Poll: Who is your favorite patron saint of headaches?

First of all, a confession, I am not a Roman Catholic. However, I have always been fascinated by the fact that there is a patron saint for almost everything. There is one for every day of the year, every country, most cities, and almost everything else.  (in case you were wondering, today March 18 is St. Cyril of Jerusalem's day. He was a bishop who fought against Arianism, embraced orthodoxy and was Bishop of Jerusalem during the latter part of the fourth century AD}

There are, in fact, several saints who claim to be the "Patron Saint of headaches" and a few who are the "Patron saints of migraine sufferers". These saints of the church, of course, intervene on behalf of the sufferer, they do not cause headaches. Having coming up with a list of the front-runners for this, I thought I would let democracy decide the favorite. Feel free to vote in the poll at the end of this post.

There are ten saints who share the title "patron saint of headaches", but I have narrowed the field to four.

1. St. Anastasius the Persian (died 628}
        Martyr, originally a Persian called Magundat. Once a magician, Anastasius was a soldier in the army of King Khusrow II, ruler of Persia, when that ruler carried the Holy Cross from Jerusalem to Persia. He was so impressed with the relic and with the demeanor of the Christians that he left the army, became a Christian, and then a monk in Jerusalem. After seven years, Anastasius went to Persia to convert his own people. He was taken prisoner and promised honors by King Khusrow if he denied Christ. Remaining constant in the faith, Anastasius was strangled and beheaded with 68 or 70 other Christians on January 22, 628. His remains were taken to Palestine, and later Rome.


2. Saint Bibiana (d. 363
      Her parents, Saint Flavian of Acquapendente and Dafrosa of Acquapendente, were martyred in the persecution of Julian the Apostate, and Vivian and her sister Demetria were turned over to awoman named Rufina who tried to force her into prostitution. Upon her continued refusal, Vivian was imprisoned in a mad house, then flogged to death. A church was built over her grave, in the garden of which grew an herb that cured headache and epilepsy. This and her time spent with the mentally ill led to her areas of patronage.


3. Saint Denis (died 258}
      Missionary to Paris, France. First Bishop of Paris. His success roused the ire of localpagans, and he was imprisoned by Roman governor. Martyred in the persecutions of Valerius with Saint Rusticus and Saint Eleutherius. Legends have grown up around historture and death, including one that has his body carrying his severed head some distance from his execution site. Saint Genevieve built a basilica over his grave. His feastwas added to the Roman Calendar in 1568 by Pope Saint Pius V, though it had been celebrated since 800. One of theFourteen Holy Helpers.


4. St. Teresa of Avila 1515-1582
      Born to the Spanish nobility, the daughter of Don Alonso Sanchez de Cepeda and Doña Beatriz. She grew up reading the lives of the saints, and playing at “hermit” in thegarden. Crippled by disease in her youth, which led to her being well educated at home, she was cured after prayer to SaintJoseph. Her mother died when Teresa was 12, and she prayed to Our Lady to be her replacement. Her father opposed her entry to religious life, so she left home without telling anyone, and entered a Carmelite house at 17. Seeing her conviction to her call, her father and family consented.Soon after taking her vows, Teresa became gravely ill, and her condition was aggravated by the inadquate medical help she received; she never fully recovered her health. She began receiving visions, and was examined by Dominicans and Jesuits, including Saint Francis Borgia, who pronounced the visions to be holy and true.She considered her original house too lax in its rule, so she founded a reformed convent of Saint John of Avila. Teresa founded several houses, often against fierce opposition from local authorities. Mystical writer. Proclaimed a Doctor of the Church on 27 September 1970 by Pope Paul VI.




Note all the information for this post came from either /saints.sqpn.com/ or Catholic Online. 



    

What shall I do now?

What am I to do now?

I stand, suddenly, my world goes black and I fall down again.

There appears to be no end to this living nightmare.

So what do I do?

The choices are there- to live with this or end it.

The only choice is life, which means a daily fight-

One that is possible, but sometimes seems impossible.

But though the fight will be long, and hard, and even if it means walking through hell itself, I will fight.

And, Lord, with you at my side, giving  me strength,

Preparing a table with the bread of life and the wine of salvation before this horrible, invisible enemy, I will prevail.

If I survive, it is with your grace. If this disease takes my life, I will live in you.

Either way, Lord, one day, you shall free me.

Then, I shall walk and not faint, run and not be weary, for there I shall be free. 

The Battle

The Battle

Here I am again- silent and terrified in the midst of this bloody and never-ending battle.

This constant struggle between two diseases vying for control of my body.

I fight with weapons old and new- with potions, pills, wires, shocks and prayer.

The medicines grant relief-for a time, a short reprieve from the fight, hours gained to live a bit, but with a price, knowing that I must fight again.

In truth, there is not enough morphia to win the battle, only to hold it back for a time.

Wires and shocks also grant relief.

But still, the fight goes on.

I long to surrender sometimes, to let the diseases win, but the spirit within me and all my prayers tell me that is not an option.

And so, I fight on. I crawl upstairs, dragging my broken and battered body through the field of battle and I curl up on a bed and pray.

I pray for the battle to cease and for rest and strength to face what may come.

Though the battle doesn’t cease, I hear a voice telling me to put the armor on, not to waver, but to fight on, and with His armor and His strength, I will win. 

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.