I think
someone was mad at me yesterday, because at the same time Personal Failure was recovering from her three-day-long
migraine, I began to notice the indescribable
weirdness which heralds migraines for me. The first time I had a migraine I had no idea what the hell was going on, so keep that in mind as I relate the experience: I was on the subway on my way to work. I began to be bombarded by the smell of baby formula, of all things, though there were no babies around. I started to see nothing but white light, became very sure I was going to die. At the first stop since I got on I somehow - really, truly miraculously I had gotten on a subway car that exited right at the escalator at the 59th Street station - made my way up to the street at Bloomingdale's where I proceeded to faint (in a skirt) next to the garbage bin where I was aiming to retch. When I came to there was a cluster of good Samaritans trying to see if I was okay, and my head was informing me that it had been run over by a
truck tank while I was out. Such was
my introduction to migraines: pretty much the most frightening kind of migraine you can get, if you have no idea you're getting a migraine.
Fortunately, yesterday's wasn't quite like that. Aside from sleeping for twelve straight hours and still feeling weak today, it was mild as migraines go. It still took me by surprise (they always do, because I don't get them often), though it really shouldn't have. Stress can supposedly be a migraine trigger, and yesterday I found out my mom has breast cancer. It's tiny and either Stage I or 0, and shouldn't require more than a lumpectomy and radiation. The prognosis at this point is about as good as you could ask for with cancer, but... gah. Our family has cardiac issues and autoimmune digestive issues, not breast health issues. My mom takes pains to live a very healthy, medically approved lifestyle, so this was in all ways shocking. There are no guarantees, eh?
This officially means I have to stop losing weight (oops), because that would not be fair to my mom. Like she needs to worry about that right now. Of course, stress like this adds another layer to the "food sucks" millefeuille that we e.d. chicks are so talented at whipping up. Meh.
