creative nonfiction Second Draft
For Now
I sat up immediately in bed, eyes wide and arms scrambling to move the covers away. Moose chirps at me in shock and dashes under the bed. This does not matter. The only thing that matters is the distance between me and the bathroom and right now it is too far. I have sense to make sure the door is closed behind me before running to the room at the end of the hall, memory serving me well in the blackened night. Rough carpeting under my feet hitches on the socks I wore to sleep. The blue night light in the bathroom was my homing signal. I ran in and kneeled at the base of the toilet, the waves of nausea churning and churning like a storm inside me. I was dry heaving to no avail. The shock of it all wouldn’t leave. Sweat gathered at the nape of my neck and my hands were moist as I pushed hair behind my ears. Saliva flowed in my mouth, copper tanged, making me believe every time I spit into the basin would be the time something else came up. I could hear the vague scratching at the base of my door down the hall and the flow of water in the pipes of the sink. I tried to stand, hoping I could make it to the medicine my neurologist had given me for nausea. My vision blacked out and I nearly fainted, narrowly grabbing the sink.
There is a constant pain in my head that never goes away. I’m aware this seems impossible. However, about four years ago, on August 20, 2010 I got a headache that I would rate a 7 on a scale of 1 to 10. It never went away. Since that time pain has been largely ruling my life. It controls most of my work, schooling, relationships and emotions.
The ceiling shook and the bungee cords snapped the figure back into place. Echoes of grunting and cursing reverberated off the undecorated walls in the cavernous space. A smack sounded loud and the entire figure shook violently. The sound of heavy metal was all I could hear. Somebody yelling at me, telling me that I could do better. Tears were streaming down my face as my fist connected with the rubber dummy’s face. The thought of how much pain was surging through my head caused my knees to soon join in on the frenzy. Hit after hit the dummy just snapped back into place, the stoic grimace that was etched into the rubber always staring back at me. In my rage all I wanted to do was destroy it. But when I stopped to finally catch my breath, I looked down and saw my hands. They were red and raw, a few knuckles had started bleeding and there was bruising already forming around the rings I wore. I didn’t need to roll up my pant leg to know the damage I had done to my knees. I slid to the ground and put my head on my knees as my sobs overtook me. Trying to hit out the sadness hadn’t worked, not this time.
I didn’t take the news of my migraines very well. Perhaps about as well as anyone else at age 15 would. I got Angry. Angry I wasn’t getting better. Angry I was in pain all of the time. Angry nobody understood. Angry my doctors were assholes who had never once had a migraine so where did they get off telling me how I should be feeling? So angry I started punching things. The bruises on my knuckles did nothing but distract me for a little.
“So are there…I mean, do you treat other patients like me? Where the pain never goes away?”
He nodded.
“Oh yeah, there are a lot of them. Not as many that never get relief, but you’re not the only one.”
I tried not to frown. I’d hoped if I was the only one that perhaps that was why we hadn’t had any success. It was selfish of me to think. No, it was hopeful. I don’t think anyone should suffer like this. I really wouldn’t wish this on anyone.
“So what’s the outlook like? For people like me?”
He took a breath and paused, lacing his fingers together as he clasped his hands.
“Well there are two things that can happen. There’s the path you’re on, trying different things and finding a balance where something works, but you aren’t so entirely tired that you can’t function.”
Oh great. That’s awesome.
“And then there’s the opioid route which we obviously want to avoid with you completely. That leads to addiction and then you may be great for six months, but then you start getting rebound.”
I just nodded. I knew very well about narcotics and rebound headaches. They were the worst and I was lucky to be so afraid of them personally that I just gave up on drugs entirely.
“So pretty much, nothing new? We’re on just on the same track?”
“Well a lot of my patients have had migraine free moments or days, just not you.”
Oh well great, way to make me feel awesome about myself, Doc.
I just wanted answers.
Chronic pain, particularly but not only, constant pain is something that very easily leads to depression. I mean, why be happy when you want to rip off your head? Why smile when it’s easier to feel apathetic? Why do much of anything at all? Depression is something that hit me strong and fast, like a bad reaction to takeout. At first I thought it was nothing, and then it was all I could think about. Everything felt like it dropped out from under me. It is a constant struggle. One that usually ends with me telling myself to just be positive for a little, just for those few key hours at school or at work and then I can go home and sleep or cry or whatever I need that day. That’s been working for me. For now.
I sat up immediately in bed, eyes wide and arms scrambling to move the covers away. Moose chirps at me in shock and dashes under the bed. This does not matter. The only thing that matters is the distance between me and the bathroom and right now it is too far. I have sense to make sure the door is closed behind me before running to the room at the end of the hall, memory serving me well in the blackened night. Rough carpeting under my feet hitches on the socks I wore to sleep. The blue night light in the bathroom was my homing signal. I ran in and kneeled at the base of the toilet, the waves of nausea churning and churning like a storm inside me. I was dry heaving to no avail. The shock of it all wouldn’t leave. Sweat gathered at the nape of my neck and my hands were moist as I pushed hair behind my ears. Saliva flowed in my mouth, copper tanged, making me believe every time I spit into the basin would be the time something else came up. I could hear the vague scratching at the base of my door down the hall and the flow of water in the pipes of the sink. I tried to stand, hoping I could make it to the medicine my neurologist had given me for nausea. My vision blacked out and I nearly fainted, narrowly grabbing the sink.
There is a constant pain in my head that never goes away. I’m aware this seems impossible. However, about four years ago, on August 20, 2010 I got a headache that I would rate a 7 on a scale of 1 to 10. It never went away. Since that time pain has been largely ruling my life. It controls most of my work, schooling, relationships and emotions.
The ceiling shook and the bungee cords snapped the figure back into place. Echoes of grunting and cursing reverberated off the undecorated walls in the cavernous space. A smack sounded loud and the entire figure shook violently. The sound of heavy metal was all I could hear. Somebody yelling at me, telling me that I could do better. Tears were streaming down my face as my fist connected with the rubber dummy’s face. The thought of how much pain was surging through my head caused my knees to soon join in on the frenzy. Hit after hit the dummy just snapped back into place, the stoic grimace that was etched into the rubber always staring back at me. In my rage all I wanted to do was destroy it. But when I stopped to finally catch my breath, I looked down and saw my hands. They were red and raw, a few knuckles had started bleeding and there was bruising already forming around the rings I wore. I didn’t need to roll up my pant leg to know the damage I had done to my knees. I slid to the ground and put my head on my knees as my sobs overtook me. Trying to hit out the sadness hadn’t worked, not this time.
I didn’t take the news of my migraines very well. Perhaps about as well as anyone else at age 15 would. I got Angry. Angry I wasn’t getting better. Angry I was in pain all of the time. Angry nobody understood. Angry my doctors were assholes who had never once had a migraine so where did they get off telling me how I should be feeling? So angry I started punching things. The bruises on my knuckles did nothing but distract me for a little.
“So are there…I mean, do you treat other patients like me? Where the pain never goes away?”
He nodded.
“Oh yeah, there are a lot of them. Not as many that never get relief, but you’re not the only one.”
I tried not to frown. I’d hoped if I was the only one that perhaps that was why we hadn’t had any success. It was selfish of me to think. No, it was hopeful. I don’t think anyone should suffer like this. I really wouldn’t wish this on anyone.
“So what’s the outlook like? For people like me?”
He took a breath and paused, lacing his fingers together as he clasped his hands.
“Well there are two things that can happen. There’s the path you’re on, trying different things and finding a balance where something works, but you aren’t so entirely tired that you can’t function.”
Oh great. That’s awesome.
“And then there’s the opioid route which we obviously want to avoid with you completely. That leads to addiction and then you may be great for six months, but then you start getting rebound.”
I just nodded. I knew very well about narcotics and rebound headaches. They were the worst and I was lucky to be so afraid of them personally that I just gave up on drugs entirely.
“So pretty much, nothing new? We’re on just on the same track?”
“Well a lot of my patients have had migraine free moments or days, just not you.”
Oh well great, way to make me feel awesome about myself, Doc.
I just wanted answers.
Chronic pain, particularly but not only, constant pain is something that very easily leads to depression. I mean, why be happy when you want to rip off your head? Why smile when it’s easier to feel apathetic? Why do much of anything at all? Depression is something that hit me strong and fast, like a bad reaction to takeout. At first I thought it was nothing, and then it was all I could think about. Everything felt like it dropped out from under me. It is a constant struggle. One that usually ends with me telling myself to just be positive for a little, just for those few key hours at school or at work and then I can go home and sleep or cry or whatever I need that day. That’s been working for me. For now.