The lost weekend
Posted on February 18th, 2013
This past weekend was a complete bust. Saturday morning I took Pea to Highland dance lessons, and on the way out, I started getting a very bad migraine. No warning, nothing. Just WHAM. Nausea, light and sound sensitivity…and excruciating pain.
If you’re a long-time reader of the blog, you know all about my migraines, how they used to take one out of every two or three days of my life (but are now much better), how I still managed to function and practice law and parent, just in a lot of freaking pain. For ten years, I tried various preventative meds and their various side effects and finally ended up getting Botox every few months. It’s helped so much it’s almost miraculous. It was getting my life back AND looking younger. Win/win!
But no matter what, once or twice a year I get the mother of all migraines, a migraine that makes me want to jump out a window or claw my eyes out or something just to make it stop. This is the migraine that will actually get me to call M and say, “Please take me to the ER so they can give me dilaudid.” I hate going to the ER. (I will be paying for 2012′s ER visits well into 2013; yes, that’s with “good” insurance.)
About 1 PM Saturday, after I kitchen sinked the migraine (triptan, ibuprofen, caffeine, anti-emetics, sinus meds), we went to urgent care. They gave me a script for percocet and phenergan. I was relieved it was so fast and efficient. We dropped the scripts off at the pharmacy, then M took us home and went back to pick up the meds.
Except…then the phone rang. The pharmacy called to say the FNP hadn’t written her DEA number on the script for percocet, and it couldn’t be dispensed. And the urgent care was closed. I could go to another urgent care or the ER, or I could cry in my dark office. I stayed in my office, made it through the night, and woke up still in pain.
This morning, M went and got the script from the pharmacy, took it back to the urgent care (these things may not be called in or faxed, but must be hand-carried), they wrote the DEA number on it, he took it back to the pharmacy, and then it was finally filled. He made me eat and then I took one percocet. It helped, but not all the way. I took a second one.
So that was that for the pain, but that is a lot of percocet for me. I was so loopy. I think I had a functional IQ of about 70 for most of the day. I had just enough in me to do stuff around the house and be unhappy that I wasn’t able to read, write, or work on the podcast. (But I did dishes twice, rolled sushi, made chicken soup with the remains of a rotisserie chicken, washed a few loads of laundry, and cleaned the bathroom. Those magic eraser things really do work!)
I don’t understand why people like narcotics well enough to be addicted to them. I could see being happy to be out of pain, sure. But this out of it feeling is dreadful. (And the nausea! Nausea with the headache, nausea with the narcotics. Blech. Thank goodness for phenergan.)
I’m mad that I lost two days. Sure, it’s nice to be caught up on laundry and cooking, but I was on Chapter 29 of revising the novel and really wanted to finish this weekend. I wanted to finish reading a book. I wanted to podcast. I wanted to go to a museum. Instead, I spent one day in so much pain I was grumpy and unpleasant to be around (at best), and a second day deeply contemplative about why the “tick tick tick tick” of a clock sounds like “tick tock, tick tock” to our brains.
Thankfully, Pea has a very long (five day) weekend, and I’m pretty sure I can talk M into not working at least part of Monday (yes, it’s a holiday for him, but good luck getting him to stop working, either). Who knows? Maybe I’ll get that podcast done after all.
Moral of the story: M is great. Also, make sure the DEA number is on the script before you leave the clinic.