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.

     Today — well, yesterday, since it’s after midnight — was my birthday.

     All I got was grief, with a bit of hardcore depression thrown in for good measure.

     I can only expect the present trend to continue.

     Ya know, I’ve gone through my life trying to be conscientous, going out of my way to do things for other people, and trying to do the right thing.  Sure, like everyone else, I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and really screwed some things up — but I always tried to avoid doing things out of malice and anger.  Sometimes it could not be helped, and I picked myself up and carried on, made amends where they were possible, and really made an effort when I couldn’t.
     When an altercation happens, I try not embarrass or demean people who I care about — or cared about — further by talking a whole bunch of bullshit to everyone and their brother that I’ll have to go back and apologize for later.  Feelings get hurt too easily, and you embarrass yourself in the process if you’ve misrepresented the situation and had to go back on it.

     It is for that reason, and that reason alone, that I tend to keep a lot of the “specifics” of situations to myself.  And sure, I’ve screwed that up a few times, but all in all, I live my life simply, and with a clear conscience.

     And when it so happens that someone knows me pretty well, they’re able to manipulate that part of my character in order to make others believe that I’m some sort of Monster.  It takes a truly sick mind to use that sort of thing to say, “Oh, look, he’s not denying it!  I told you it was true!”
     And it takes a special sort of stupid to believe it, to blindly follow a tale which makes absolutely no sense, and is such a departure from the truth that it wouldn’t even be believable in a made-for-Lifetime-TV movie.

     I am not a Monster.  I have never done anything but try and help certain people, and nearly every time, it has turned out badly.  Other times, I have simply done nothing, which for some people is the absolutely worst thing I could have possibly done.
     But when someone wants to bitch and argue and start a whole bunch of crap, I usually tend to retreat and wait for it to blow over.  And, apparently, this a bad thing, too.

     I am probably going to start blogging about this crap, because it’s been a pain in my ass my entire life, and I’ve absolutely had it with the whole lot.

     And let there be no confusion from any self-victimized ‘tards with delusions of grandeur that I’m “screwing” with them all the time when I’m not: I’m not talking about any bloggers, wives, girlfriends, friends, employees or anyone else except except one very specific specific group.  I don’t care about that drama, because as hard of some of that stuff was to go through at the time, it doesn’t matter, it’s not my drama and I have no emotional attachment to it.  When it’s over, I walk away, done.

     No … I’m talking about Family.

     Two extremely large families, actually, with a literal cast of thousands.

     The ones that I share DNA with.  Or don’t, considering some of the stories.  *rolls eyes*

     It’s time to set the record straight once and for all.

     What started this?

     For the last three weeks, several of them have called me asking for my help.  They need my help and advice, or my expertise.  Nevermind that I’ve helped them my entire life, and been nothing but shit on for it in the absolute worst ways.
     They re-use their vicious lies.  Things that everyone knew was a lie twenty years ago suddenly come back into play as evidence of the new improved lie.  As a nasty little mob, they absolutely villify the object of their hatred with the most vile and disgusting slanders imaginable, never asking my side of the story and having no absolutely no regard for the verifiable truth of the situation.

     And now, after a full year of giving me the silent treatment and stabbing me in the back with their vicious lies, they call me for my help, advice and expertise?  Without so much as an apology?

     Yeah, I’m pissed, and when I calm down, I might change my mind about blogging anything more specific.  But right now, I have five instances in Draft where they’ve done some heinous crap, and a sixth which ties all five together into the biggest, steaming pile of poo I can think of — the kind of absolute bullshit that can ruin a person’s life.

     And I’m going to excercise the self-control they never had and keep it to myself until I calm down.

     But at the same time … this stuff’s been eating away at me for far too long.  They’ve tried to instill their spiteful, vengeful, righteous hatred into me my entire life, and I’ve resisted.  It’s taken a serious toll on me, both physically and mentally.
     I wear my heart on my sleeve.  Everyone around me can see when I get stressed and preoccupied — “Mark, what’s wrong?” and I’ve replied with “Ahhh, nothing….” or blown some stupid pet peeve out of proportion — and I’m honestly beggining to think that I’m losing the battle.

     Maybe it’s time to really set it straight once and for all … 

     …. with names, with witnesses …

     With Verifiable Proof…

     And what will they do when that God they claim to follow won’t help them?  Why should He keep them out of the mess they’ve made?

     Or am I supposed to sit here and do the right thing again and ignore it until the next time, when it will undoubtedly be worse?

     Mmhmm … Decisions, decisions.

     Maybe I should flip a coin…

     Maybe twice …

     Best two outta three …

     Hrm …

     Yeah, this might take a friggin’ book…

     And the funny thing is — I’ll be calm in an hour.

     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…