Unusually stormy weather in old London town coupled with revelations from my new psychiatrist brought aural turmoil to my world in one of it’s most painful forms.
The Migraine Headache.
Actually to call it a headache is to underestimate it hugely, as a migraine, to paraphrase Danny from ‘Withnail & I’, makes a brain tumour feel like a birthday present.
Perhaps without one of these factors I might not have had one.
Had I taken some over the counter meds at the first warning signs (immense heat from crown to forehead and ratcheting of neck when turned), I might have arrested it before it got worse, but that in itself has it’s own risks.
Maybe if I’d gone for a walk to clear my head, the fresh air might have blown the malady away.
But by the time I finally gave in and took some painkillers on top of all of my other medication, I kind of knew it was futile and that I was in for a rough ride.
So whilst the wind howled, lightning flashed, rain lashed and theatre ceilings fell, I thrashed and lashed and twisted, trying to get through this most unutterably painful and nauseating of brainstorms.
But, as wave after wave hit me, I remembered my promise to myself to react differently this time and to try not to fight it.
Instead of contracting into a ball, I tried to stay loose and fluid.
Instead of forcing my fingers into my occipital and digging away at the fascia, I carefully rolled my head slowly from side to side, listening to and feeling the clicks as I rotated and hoping they would soon abate.
Instead of grinding my clenched fists into my eye sockets, so that the sharp pain would distracted me from the greater pain of the attack, I massaged the muscles of my face gently, praying that they loosen.
Instead of clenching my teeth in agony, I tried to keep my tongue lolling and the muscles inactive.
But whilst I probably didn’t make things any worse, these actions were not making them that better.
So I sat up on my heels, my duvet around my shoulders like some ancient saffron draped Buddha and let my head hang to my chest.
Oh God, it hurts so much….
Breathe Sista, breathe! Let it go….
And from thereon in, I let my body do the talking, and somehow in the dead of night in my freezing cold bedroom, I found myself practising some form of gentle, rudimentary, springy, padded yoga.
And eventually after an hour or two, my body relaxed enough to let the drugs take effect, and I must have fallen asleep, as the next thing I knew was one of my cats waking me for his morning feed.
And as I sat up, wincing at that oh so familiar, bruised, tender feeling all around and inside my head and neck, and thanking God that it was over, I realised that whilst I thought I might be done with yoga, it seems that yoga was not yet done with me.
A day later, on ‘Panic Saturday’, the last big shopping day before Christmas, the storms have not abated one jot.
Branches are being ripped from trees, power lines are down, houses are flooded, shed roofs are taking to the air, and umbrellas are officially useless in this early seasonal gift from good old Motha Earth.
But there is a yoga workshop at 2pm, and rain or no rain, I’ll be going.
As whilst I could do without going out in this shitty weather, I can do without another migraine even more.
And believe you me, I don’t need to be reminded twice.