I spent all of yesterday throwing up due to a migraine episode. I couldn't hold a sip of water in, which meant that I'd throw up every fucking pain killer I tried to take. Prescription pills, over-the-counter stuff, I must have taken enough to knock out an elephant, and to no avail because I'd vomit within 15 minutes of downing them.
After I'd spent the day doing this and trying to find a position on the bed that didn't make me want to shove hot forks into my brain in the intervals, I called my mother to come return a rental DVD for me, as I was in no condition to get out. I had to wear sunglasses indoors, even though I had curtains in front of all the windows.
Her first thoughts? "Are you sure you don't have meningitis?"
That's exactly what I wanted to hear, as my migraine symptoms have always been the same as the symptoms for meningitis, minus the fever. Trust my mother to always see the best in everything.
Food poisoning? No, there hadn't been any food in me when the vomiting started.
Was I meant to be having my period?
Turns out she nailed it with that one.
It's the gift that keeps on giving. If I had remembered these lovely episodes, I would have forgone the hormone treatment.