Worst things that can be said to Migraine patients

Here is the list of the worst things that could and have been said to Migraineurs. I would like to thank all those at Ronda's Migraine page for their generous contribtuions.

Worst things that can be said to a migraine patient:

1. Migraines, they have treatments for that now.

2. Headaches happen

3. Have you tried aspirin?

4. You shouldn't be allowed in school with migraine.

5. Get over it.

Well, at least it is not life-threatening.- from neuro

Oh, what caused THIS one?"

Have you tried seeing a different doctor?

"Have you tried researching on the internet to see how to stop them"

“That hair colour doesn't go with your complexion, you look like a whore." (I presume this comment took place with the deathly pale complexion that frequently occurs with migraine.}

"Have you heard about that new drug, imitrex?"

“Oh, I just put a smile on my face and work through it”

Drink a margarita

"Get a job and get over it!"

Your not doing enough to help yourself - Doctor at Pain Clinc.

Have you tried {insert over-the-counter drug name}? That's what I take - Said by too many people to count.

I don't like taking pain pills

He's a drug addict

Maybe if you just stop thinking about it all the time, it would go away.

"I thought bright lights helped migraines"

“I know someone who let Jesus into her life and her migraines vanished.”

"Why don't you stop being such a loner and make some friends?"

"We all get headaches...."

You always have a headache

Are you sure they are migraines?

Oh, I also have migraines (!) but I wouldn't ever take drugs, I only rub in some peppermint oil."

“ Have you taken Aleve?”

 “A headache can't possibly last 5 days!”

“ Hey at least it's not a brain tumor!”

“Come on it can't be that bad you're talking!”

“ You need to drink chamomile tea and take magnesium.”

“Your migraines make you an inconvenience to others and a detriment to society.”- said by a clergy person

Semper Fidelis

It was a December evening and the monster known as migraine was winning the battle.

The pain was torturous, unbearable and the Marine, who in his time had seen too many battlefields, knew that he could help her win this one.

Semper Fidelis is his motto, and that of the Corps he so esteems, and in a way, that of the Church he serves. So he helps and takes her to the hospital where stronger weapons will help push the enemy back.

In the Emergency room, the Marine stands by her side as she is poked, and a line is placed.

This Maginot line is meant to give relief, but like its namesake, the enemy breaks through.

Medications are ordered and pushed into the line.

He stands by as the unthinkable happens- the medication drips too quickly.

She starts to sleep. A doctor notices and asks him to “keep her awake”.

She asks for stories and he tries to keep her attention with stories he told his children,

But he sees her slip into unconsciousness again. 

Her breathing drops too quickly- ten breaths a minute, nine, seven, six.

Suddenly, doctors flood the room and push medications to reverse the damage and give oxygen.

Still, he stands by her side.

He remembers seeing comrades fight this before, and he prays, knowing she will win.

In that moment, he embodies the principles of two organizations he loves most, the Marine Corps and the Church- he remains faithful to his friend and to God.

 In that moment, the Marine disappears leaving only the person of Christ, the good shepherd going after that one lost sheep,

And rejoicing when that sheep is found.  

A Letter to Mom

I used to run to you when I got hurt because you were the only one who could take it away.

You dried my tears, told me everything would be ok and held me.

You taught me so many things- you taught me to live despite pain, you taught me to put others first.

You are my mother and you did what mothers do.

When the headache began, you dropped everything-traveled to another state and took care of me. You thought nothing of spending a night next to hospital bed when my brother was getting married in 2 days, and you managed to be there for both of us then.

You told me that I could always call you- no matter the pain, because you would rather hear from me than have me do anything rash.

You fought with physicians for me.

And again, you thought nothing of hopping a plane when the school informed you that I might have had a stroke. Though I fought you, you were determined to have me home.

When the doctors and experts told you that I might not finish high school or be able to attend college and graduate on time, you told me I could.

I graduated from high school on time- you sent the doctor who had said I wouldn’t go an announcement of the fact.

And I knew you were proud of me then.

In college, you stood by me when the doctors had me on too much medication.

The one time I asked you to come due to a medication problem, you came.

And it was because of you that I took the path less traveled and wanted to go into the ministry. You supported me; you let me make the choice.

And so I went to seminary and you listened when the professors called me a liability. You did not believe them.

So what has changed now, Mom?

You get mad now if I talk about the pain.

You yell at me when I do too much when I feel well, though I learned it from you.

I know that Graves’s disease and pain are messing with your brain,

And maybe they have taken part of you.

Now, I dare not let the mask down before you, but I pretend that I am ok, 

Even when I long to tell you the truth, I can’t.

I try to make you happy and fail.

I don’t know what to do anymore to make you happy.

But I miss you and I love you.

Stiff Upper Lip

Stiff upper lip

“Don’t cry,” I am told.

Maybe if I keep my upper lip stiff, no one will need to know what is going on behind the smile.

Maybe then I can convince others that I am alright and, if I do it long enough, can I convince my family, my friends, my self?

No one must know of the silent fight within- the fight that forces me to pretend.

This fight to show no pain and smile when I am felled by this disorder.

No one must know that inside, I long to run to someone, hold out my arms cry, and have the tears wiped away, like they were when I was four. Only then, all pain would disappear after the tears were wiped away and I would play again.

But, still, the smile hides the pain well.

The jibe covers the tears  that long to come after the tenth fall of the day.

You, see, I smile and I laugh not only to hide my own fear, but so I do not have to see what to me is worse, the fear and pain in your eyes that you cannot conceal.

You haven’t had nearly as much practice.

You haven’t practiced this art, this game of pretending for thirteen years. You didn’t learn it from your mother’s knee. I did.

But if smiling, gritting one’s teeth, and keeping a stiff upper lip, and a sense of humor are my weapons against this beast, then I am well armed for this never ending battle.

And if these are the weapons of a bygone age, and two generations battered by war, they are also the weapons of those who triumphed.

So I smile and answer that “I am well.” When I am not.

I joke when I fall due to the fact that there is a faulty signal between my brain and my heart.

I know that I do this to survive, just another weapon in the fight, just another piece of armor to keep me alive and fighting another day.

And one day, I will run to my Lord, and my tears will be wiped away, the pain will disappear for ever and I will be victorious.