September 5, 2011
Labour Day.
Last long weekend before the beginning of the new school year.
As hard as this is for me to say, because I am incredulous myself, I am thrilled to be returning to teaching.
Thrilled.
I'm sure that'll change by the end of next week, but right now I am thrilled.
After the summer I've had, which includes all the things I shared and all the things I didn't, I am looking forward to the routine and order that comes to my world with the introduction of an overload, four course each term teaching schedule.
Routine and order.
The two things I crave and for reasons I have yet to fathom, the hardest to attain.
Lots of things happen to young people when they hit puberty.
And from some of the kids I've seen lately, that can be as young as nine, which really freaks me out when I consider what I was like at nine.
But I digress.
I started puberty at twelve.
And at thirteen, puberty gave me an extra special "welcome to the world of adult women."
Migraine headaches.
From 13 to about 18, I was routinely absent from school, suffering from yet another panic inducing, complete loss of vision in my right eye making it look like snow on a tv screen, head in a vice being tightened by faceless, malicious people, lock me in my room with the blinds down, a bucket for spew, and for the love of god don't breathe because it causes even more exruciating pain migraine headaches.
My mother would be at home, a rare morning off, when the school would call asking her to come and get me before I curled into the fetal position on the office floor, bellowing in pain and agony.
They could last for one day, two if I was really lucky.
Leaving me, afterwards, exhausted, nauseous and thankful it had left.
For now.
Nothing helped.
Nothing.
And I had it all.
Even CAT scans and MRIs.
The cause was never identified.
For whatever reason, around 18 they stopped.
Appearing once, in my mid twenties, for a week solid as I prepared to leave my first husband.
That was a week I'll never forget, no matter how badly I want to.
Every once in a while, I'll get a glimmer that one may be on it's way.
A spot in my right eye, my own personal migraine early warning system.
During our vacation, this happened twice.
Which didn't surprise me too much given the unbelievable week we had before we left.
Most of which I didn't share in here.
Some things have to remain private.
I am beginning to suspect that my body is trying to tell me that in spite of my belief that I can handle anything, I actually may have a limit.
And when that limit is reached, when I can mentally, physically, emotionally take no more, the migraines appear as a sign that the system known as Dawne is on the brink of complete malfunction.
Destruction is probably more accurate.
Saturday morning, I woke up with the tell tale spot in my right eye.
And it was big.
That's not good.
I popped some Tylenol with codeine and went back to bed and pretty much stayed there for the day.
Getting up only to have dinner with Mum at the nursing home and followed by grocery shopping, tolerable because almost no one goes for their groceries on a Saturday evening.
Groceries were a must before the kids started fighting with the dogs over food.
Once home, groceries put away, Em reminded me of my promise to see the Empire Theater Regent Mall's Fan Favourites showing of The Breakfast Club.
An all time Dawne fave.
So after groceries and before out 11.15 pm departure time, I laid in bed, quietly, Frankie beside me for unconditional love and support, and by the time we were ready to go, the spot had gone.
Not the pain.
Just the spot.
Same thing on Sunday.
But things have to be done, migraines or not, so it was off to Quaker meeting and then to Costco.
Costco.
I'll have to talk about that later.
Only because I am still trying to figure it out for myself.
When I went to bed last evening, around 9.30, to read before falling asleep, the pain had abatted to a faint ache.
A reminder that unless I somehow destress my life, more will follow.
As if I didn't know that already.
A weekend of pain or not, it was also a weekend of discoveries.
Chiefly that our new cat, whose name has been changed from Houdini to Dibley (yes, as in Vicar of. . .) is calm and peaceful for a reason unlike any other we have encountered before.
He's deaf.
Which so explains why, the first time the dogs ever laid eyes on him as he rolled around our front yard and purred in my arms, he never flinched at the canine clamour spewing forth from behind our kitchen window.
Or why he didn't bat an eye when down in the basement with Em, who accidentally let go of the washer lid resulting in a slam-bam I heard two floors up in my room, while I nursed my migraine.
Or why we can literally sneak up on him, especially the dogs, which always results in a hiss and if they're really lucky, a scratch.
It's miraculous that a deaf cat survived as long as he did outside on his own.
He's a pretty special guy.
For the rest of the pets, the novelty of the new cat has worn off, and they now treat him the same as they treat each other.
Except, of course, for Goblet.
Who remains completely and utterly inhospitable.
Other than forcing herself downstairs for the litter box and some chow, she has resolutely refused to leave our bedroom.
In protest.
Not to the point of a hunger strike, I mean, let's remember about whom we are speaking, but a protest nonetheless.
A Goblet protest.
Like things are crazy enough around here as it is.
This morning, Stephen and I are heading into work to prepare for the beginning of classes before the faculty onslaught begins.
Afterwards, we're seeing The Debt with Em.
And then we're bringing Jasper over to introduce the final feline to our family of cavorting canines and ferocious felines.
No wonder I have migraines.
Title Lyric: Migraine Headache by Esham
No comments:
Post a Comment