When I hoped for new beginnings, this isn't what I had in mind.
The year started out typically. Winter arrived in January.
Everyone is whinging about how they can't wait for Summer. Not me. There's a song by Armin van Buuren called "Winter Stayed" (and ironically it's the "on the beach" mix). Still, the title sums it up for me. Winter Stayed. I'd like for it to stay. All too soon, we will be thrust back into the hot, muggy, insect filled atmosphere with the inability to escape from the blinding sunlight, and I'm just not looking forward to it. I always mean it when I say that my feelings wouldn't be hurt if I never saw another Summer. There are not enough gifs or enough words to describe just how much I loathe, abhor, and detest the summertime.
So now that we've chatted about the weather...
Did I mention that already?
The year was going quite typically. No more colourful Winter Wonderland lights, gray days, and lots of free time for me to work on my books. I want to release Insomnia circa Spring of this year. (I can't wait to share the cover! Casey Bond has done a spectacular job once again!) And in 2016, I'm going to begin releasing the series. (I'm having heart palpitations just thinking about it!)
I didn't make any new year's resolutions for 2015.
But I did have grandiose plans to have some down time to spend time with my fictional loved ones from the series, while alternating with perfecting the stories in Insomnia. (My grandiose plans just aren't as grandiose as they sound, are they? I'm a boring writer type though, so what did you expect?)
So 2015 began, full of hope and expectation,
But it quickly became a year filled with fear and trepidation.
With inspiration in my heart, and coffee in my cup,
I sat down at my desk, and then something came up...
I'm all over the place here, and I apologize.
On Friday morning, I had a bad migraine.
That's nothing out of the ordinary. The weather is one of my biggest triggers, and it shifted from somewhere around 5 degrees to 41 degrees. I expected this to happen. It's never convenient when it does occur. The more convenient time would have been in the evening when my husband was home from work, and we were just sitting around doing nothing, but I just can't seem to plan these things around my schedule. It was like four in the morning. I woke my husband, and we dealt with it.
When you have a chronic illness of any kind (I have chronic migraines, among several other illnesses), your time is not your own. You're on your body's schedule, and it's like having a horrible boss. You have to do what it says. Sometimes I don't, which profits little for me, but I get angry and I want to dictate what goes on in my life, and I throw a bloody tantrum about how it's not fair, and things still don't change. That's just how my life works. The squeaky wheel doesn't get the grease in this case. It simply gets ignored.
Friday, I spent the day lying around the house and resting. I didn't eat much. Any time I get sick, even if it's the sniffles, the first thing to go is my appetite. My body just shuts it down. Five minutes ago, I could have wanted a 72 oz steak, but the second my body is attacked by the germs/pain, my appetite disappears. But Saturday, I returned to my regularly scheduled life. Then Sunday, another migraine hit. Again, this is expected. We had another weather shift. It was no big deal...until it happened again Sunday night. That's when I knew something wasn't right.
To make an already long and incredibly boring story short, I have status migrainous. It occurs either when a migraine sufferer has had a migraine for over 72 hours, or has been attacked with back to back migraines for more than 72 hours. I'm the second option. The problem is I'm a difficult patient to treat. I'm allergic to so many prescription medications that are supposed to help me. I've had severe allergic reactions that could have ended my life. Doctors aren't comfortable giving me triptan drugs, because of my stroke risk. They're not comfortable giving me Migranal, which is a nasal spray. They're not comfortable giving me certain medications because of my immediate family's medical history. They're not comfortable with this medication or that medication, because of my reaction to this medication, and that medication, because of this reaction, and it's just a vicious cycle. (The ironic thing is that doctors often try to prescribe the medications that have almost killed me every time I'm in the ER.)
If I become a diabetic, like my mother and every odd numbered child on her side of the family (I'm the first born), I'm wondering how the doctors are going to treat that if turns out that I'm allergic to the diabetes medication. The good news is that there's a chance I can change my diet and not have to worry about medication if I win the diabetes lottery.
Welcome to my nightmare.
So the thing is, these migraine attacks aren't going to end soon. I'm a difficult patient because my body hates me, but I've survived worse, and I'm sure I'll survive this as well.
I won't come out unscathed. I never do. But I will get through this. I keep telling myself this. Lying around crying because I don't want to accept this as my new normal isn't helping much, and it only makes my head and my eyes throb worse.
For the last four days, I have been unable to have the lights on. I have to do everything in the dark, because it hurts so bad. My electronic devices are dimmed as low as possible, and it's still difficult to look at them. My television is dimmed as well. Unfortunately, cartoons are the only shows that display well. Everything else is too dark.
I've been unable to eat a meal. I've been sure to drink as much as possible, and I've been living on dry cereal for the most part. I'm quite stroppy, and if I weren't so weak, I'd probably be homicidal. That's four days worth of pain and the hunger talking. Please don't take me seriously.
I haven't worked since Saturday. I miss my fictional loved ones, and that's terribly depressing. My priorities are so out of order, because throughout this ordeal, all I can think about is whether or not my career is over. That's selfish. I shouldn't be worried about my career. But I am. I love being a writer/author/whichever you prefer. I hadn't planned on giving it up any time soon.
My husband has been great through all of this. I've had to rely on him for nearly everything. He's had to live in the dark along with me, and watch shows on the television that I'm fairly sure he can barely see. Thankfully when he needs to turn on lights, I can retreat to my metaphorical grave--the bedroom. I haven't really left my bed unless it was absolutely necessary.
That's really all I have for now. It was nice to do a normal person activity, like post a blog. I'm sure I'll pay for it later though. Everything has a price.
I should go before my vision begins to resemble a Picasso painting.
Perpetually Paused in the Postdrome Phase...
Cheers...
