Migraine Season begins
The Scottish summertime hates me. And also: is trying to kill me. GOD.
Actually, it’s migraine that’s trying to kill me. And it’s not the Scottish summer per se, but all the thundery, humid weather that tends to be pretty much all we get in these here parts at this time of year. The thundery weather gives me migraines, you see. Migraines give me health anxiety. Health anxiety gives me stress. Stress gives me migraines. And the beat goes on…
Other things that give me migraines:
- Bright lights
- Flashing lights
- Asda (the one near us has flickering strip lights and acres of reflective white floor. It’s migraine-tastic, baby!)
- Meatloaf albums. (OK, not these, but they do give me pain, which is the same thing…)
- but mostly thunder and stress, really
The first migraine of this summer arrived almost exactly a year to the day since the first migraine of last summer. I was cleaning the kitchen with bleach at the time (other things that can trigger migraines: strong smells), having just eaten a cheese salad, and was fretting about how the hell I was supposed to find time to cut the grass, finish my work for today, start my feature on weddings for The Scotsman, pick bits of fluff off the stair carpet with my bare hands, walk the dog and also: clean the kitchen with bleach. I turned around from the dark living room to the kitchen window, which was filled with sunlight (bright lights, you see) and WHAM! Migraine now arriving, please clear your schedule…
Of course, being the hypochondriac that I am, I was immediately convinced that, even although the flashing lights and blind spots in my vision were exactly the same as every other migraine I’ve ever had, this was not, in fact, a migraine at all, but was a brain tumour. “Terry,” I called, panic stricken, “come quickly, I’m having a brain tumour”. The divorce comes through in a few months, apparently, and Doctor Amber is available for consultations any time you like.
Anyway, continuing brain-tumour fears aside (because I could totally have a brain tumour! I really could!) I have spent the last few days feeling delicate, like the heroine in a Jane Austen novel, and being brought ice cream, which has made me fat. (Note: ice cream doesn’t actually help with migraine, I just like it). This has mostly all just been me being a drama queen: I am fairly lucky in that my migraines aren’t too debilitating, and once the aura has gone, I’m left with a headache that’s not nearly as bad as the ones some people get. But hey, I like the drama and the ice cream, so I may as well milk it for all it’s worth.
On the upside, a gardener is coming to mow our lawn next week, because now that Migraine Season has officially started for me I have decided to embark on Project Calm The Hell Down, Woman. Less stress, less cheese and more relaxation is the order of the day, which means that someone else gets to do the gardening while I lie on my bed eating grapes, or something. Of course, I’m feeling absolutely fine now, but there’s no way I’m cutting that grass. Thanks, Migraine Season!
IMPORTANT NOTE: No one leave comments on this entry saying, “Oh, my mother’s auntie’s cousin’s dog’s sister used to get migraines, but it turned out she had a brain tumour and then she died!” Trust me, I don’t want to know…)