Migraine

I had a migraine recently, which was frightening -- since I hadn't had one in about a year. I know quite a few fibro sufferers who get regular migraines -- much worse, and more frequent than what I experience. The thing I hate the most (even more than the headache) is the aura that precedes it. You can't really see out of one eye and are unable to focus on anything. I usually get numb on one side -- well, more disassociated from one side, usually one of my arms. I imagine a stroke sort of feels this way. Then, after 20 to 30 minutes of this anxiety-inducing light show, the headache comes, and it's ... well, fucked. There are a host of medications out there for migraines, but timing is everything. If you don't take them at the earliest possible sign of the oncoming migraine, you're really in trouble. Then you have the nausea and the hangover, which is like a lighter version of the actual headache itself. That lasts another few days and I feel pretty disoriented during that time. Either way it's really a buzz kill, and yes, I puked, thank you for asking.

The sound of silence

There's a neat movie called The Fall of the House of Usher, starring Vincent Price. Originally written by Edgar Allan Poe, telling the tale of a man who suffers from hyperesthesia or an extreme hypersensitivity to sound , light, taste ... reality TV...

The condition, along with an anxiety (did I mention anal leakage?) drives him (Vincent) to the brink of madness. Perhaps this is the first example of fibromyalgia on film. This is among the crappiest symptoms I enjoy with fibro -- the sound and light thing, not the rest of it. Especially sound, where it can get so freakin' overwhelming that I keep earplugs with me at all times.

As much as I adore my daughters, there's some strange part of early-childhood development in girls, that indicates a need for high-pitched screaming for no reason at all. They shriek over just about everything -- pancakes for breakfast? Shriek. Going to the store? Shriek. Breathing in and out? Oh yeah.

These are the times when the earplugs come in real handy. The hardest, however, is during bath time. In addition to the shrill, wailing that seems to squirt out of them at the drop of a hat, you have the benefit of ceramic tile, that creates a sort of hyper-shriek. This is like putting a power drill with a hypodermic needle-sized bit into your ear and putting the pedal to the floor. After bath time, I Q-tip the blood and remaining brain from my ear canals, and usually end up with a real good headache, bless their little hearts.
I admit, I've played the Santa card a few times, as in "OK, if you don't stop screaming, I'm gonna call Santa..." What can I say? I have him on speed dial and it only seems fair that I have an ace in the hole when I need one. Besides, nothing else seems to work with a 3 and 5 year-old — I gotta hit 'em where they live, you understand. I also admit to being jealous of them having something to shriek about. I, however, do not. It got me to thinking... what would make me shriek in delight? Well, there's good pizza. Waking up next to Elizabeth Montgomery. (Jesus, that's a whole nother blog right there.) Rush Limbaugh, Glenn Beck and Ann Coulter being burned in effigy -- that would be a delightful shriek heard 'round the world. Dare to dream...