If you’ve never experienced a migraine or cluster headache, you probably think those who suffer through them are crybabies.  If you’ve ever had a minor migraine, you probably think they’re a piece of cake.  However, when people tell me they have them, I expect them to be like mine, or at least somewhat close.

     I’ve said before that I’ve suffered from them — doctors have told me different things about whether or not they’re migraines, cluster headaches or cluster migraines, or maybe a mixture of things — for over 30 years, but thinking back a little more, I wonder if I didn’t have them from birth.  I can remember a few instances of lying in the floor of a trailer we moved out of when I was four years old, in pain, unable to move, being blinded by the sunlight coming in the bedroom window.  Where most mothers would have taken their children to a doctor and showed some concern, mine simply decided that I had no tolerance for pain.
     As a matter of fact, save for a single trip to the emergency room where I was paralyzed — my father drove me — I never received any actual “treatment” until I was eighteen and able to get my own medical advice.

     I described the pain a few months ago.  It’s constant, persistent, assymetrical, and becomes more intense as time drags on.  Left unchecked, it will develop into something very akin to having a large portion of your skull removed with a jagged ripsaw while someone else digs into the open bone with a high-speed drill.
     If you can’t imagine that, try this: cover a piece of ice in aluminium foil and bite down on it as hard as you can with your most sensitive tooth.  While taking a baseball bat to the back of the head and have a red-hot fire poker jabbed into your eyes repeatedly.
     And now, that you’ve imagined that, imagine that it’s constant.

     It’s a threshhold-of-pain incident where you can’t make it any worse and pass out, and you can’t do anything else to make it tolerable.  Often, you’ll lose control of your bodily functions, causing you to defecate, urinate and vomit all over yourself.  Sometimes, you’ll end up paralyzed — not from fear that movement will cause pain, but because your legs simply won’t work.
     It’s a sort of pain that makes you pray to God to end your life.  Forsaken and alone, it makes you wonder what kind of “loving Father” would allow children to experience that kind of Hell.  Suicide seems logical — if not necessary — to make the pain stop, as you know for certain that Hell will not be as excruciating.  Torture is for pansies!  You curse yourself for not having the ability to die by your own hand, and then curse God for not taking your life for you.  Finally, you have no choice but to relent that there is no God.  You curse your body.  You curse your Life.  You curse everyone around you.  You curse the Universe.
     When it finally ends, you’re so fragile and exhausted you can’t even appreciate the fact that it’s over.  Your memory is cloudy, and if you’re lucky enough to remember everything you did, it’s often hard to understand why.  You probably have a lot of apologizing to do, and have a hard time trying to superimpose “normal” over all of your mania.
     And, more than anything, you’re terrified, knowing that one day, it’ll happen again.

     According to a report I read this morning, I’m not alone. 

The nationwide study of 1,007 migraine sufferers was conducted by The Gallup Organization for Cerenex Pharmaceuticals. It found that the pain of migraine is so excruciating that 35% of sufferers indicate that they have wished they were dead during an attack. In addition, a significant number rated migraine as being more painful than childbirth (19%), a broken bone (28%), arthritis (33%), athletic injuries (42%), and a bad burn (42%).

Ninety-three percent of migraine sufferers have used over-the-counter (OTC) or nonprescription pain relievers to treat their headache. Forty-nine percent of those who take OTC medications noted that these nonprescription pain relievers are not successful in alleviating the pain. A similar number admitted that they take more of these OTC pain relievers than recommended.

Approximately 57% said that migraine makes them feel “out of control,” while 73% stated that their daily activities are limited or impaired, including leisure pursuits (49%), socializing (50%), and driving (45%).

While not a psychological disorder, migraine can have a psychological impact on the sufferer. Fifty-eight percent felt that it has reduced their ability to enjoy life; approximately half have feelings of anxiety (54%) and helplessness (48%); and 41% experience depression.

Migraine affects more than the sufferer. Seventy-two percent noted that it has hurt their ability to take care of family and personal responsibilities, and 64% believe it has a negative effect on family or others around them. “Migraine often impacts the entire family,” explains Margaret Abernathy, director, Headache Treatment Center, Georgetown University Medical Center. “If sufferers are not seeking proper help to manage migraine, they often find themselves retreating to a dark room for the duration of the attack. This obviously has an effect on the sufferers’ ability to function normally in family and social situations.”

     From 7AM last Tuesday morning until around midnight on Friday, I went through one of the worst episodes in years, although the severity changed dramatically from hour to hour.  The last time I can remember one being “Emergency Room” bad was nearly six years ago. The last time I can remember it paralyzing me was maybe ten years ago.  Then again, my memory’s still a bit foggy…
     Regardless, absolutely nothing would help.  Wednesday, I cried the entire day.  Thursday, my legs ceased to work.  I got stuck in the floor in an upright fetal position, unable to move myself onto the bed.  The Wildcat struggled like Hell to move me, all bent up and deadweight, and I was completely unable to help her help me.  Some time later, I drug myself — by my arms — into the bathroom and over the edge of the tub into hot-only water where I laid on my left side for God knows how long.  I couldn’t feel the burn until Friday afternoon.  I incorrectly assumed all my itching was an allergic reaction from the massive amount of Advil I was eating.

     My Wildcat … All she could do was watch helplessly and insist that I get to the hospital to be treated — in retrospect, at least ten times.  I stupidly and stubbornly refused.  Rightfully so, I believe she guessed that since I refused treatment, I probably wasn’t that bad.  A terrible error in judgement on my part…  How could she not think that?  [ Note to my Wildcat: Baby, I am so sorry. You did try, God, and I simply wouldn't let you help. That was really stupid of me. ]
     The truth is, there’s a reason I never want to go.  When you’re blind, half-paralyzed and manic, they make it more difficult with all their paperwork and waiting and stupidity, and it’s easier to just lie there wanting to die.
     Most of the time, even if you a get there, they treat you like a drug addict, a second rate criminal, even though you clearly need pain medication.  After a point, there isn’t a lot they can do but shoot you up and wait it out.  And they’re so antsy at that point, they rarely give you enough to stop the attack… it just makes me a little more manageable.

     On Friday, I finally relented and saw a doctor.  I was immediately referred to the ER, thus skipping a lot of the usual BS.  Sure, I still ended up with the “addict” stigma from the ER doc, but he was righteously chastised by the staff for it.
     Later that day, another regular doctor actually listened, and prescribed me something useful.  He chastised me for waiting so long, and warned me that as I’m getting older, an established headache will be more intense and harder to get rid of.  ”Take your medication as soon as you feel it coming on!  Do not wait like this again!  Next time you may not come out of it so well!”

     It was an altogether different experience.  ER doc aside, they all took really good care of me.  There was concern.  They helped.  They checked up on me.  Very different than the usual McHealthcare fare…

     Do you want fries with that?  Thank you.  Drive through.

     To top it all … I’m certain that there are people who have it even worse.

     I had a nasty migraine starting last night, but I managed to push it away with a ton of salt, a bit of exercise and a massive dose of Advil.  It reminded me…  

     It’s been on my file forever.  “Allergic to Acetominophen.”  Whether it’s Tylenol or Generic.  It gives me migraines.

     As the sufferer of some of the most horrible migraines imaginable for over thirty years — the sort that hurt intensely, and actually cause paralysis if I don’t do something about them ASAP — I’ve had reason to get plenty of pain medication prescribed to me.  I’ve kept my consumption down, too, and never become “addicted” to any sort of pills.  As a matter of fact, I hate taking them, which has resulted in my ending up in the emergency room more than a few times.

     Which brings me to my first reason for distrusting the medical professional intensely…

     These migraines rise up the back of my neck, and eventually consume the entire top of my head and roll down to my cheekbones.  My forehead thickens and swells, as does the back of my neck.  It’s a pain reaction — histamines get produced to fight off something that’s not even there.
     The pain itself is astounding.  According to my aunt who gets the same sorts that I get, “Oh, I’ve had one child.  Even delivery wasn’t anywhere near that painful!”
     If you’ve ever had metal touch your raw bone, or chewed aluminium foil with your teeth, you know that familiar feeling — like an electric shock.  Now imagine that it’s constant.  Imagine that someone has taken a buzz saw, and is actively chopping sections of your cranium.  Now imagine that someone else is taking a high-speed electric drill and drilling sideways through those raw sections of bone.
     Eventually, the neurons of your brain flood with so much pain information that voluntary motor skills begin to cease.  You’re left with a body that knows absolutely nothing but intense pain, and your legs simply won’t work.  And then your hands… 
     Of course, at some point, you have no choice but to get someone to take you to the emergency room.  If you don’t someone will end up taking you when you’re lying in the floor, unable to move…
     The “healthcare professionals” refuse to help you until you fill out paperwork, with hands that won’t work, and you’re trying to remember and relay things to whoever’s taken you there… which is really difficult when you’re hurting so badly you’d seriously consider taking a bullet to the head to make the pain stop.
     Eventually, after all of that time, they see you, and immediately do absolutely nothing for you.  They treat you like a criminal, like you’re a dirty drug addict looking for a fix.  Your frustration begins to show through… Twice I’ve ended up in restraints when I was paralyzed — because they act like I’ll be able to miraculously get up, walk over and cause them physical harm…. RIGHT!
     And eventually, you end up with a $1500 medical bill and went through some three hours of torturous pain, when you could’ve just popped two or three hydrocodones and saved $1500 and two hours of Hell.

     It’s unforgivable.

     The second problem I have is the fact that immediately after they finally get off their lazy asses to actually do something helpful in these situations, I’m not in my right mind.
     This is why they make mothers rest immediately after delivery, and why torture goes hand-in-hand with brainwashing: when you’re under the influence of the worst possible pain imaginable, and it suddenly stops, you are euphoric and emotional.  You are subject to suggestions that you wouldn’t otherwise agree to in a million years.
     Yet, they always usher me towards the billing department… Greed.

     That is unforgivable.

     My third and last reason for mistrust…

      The hydrocodone they give me is nasty.  It works, mind you, when I absolutely need it.  But one of the reasons I only use it as a last resort is because of the massive hangover it gives me.  Once it wears off, I feel like I’ve been on a week-long drinking binge and I may hurt for days, although, the it’s nothing compared to the pain of these migraines.  But it certainly affects my mood and attitude for a few days.

     A couple weeks ago, I was talking to a few people who happen to be part of the medical profession, and relating some of this.
     “What kind of hydrocodone?”
     “Well, the last time they gave me these massive Vicodin which gave me the spins so bad I couldn’t even lie down and sleep,” I told them.  “I prefer the Lorcet Plus.”
      “Uhhh, you shouldn’t take those,” I was warned.
      “Why not?  They’re hydrocodone and ibuprofen.  Every doctor and pharmacist I’ve ever spoken to has told me that I need the pain relief and the anti-inflammatory.”
     “Uhhh, hydrocodone doesn’t have ibuprofen.  APAP is acetominophen.”
     “I’m allergic to acetominophen… it gives me migraines…”
     “Exactly…”

     So basically, they — forty some doctors and pharmacists — have voluntarily lied to me while exacerbating the situation, put me through years of unnecessary Hell, and I’m damn lucky not to have ended up dead from an anurism.
     Thanks, assholes!  Fuck you very much!

     Absolutely unforgivable.

     So there you have it, ladies and gentlemen.  That is why I have no intention of paying my medical bills.  They owe me.  They’ve destroyed my quality of life for all these years.

     And the bad part?  Our healthcare is still better than anyone elses…

Ok.  It’s Saturday morning.  I just woke up.  My eyes are glued together.  My nose is crusty.  My chest is full of crap that just doesn’t want to come up.  In short, I have yet another sinus infection. 

Did I go to the doctor to get his verification of my diagnosis? NO!  

Why? 

Because the cost of going to the doctor these days is just ridiculous.  Besides the fact that I was only well for 10 days after the last time I paid my doctor office co-pay and $200 for a dufflebag full of medicatons that obviously didn’t do it for me.

The only perk I can think of today is that I’m high as a kite on the refill of codeine cough syrup Dr. Dude (hehe, I know you love that, Zacque) called in for me last time.  Thank God for refills.

 I feel for those in this great country that aren’t fortunate enough to have some kind of health coverage.  I mean hell, I’ve got it and I still find myself in the sorry ass position of making a choice between getting well or paying the damn rent and feeding my kid.

It’s ridiculous when the most prosperous country in the world has somewhere around 23% (I know they are lying about the numbers) of its citizens walking around with no way to get well when they get the crud, or worse have serious health complications.

I don’t have it all that bad.  My $200 sick day would have been near $325 had I not had my shitty insurance. 

A friend of my family has a heart issue and needs a transplant.  He’s a great man.  Works hard every day.  Yet, because he is self-employed he’s screwed.  No insurance.  And basically, until an Angel of light (anonymous) arranged a monetary donation of a huge sum, he was told “So sorry, go die”.  Well, maybe it wasn’t quite that harsh, but he could get no help.

As soon as some cash was waved around, it was amazing how fast that he was placed on the list of people waiting for a potential heart donor.

Anyway.  I just figured since it’s Saturday morning and I’m still sick (again), that I would pitch a tizzy fit about how we should be better taken care of.

Unfortunately, even having a fit over it isn’t making the shit in my chest break up.

     Parents are frequently reminded about how resilient their kids are despite seeming so fragile.  I’m sure one friend of ours is thankful how tough hers are.
     On Friday night, her son, daughter and a friend of theirs were in a pretty horrible car accident.

     The son and the friend are both in clear, and already out of the hospital — concussions, internal bleeding and broken bones, and already out. 
     Her 15-year-old daughter, however, wasn’t quite that lucky.

     Above and beyond being bounced around and getting a few nasty bruises, scrapes, gashes and broken bones, she ended up being impaled on the car’s gearshift.
     According to a Paramedic on the scene, she wasn’t taking her predicament lightly.  Though they were attempting to help her, she was dead set on kicking their butts when they tried to move her — so much so that she had to be sedated before being removed from the vehicle and flown to the Hospital.

     She’s going into a surgery in a few hours to repair her broken spine.

     But even with injuries like that, she’s still been moving her hands and feet.  For that matter, she’s been writing notes telling people what she needs. 

     That’s a helluva tough kid, and I have no doubt she’ll pull through with unbelievable speed.
     She’s a Pirate’s kid — these things happen.

     But at the same time, a little but if prayer never hurts.

     Today would have been my sixth Anniversay.  And just in case I was planning to forget that fact, I ended up at the UT Hospital Emergency Room this morning after waking up sick yesterday morning and being far worse today.  Do you know how many times I had to answer stupid questions about, “It says here you’re married, but, oh, you’re seperated?”  Pretty f#$&ing hard to do when you have larangytis, too.

     Speaking was seriously hurting my throat. 
     First, the admissions nurse took down my info and symptoms.  Next, I spoke to a check-in clerk who took down my info and symptoms again.  Then I spoke to a check-in nurse who took down my info and symptoms again.
     By then, my throat was raw and sore as Hell, and couldn’t speak well any more.

     Not to make it any easier, I had to do it all over again to Dr. Fetzer.  Of course, she wouldn’t listen to me, kept interrupting as I was trying to explain, and generally attempted to bust my balls.  Also, she let me know that I’m too stupid to know a mosquito bite from a pimple too.  Yeah, she was a *real* sweetheart.

     I’m sick to death of idiot doctors who treat patients without insurance like criminals.  And quite honestly, there’s no way in Hell I’m going to pay her bill when I get it, either.  She was rude, didn’t do her job and wrong.