When these fall to (luckily) one eye or the other, I usually say I could carry on easier if I just had an eye patch. If I could just find a way to block the light that feels like stabbing daggers from penetrating my pupils, I'd be just fine.
Then there's the weird residual effects. This is highly technical so pay attention: While not a "headache", what was previously described to me as nerve damage from past headaches will manifest itself as electrical shocky-type sensations in my ear, like someone is jamming a pencil down my earhole while raking a fire-hot metal backscratcher up and down the side of my face.
And this cycles on and off and on and off and on and off every minute or so for three or four days.
And just about the time I think I cannot possibly microwave my rice pack one more round to quiet it and I think I'm going to go batshit crazy, it stops.
But last night I was done. I was so done with feeling like my eyes were in two different places on my body and I was trapped on the tilt-o-whirl with a hangover without the fun of a party that I rooted around in my drawers for a shot that expired in 2013 (desperation!), and then asked Hubs to give it to me.
I laid on the bed and hiked up my nightgown to show him where he'd have to jab me. He made some wiseacre remark about my almost-nudity. It was the first night we were both under the same roof all week and it's no wonder with our horrid schedules that he might forget what a naked lady looks like. I quickly found and pinched a fat roll (sexy!) and instructed him on the importance of keeping the pen straight up and down and pushing firmly (no innuendo here at all).
He hid his nervousness and did what he was told. He pressed it down and my fat roll slipped right out of my hand before the pen fired. Because of course it did. Shit. We both had to regroup.
He got me on the second try and I'd forgotten that blast of air hurts like a sonofabitch. He quickly bailed to tend to the shorties while I said I was just going to lay there "for a minute".
>This is the part where I should have told him he needed to sit right next to me.<
I had also forgotten how within 30 seconds this stupid shot floods my face with the feeling that it's rearranging my face bones. That the medicine molecules are marching around in my sinuses with tiny sledge hammers, turning my 8 room bungalow into a modern open floor plan loft. They're tearing all the walls out down to the original bricks.
Then it starts spreading everywhere else and I become convinced that I am going to die. This is why I would be a terrible drug addict. Or a drug-tryer-for-the-first-timer. When the effects take hold I'm like, "Oh shit. Someone should call an ambulance immediately."
Except I can't move.
I thought about pounding on the headboard to get his attention. But I just watched the Mommy Dearest marathon on IFC on Sunday and I just thought it a little too...self-centered.
I know that today this sounds utterly ridiculous. However, this was my mindset last night. I was convinced I would die and he would stay up late watching TV and he would come to bed and he wouldn't even notice I wasn't breathing and then in the morning the kids would be late for the bus because I would be dead.
And then I remembered that ToddlerBandit has been a REAL help with not letting me oversleep all the way until my alarm goes off since the sun comes up at ZERO DARK THIRTY now. So at least he would be all like, "MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY" until Hubs finally woke up.
Maybe. But I would still be dead.
So I laid there trapped in my own body like that one dude in the only Metallica video I've ever seen, that Twilight-Zoney one? Yeah. Freaking out and fighting the anxiety and trying not to die instead of just trusting that the drugs would do what they were supposed to do if I just went the eff to sleep.
|Hubs will literally serve me divorce papers over this. |
His Metallica Fan Club membership number is 00001.
Later I heard TB crying after Hubs put him to bed. In my fog, I got up and remedied his situation. He didn't have his usual music, milk, and monster trucks that he needed to peacefully slumber. I stumbled back to bed, somewhat thankful for the push to make my limbs move (the kind of push only moms know) that convinced me if the drugs hadn't killed me in the time I'd been laying there, I was probably safe.
Then I went to sleep and woke up this morning. Not dead. But I still have a headache, and I want to dig my right eye out of my own skull with a rusty spoon. That's what the pirates did. They just had migraines. I'm sure of it.