Today I have a migraine.
I’ve covered migraines before on this blog. Recap for the uninformed: a migraine feels like one of those aliens from Alien is trying to pop out your eye sockets, but can’t, so instead he occupies himself with playing Tic-Tac-Toe on your brain with a switch-blade. Periodically, one of his x’s or o’s will slice through something vital, and all of a sudden you have the urge to puke up your spleen or your vision erupts into a chorus of stars.
This is my second migraine this week, and this one is decidedly worse than Monday’s. I’m not even convinced that I had a migraine on Monday anymore. Because it didn’t feel like this. Monday, that was like being embraced by a gentle flock of cherry blossoms. It was like being licked by a sleepy kitten. Why did I think that was pain? On Monday, it was just like maybe the colors in my office were a little brighter, and the ring of the phone was a wee bit more obnoxious. Today, it’s like my entire world is made of jackhammers and knives. I learned my lesson, Migraine Gods! I will never refer to a mere headache with thy Holy Name ever again. Your sacrifice is coming just as soon as I get that lamb’s blood from Amazon.com.
Now, used to be there was only one migraine medication. Imitrex. It was the grand mafia boss of the headache world. What favor could it grant you, on this, the day of its daughter’s wedding? Soothe the throttling pain? Done. Restore your blurred vision? Gotcha covered. Relieve the swirling vale of nausea? Finito.
(I don’t really know whether that’s a word in Italian, but hey, everything I know about Italy I learned from Super Mario Bros. or the Olive Garden)
No matter what your problems were, Imitrex would fix them, but it’d cost you. Eight pills were fifty bucks, and that was with insurance. Ergo, my sense of frugality prevented me from using them unless I was completely positively absolutely sure that what I had was a migraine, and that said migraine couldn’t be satiated with caffeine, sleep, or repeated blows to the skull.
The reign of Imitrex has long since ended. I’ve started using its cheaper, slightly less effective cousin, Excedrin Migraine. It works pretty well. Dulls the pain. Doesn’t do much for the vision issues or the nausea. I mean, I’ve got a banana on my desk that I keep trying to force myself to eat, but everytime I look at it I get the feeling that it’s going to jump up and punch me in the throat, so I take a deep breath and leave it alone. They are distinctly mediocre pills, these Excedrins, but mediocre is better than nothing, and hey, mediocre is cheap. The problem is that I still have a nasty habit of preserving medicine, even when they’re nearly worthless. When my head starts to thud, I look at that five-dollar bottle, stuffed to the gills with beautiful relief, and Frugality goes, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING. YOU CAN’T AFFORD TO JUST THROW THESE THINGS AWAY. WHAT. YOUR HEAD TINGLES. TOO BAD, WHINY MCBITCH. DEAL WITH IT. WE’RE NOT MADE OF ABE LINCOLNS OVER HERE.”
I have explained this to Taylor, who looks at me like I’m absolutely crazy and tells me to take the darn pills, gosh dang it.
So I took the darn pills, and while the pain hasn’t vanished, it has grown more subversive. Previously, my migraine was like a loud flasher, bursting from the bushes, tearing open his trench coat and waggling his John Connor in your face, screaming expletives at the top of his lungs. With the help of Excedrin Migraine, the flasher is now fully clothed, and satisfies himself with quietly handing out pamphlets on the streetcorners. Pamphlets filled with filthy, filthy smut, but at least he isn’t yelling anymore, and for that everyone is supremely grateful.
Wow. I should start doing commercials for Excedrin.
Excedrin Migraine: Just Effective Enough To Make You Not Want To Die.
Take that to the bank.