The migraine started last Tuesday night. I spent New Year's eve throwing up and wishing I were unconscious. I still have it. I went to the doctor and got a pain blocker, so at least now I can function. How much of this is bottled up misery over Jesse. How much about the newly stressful job? An early sign of menopause? I can't say. I sat with my new doctor and we made a list of everything I've tried to deal with migraines over the years: depakote, propanalol, amitryptaline, celebrex, gabapentin, topamax, prozac, all the triptans, relafen, butalbital, naproxen, vicodin, and more I can't remember. Now, the only two that seemed to work, have let me down: vicodin, and a triptan. Turns out, says my doctor, that they work against each other.
Because she's my new doctor, I had to tell her about Jesse. He's a condition, now. Grief. A factor. The pain blocker seems to work well enough to get me to work. I stare at the prescriptions on my desk and wonder how I'm going to make it through the next month and a half. February 8th, a Sunday, marks two years.