon. Ends are not meeting and I am thinking when they do, when I start sacrificing sleep for homework, a migraine is going to come crashing through and break the functional medium.

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“Did you do the homework?” I ask.

I didn’t feel well all weekend; I did the minimal amount of homework.

“No, did you?” he asks me, sitting down.

“No, I didn’t feel well,” I say, I don’t elaborate.

“That’s not an excuse,” he says in jest. I know it’s a joke, we’re friends, we tease each other but it still hurts. I had a headache, I made the choice to take care of myself, a nap and relaxing. I feel like it was the wrong choice.

Conversations (22)

“I have a headache,” a friend complains.

“Me too!” I say. I do, my head is doing something weird and it’s equating to pain.

She glares at me. I’m familiar with the glare. It says, you always have a headache. I have a headache now, it’s my turn. She actually rolls her eyes as I continue to smile at her.

“Do you want Aleve?” I offer. She denies the offer.

Weekend Update (3)

What a week it has been!

Monday: Woke up with a headache, my mom drove me to school. I had a headache all day and once getting into class, I realized I didn’t do some of my homework. On the way to get me, the muffler fell off my car. My dad was able to fix it, get me and then permanently fix it when we got home.

Tuesday: This was the best day of the week. One class. After class, I came home, napped and did homework.

Wednesay: I woke up bright and early, went to Jefferson Headache Center. Long story short, I’m trying cymbalta, imitrex and renagal. I’ll be trying Botox in 2 months. The doctor also said I take too much OTC medicine and some of my headaches are probably MOH. While I have been cutting back as much as possible, I guess it was still too much.

The big thing about Wednesday was missing classes. I missed 4 of my classes. One class was cancelled, so 3 total. I am allowed absences in two of my classes. I talked with all of my professors about missing Wednesday. After emailing one of my professors, she replied telling me I wasn’t excused and had to take a zero on a quiz (it will be one of the ones I’m allowed to drop at the end of the semester). Because it was a “pre-planned” appointment, it was not excused. And if it’s a “serious illness” then I can make it up. Her words, not mine. I had the appointment way before I had her class. Because I told her before the appointment, I got screwed. If I would have told the day after, than she would have accepted the doctor’s note but because I was nice, courteous in letting her know a head of time I got screwed. I’m not upset about the points or the absence. I’m mad because it’s an invisible illness. It wasn’t a check up or a routine appointment. She is arrogant enough to think I should plan my appointment around her biweekly class. She is ignorant enough to ignore invisible illness. Even if it was a maintenance appointment, I need to go to that so I don’t get sick. Doctor appointments are so you stay healthy! This wasn’t even a maintenance appointment; it was my first appointment with a new doctor. They gave me a time. I didn’t pick it, I couldn’t plan around her class! I’m not mad about the absence or the failed quiz, I’m mad that she’s arrogant and ignorant. I didn’t get a note because I was so annoyed at the fact so I’m not sure how I would go about this with the chair.

Thursday: This was another big day. It was my first day in a classroom as part of my education class. I’m a teacher’s aide, I observe and help out where I’m needed. Came home, did homework.

Friday: I got a ton of homework for the weekend.

So that was my week. Long and stressful. I’m glad it’s over.

Conversations (21)

“How are you?” the doctor asks me.

I hate this question. “I’m well,” I reply automatically.

It’s one of those performances we do. You ask me how I am. I’m not really listening. I’m still adjusting to a new wave of pain.

“How are you?” I ask.

I don’t care how you are. Honestly. Let’s just get on with this.

“Well you wouldn’t be here if you were well,” the doctor replies.

I internally roll my eyes. You have to be kidding me. Jesus. Let’s just pretend.

I laugh, “yeah,” I reply.

JUST ONE thing I’ve learned: pain is temporary.

JUST ONE person who has helped me: my mom