I got a shot in the ass the other day.
It was vaguely nostalgic, reminded me of the time we spent going through fertility treatments, except that it was a total stranger shooting instead of my husband. I don't know, I think injections are a thing couples should do together, in private.
I'm old fashioned, I guess.
This shot was not trying to stimulate anything, however. I had a migraine and the very last thing I needed was stimulation. What I needed was to be knocked unconscious.
I haven't been writing, or doing much of anything, really, because I have been lying around having a migraine pretty much since I got back from the BAMF book tour. Three long flights in the most uncomfortable airplane seats known to man, plus dehydration from recirculated air, then throw in some jet leg and BAM. I staggered off the plane and went home to suffer in peace.
Dealing with my migraines takes up a lot of my time. Besides the injections, and the visits to the chiropractor, and then my friend the good doctor who makes house calls and doesn't even mind if I throw up in the middle of his visit, I went to see my friend Whit, who is an incredible massage therapist. I know this because the first thing she said when she saw me was "Sister, I am not giving you a massage today. Did you know your right shoulder is about 2 and a half inches lower than your left?"
"Can you fix it?"
"Uh, yeah, I don't think so. Let's get you stretched out."
Which are the five worst words in the English language when you have a migraine.
"No, I don't want to AHHHHHHHHH FUCK OOOOWWWWW NOOOOOOO"
But in the end she was right. I lay on her table and we stretched (a little) and I did feel better the next day.
"You need to drink more water than you can even imagine tonight."
"I don't drink water."
"Maybe that's why you have a migraine and a knot the size of a plum right here."
"OW FUCK OWWWWW."
"Yeah. That. That right there. It's ridiculous."
It takes a village of people stabbing me in the ass, sitting on my chest trying to get my shoulders to go down, jumping out of the way of my vomit, and hydrating me by force (or IV if it gets really bad) - but in the end a one week course of steroids, a few controlled substances and a reluctant uptick in water consumption got the job done, and I am a whole new woman.
Not really. If I was a whole new woman I would have better boobs.
But I do feel better, finally.
I used to think a migraine was just a terrible headache, and then I got one and I thought I was suffering a brain aneurysm.
In fact when I get a really horrible sudden-onset migraine, I *always* think I am about to have a stroke.
So during this migraine that lasted off and on for the past three weeks, I spent a good part of that time lying down or carefully propping myself up in just the right position, deciding which songs they should play at my memorial service based on lyrical content and emotional response to aforementioned lyrics. Anything to distract me from the pain, and pass the time in a darkened room while I suck on ice chips and insert fresh anti-nausea suppositories as needed. I have a lot of time to kill - no pun intended - and the details can get pretty elaborate. It's going to be kind of a long service based solely on the soundtrack, so I suggest packing a granola bar or something.
For the record, I have nothing to wear.
5 hours ago