So Boxing Day was more like Punching Day. I put in some time this evening punching holes with a sharp awl through many many signatures of book guts, trying to make some headway on filling orders for the Norris sets. I can't complain about the work, though it's a bit monotonous at this stage; my hands and eyes are occupied, but my ears are up for grabs, and I can do my hole-poking in front of the computer and listen to MP3 files, and thus let somebody else whistle for me while I work. I discovered an expanded section of audio available at lds.org, which was uplifting to meander through. I listened to the introduction to the new Spencer W. Kimball manual, a few articles from children's magazine The Friend, and some golden plates. I'm trying to reboot after a tough week and it feels good to be taking in some extra helpings of healthy brain food.
But wait, I'm telling the day in reverse.
So Boxing Day initally was more like Punching Bag Day. Yesterday at my in-laws' house, just after we opened gifts, Rob's speech center went all wierd—a sure sign that he has lost control of his vehicle, is careening toward Migraineland, and he's crossing the double line. Bad news, very bad. It's important to act fast and get drugs into him right away and get him lying down in the dark and quiet, or else it gets scary. More scary, I mean. He was too sick for me to take him home, and we only live a block from Tribal Headquarters. So the regimen began, and I spent the rest of the evening back and forth between my in-laws in the living room and my husband in space. Poor boy. Much later his pain and his brain were finally under control enough for us to load up and make our way home, but by then my own head was aching. Rob went to bed first, and by the time I was on my way, my head was begging for relief. I can sleep this off, I thought. Nope. When I woke up I thought, It's my sinuses. As soon as I'm up and moving, something will shake loose and the pain will stop. Nope. I got up, I showered, I blogged, I tried to think about my day, but whammo! All of a sudden, I was in excruciating pain. Everything from my shoulders up was screaming out. Migraine. My speech center doesn't go haywire, luckily, but I lose the ability to focus and I go nauseated and hypersensitive. The scent of the essential oil I'd put on after my shower (which I usually stop smelling moments after I've put it on) settled over my head like some dense, humid cloud, and I thought I would suffocate. I couldn't get upstairs to the drugs. I couldn't move. It's so odd to have a migraine. I managed to get to my bed and I wished and wished that Rob would come in and find me. Eventually he did come in for something and wondered, I guess, why I was nowhere to be found. He got drugs in me and peeled me grapefruit—that was all I could eat till afternoon. He administered to me, tried to rub my shoulders, etc., and said something that started out, "Oh, I'd forgotten that this happens to you when . . . ." The when is perhaps the subject of my next post. Suffice it for now to say it's been a particularly strenuous week. Luckily, Rob was significantly better so we weren't laid out at the same time. (We're not usually in the habit of tandem migraines—smart of us.) I stayed in bed and tried to rest. Gradually, I could feel the pain change and dissipate somewhat. Rob took The Ancestor out for lunch. When I felt able I got up and made myself a simple but favorite lunch—lambchop and vegies. I almost felt like dancing when the migraine moved into mere bad headache category. What a mercy not to have to suffer with a devil head for as long as usual.
I don't even know why I just wrote all of that. Rob and I both feel sick now, but I don't think it's a bug. I think it's the culmination of a lot of long stress. Not all bad stress, but stress. And okay, some of it was bad. I hope we're both on the mend now. Anyway, we have more grapefruit and lambchops in case further therapy is needed tomorrow.