Running for your life through thick mud. Stirring bread dough. Struggling to breathe through crashing waves. Attempting to understand a group of people speaking a foreign language. Groping for sight in warm, wet cave. Longing to hear through earplugs and a hat.
I had a spectacular migraine Monday evening. One minute I was fine, finishing dinner with the family and looking forward to what remained of a pleasant evening. I wasn't prodromal, and there was no aura. Someone snuck up behind me and slugged me with a ballbat behind my right ear. Within two minutes that same evil SOB pushed an icepick from the inside of my head out through my right eyeball, and left it there.
The sound of rushing water over conversation. Intense rain on your windshield at dusk. Rotting manure over a flower garden. The taste of spoiled milk after a cookie. Sandpaper on a pillow.
The sudden intensity of this headache left me breathless and sweating. I ran for meds, praying that they would work. When I could see again I went to my room. The medication helped, and after an hour I was able to sleep. I slept for 10 hours.
Jogging in dry sand. Searching for a lost child in thick fog. Communicating an urgent need to people in another country. The slow-motion horror movie chase scene.
Yesterday was an easy day. The patient load was light, the problems of reasonable complexity, the paperwork underwhelming. But the headache hangover was appalling. I felt like I was incoherently groping for words; as if the inside of my head was a whirlpool of molasses with pieces of needed information floating just out of reach in the muddy swirl. It felt like an echo chamber. My hearing had a delay switch. The relay from brain to mouth was set at 'stutter'. As the day progressed my level of anxiety rose to full nausea. Everything I need is in there somewhere. What if I can't make it all connect?
People wonder why I don't make Babygirl go to school when she tells me she has a migraine.
Praying for better brain function today.