My head is exploding.
Of all the illnesses I would have picked to make me really and truly sorry for all of my misdeeds, cluster heads are a LITTLE BIT too much. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t that bad.In fact, I KNOW I wasn’t, so God must have me mixed up with someone else. (I have a list of BAD PEOPLE just in case anyone is interested). This is, in the general scheme of things worse than cancer (so my hair fell out, big deal), worse than childbirth (I could have my kids on the side of the road, read a magazine and manage to not swear)….self amputation is about the only thing I can compare it to.
I have all these plans and projects written out and posted and some days (like today), I am glad the guns are put away high enough that I’d have to climb four separate ladders to get my hands on them and the bullets. (That was smart, eh?) Not so good in case of a home invasion, but they would have to get thru the razor wire and the dogs and then find me.
I did find a doctor yesterday in Fresno who can give me my shots in my occipital lobe. IN MY SKULL. Doesn’t hurt and beats driving to SF. Now to get the referral, which looks like TODAY, since my head hurts enough for me to cut it off. After the shots in my skull, it sounds like he can put a little Taser in my head to interrupt the pain signals. IMO, and I’m not a doctor, I hope he puts in the biggest Taser that will fit because a) my head really hurts and b)there’s not much in there anyway. I bet I have forgotten more than a lot of people ever knew.
Really, I do not know what on Earth I did to deserve this but I’m REALLY SORRY.
I tried to suffocate myself the other day….just for your information, it doesn’t work on several levels. My head hurt too much to keep focused and trying to do yourself in with two dogs and a cat on the bed is less than effective. And pillows aren’t airproof if you are the one trying to do yourself in, Nothing like on television. So that was one of those ideas whose time just hasn’t come.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will be better and I can get my list started. In my life, there is no purposeful down time. If I don’t have a headache, it’s hit the deck, which I sort of like. I love a tidy clean house. It’s just been a long six weeks of headaches and my pal Diladid, along with no-puke medicine, no-itch medicine and some kind of accelerate to make it all start working rightnowthisinstant. Oh, and the oxygen. THAT is the part that just injures my vanity. Not the IV’s. Not the shots in my poor flat ass. The oxygen.
And speaking of my ass. I used to have a cute one. Now it is pockmarked with injection sites and is treated more like a pathetic side of below standard beef than anything else. I am rapidly running out of good spots and using my pathetic veins. Sometimes I look at myself and think “picc line. A fuckin’ picc line is next.” And I HATE picc lines. Look them up on YouTube and multiply the discomfort by, oh, a thousand and realize that the damn aquarium tubing drops right into your heart. Loads of fun.
But then, hope springs eternal. Maybe today is my last one. Since the doctors know zero about clusters, it is possible that this one might be my last one. Or the one that lets me just drop dead, crossing the parking lot.
But if that happens, I really have to get the house clean. I would literally die if anyone came into it today. Laundry on the couch. Piles of clothes that will never ever fit me again. An ugly dress I saw at DI!!!!! Ratty shoes. Ratty underpants. And a piles of books I’ve just tossed off the bed. I would trade every brain in my head (which I don’t use anyway) to have a neat gene or twelve.
If cheese didn’t hurt my head, I’d have a little with that whine. (Wine hurts too.) But like my Dad always used to say “You could live in the Dark Hole of Calcutta”. I’m not sure what the heck that meant, but it wasn’t good.
Part Two: Saturday
Woke up with just a little bad head, so hopped into the car to go to the four grocery stores (Grocery Outlet, WalMart, Smart and Final and Savemart). Mike went with me and I just flew around, getting the stuff I always get. No lollygagging. He bought that awful ice cream in a round tub that doesn’t fit in my freezer. Then we park in front of the hotel and unload the car. Stuff the MUST go into the fridge or freezer goes on the right side of the stairs. Everything else, on the left. Why? Because it is a lot of WORK dragging all that stuff upstairs! So I am stowing food as fast as I can and Mike is dragging the bags up….not as fast at the end as he was in the beginning, I might say. If I were that kind of person,
So I get everything put away and am talking to the cat, who thinks she can sit on the stove. My mother fixed her wagon by turning ON the stove when the cats defied her but I think it’s just a cat thing, not a defiance thing, so I just fling her off. She and the little dog are having a territorial war right now. Rocket discovered that if she hides, she can make Baby run. The other dogs are afraid of Baby, because she is usually the hider and then will jump out at the, Halloween-cat style. Rocket doesn’t remember this from time to time, so the chase is on. Baby has learned that Rocket can’t jump up on the bed, so up she comes. Rocket then jumps on the little step stool I have and flings herself up onto the bed…and the chase is over as they try to figure out territory.
And then I get a headache and the day is over. I think maybe I had too much salt on that one potato chip….but then I remember Dr. Nagy telling me that my headaches are in my HEAD, not in the grocery store. So I’m going to drug my own self up with the abortives I have (abortives-ha! They haven;t worked YET but I always try them). If I could drink, I would (alcohol makes me puke AND makes my head hurt). I thin I will cover up my head, turn on the fan and think of the Donner Party. Those folks had some real problems to wrap their heads around. I think if I was a pioneer, I’d be in a shallow grave, about ten miles from home. Really. I’m not cut out for this kind of nonsense.
It’s genetic. My Da had them. His mother had them, as did all of his siblings. All my cousins. My mother had them. Her mother had them. Her brothers had them. Her sister Irene died with a bad headache. They’re all dead. Of course, my Da would be 100, so his mother would be like 140. But still.