Migraine
It announced itself early in the day, starting with stiffness in the neck, feverishness in the hands, in everything that crosses my mind. It exploded during the rehearsal of Ganymede. I resisted during the singing, came out of my defeated evening, ran a hot bath, managed to counter the harmful effects despite nausea. During the night, it woked me up after breathing in a stressful dream in which close friends made love to each other brazenly in front of me, in sweat, when I have no place to stay. I took double pills and went back to sleep. This morning, everything is okay, the evil is no longer there, but I am tired as if I was out of breath from my battle.
I’ve been used to big headaches for a long time. I don’t know if my memories are authentic, but it seems to me that often on Saturdays when I was at my parents’ house, I regularly experienced such nausea. It took me until I was in my thirties to decide to recognize the first signs of migraine and also to change some eating habits, to lose weight, to calm myself.
Evil is a mysterious imbalance. It can surely be explained afterward that this or that caused the eruption of nausea. I could, for example, put this on the new disability insurance I purchased when I renewed my mortgage. The insurance scumbags are asking me for $60 every two weeks. They tell me without telling me that my family history suggests that I am at risk and that, according to their statistics, I am one of those who will die sooner than later or that I will cost them an arm. Might as well warn.
But well, my grandmother has been anxious all her life and is not yet dead, at 99 and a half years old. My parents are doing pretty well, despite a few pitfalls, and are slowly moving towards the 80th number. I hope I have their DNA.
Still, everything is fine with me, it seems to me, even if I can interpret this migraine as a sign that not everything is perfect. But did I need this to remind myself of that? I have my problems, my questions, my contradictions. I’m not rich, I run on the spot, like Alice, so I don’t get more miserable. I’m getting older, so I sometimes swallow a little more water than usual, me who already can’t really swim. But I give thanks for my existence, I love life, I like to enjoy, I consent to cry, I try to be honest, and I quickly let myself be caught in the nets of love, friendship, and insurers.
So, is it dangerous, Doctor?
