Thanks Axon Optics! (And Some Updates)

glasses selfie oneglasses

Thank you to the wonderful people over at Axon Optics for a new pair of their revolutionary eye wear. These sunglasses are a life saver. They block out light to reduce light sensitivity during  a migraine and reduce the number of light triggered migraines.

A link to my article I wrote for Axon Optics can be found here.

Feel free to comment here or there. I am so grateful for the glasses they sent me. Please check them out and if you have the money – buy a pair. They are amazing and will change your life if you have light sensitivity with migraines.

I never expected something like this to happen. When I started this blog I never expected it to have the reach and impact it does. I know I’m helping people. Now I’m actually getting something out of my migraines. (Not that I wanted to). My migraines are paying off. Instead of suffering, I’m helping and being helped.

Now onto some more updates…

When I spent two days in bed rather than joining the rest of the world, I figured it was a sign of a flare up of depression. Today, I felt really good – better than I have in a long time. I can’t explain it – but I’m grateful.

There is some more exciting news in my life – my dog, Penny, gave birth on Tuesday to 9 beautiful little puppies. I’ll definitely have my hands full in the next couple of weeks.


Vacation Cut Short

We all agreed.


My sister all ready went over to the main office to discuss staying another night at the hotel. While walking on the boardwalk, my parents text me, suggesting we all stay another night. The weather is beautiful, tomorrow will be beautiful too. We discuss it eagerly, all very keen to stay. It’s decided.

My alarm goes off reminding me to take my pills. I packed up my precious medicine in a tiny water proof, sand proof, case, inside a tiny wristlet, stuck inside my bigger purse. I take out of the blue case, open the compartment and they spill out into my open palm. I only have enough medicine for one night. It wouldn’t be a big deal if it wasn’t for the migraine medicine. I can skip a night of birth control, I can take one of my sister’s metformin, I can skip the magnesium supplement but I can’t skip the cymbalta.

I flash back to the fall when the pharmacy messed up, leaving me with out medicine, leaving me desperate for something to be done. Stunned into idleness, left in disbelief, acting too late. I can hear my screams echo in my mind as I dealt with the withdraw pain. Screaming into my pillow was the only thing to distract me from the pain.

Suddenly, sitting on the floor of our hotel suite, I feel guilty. If I didn’t come, they could stay longer. If I wasn’t sick, they could stay longer. If I didn’t depend so heavily on this medicine, they could stay. We could stay. I swallow my pills with water. They always leave a bitter taste in my mouth.

“I don’t have enough medicine,” I tell my sister.

“Okay,” she says.

“We can’t stay,” and it’s my fault. 

They all reassure me it’s fine, that we will leave tomorrow afternoon as planned. They’re all so understanding – it makes me feel worse.

First Night on the Bathroom Floor

I was always so grateful I didn’t get the whole migraine experience – always just the pain. I didn’t always get the aura, the nausea. Just pain and sensitivity. Sometimes I’d feel sick but that was just because the pain was too much.

The air conditioner kicked on and two things happened. My stomach flipped 180 degrees and managed to lodge itself in my throat and the right side of my head throbbed. My eyes snapped open before snapping shut again. My room was cast in a soft glow from the screen of the a/c unit. I can’t stay in bed – the rattling of the a/c sounds like a train, the light in my room feels like I’m staring at the sun. I, not so gracefully, roll out of bed and stumble towards the bathroom with a pillow clutched to my chest. I toss the pillow onto the bathroom floor. There’s a soft glow coming from the night light in the wall, I rip it out. I lay down on the floor, too sick to move from this spot. Faintly, I hear the my parents TV across the house, my sister’s a/c unit rattling on the other side of the wall, my mom’s pond outside bubbling. My shoulders and hips press uncomfortably onto the hard floor. With my stomach turning and turning I can’t imagine myself anywhere else. I close my eyes in the darkness.

It’s not until closer to dawn do I finally spit up some stomach acid and finally feel a little bit better.