What Chronic Migraine Really Looks Like
Chronic migraine is defined as 15 or more pain/migraine symptom days per month, but for quite a few of us it progresses to much more — daily or 24/7 symptoms and pain.
It’s also called an “invisible” disorder, meaning you can’t see it, which often leads to skeptical reactions from medical professionals, employers, coworkers, and sometimes even friends and family.
It’s a bit odd to me that so many disorders and diseases are referred to as invisible when their effects wreak such obvious havoc on our bodies and in our lives. I tend to believe that they can be visible… for those who wish to look past the surface.
Here are some of the things chronic daily migraine looks like to me.
It looks like fighting to prove you’re disabled to those who can’t see it.
It looks like cancelled plans for the umpteenth time.
It looks like friends who stop inviting you out, but who can’t or don’t come visit you.
It looks like days in bed in the dark when your family is in the living room watching TV, laughing, and talking.
It looks like a messy house, unwashed dishes, and sitting on the couch in PJs wishing you could clean it up but knowing you can’t.
It looks like days missing who you used to be and what you could once do without planning exhaustively for a bad episode.
It looks like a beautiful day outside with you looking out the window from your bed.
It looks like feeling worthless and alone.
It looks like unbrushed hair and no makeup, because no one is coming to see you or you can’t tolerate visitors and you can’t stand the pain long enough to get pretty (or passable) anyway.
It looks like missing your grandkids.
It looks like people who think or say, “You can’t be that sick all the time” or “Aren’t there treatments for that?” or “God won’t give you more than you can handle.”
It looks like prescription bottles and a medication schedule and side effects and treatments no one would volunteer for unless their disease was much worse.
It looks like suggestions to “cure” you that range from “Have you tried cutting ____ out of your diet?” to “I hear this body piercing gets rid of migraines” to “you should exercise more” to “Doesn’t sex get rid of headaches?”
It looks like being asked, “You still have that?” after five years of telling people what “chronic” means.
It looks like feeling “OK enough” to do laundry or dishes, but not both and definitely nothing more.
It looks like people who say, “But you look great!” or “But you don’t look sick!”
It looks like countless medical tests with inconclusive results because there is no test to prove the existence of migraine disorder… only ones that rule out other possible causes.
It looks like explaining for the thousandth time that migraine is a genetic neurological disorder that affects the entire body and not a headache.
It looks like rescheduling a doctor appointment because you’re too sick to drive.
It looks like people sniggering behind you about “what [drug/other speculation] you must be on” because you can’t walk straight courtesy of aura or vertigo or both.
It looks like disbelief when you list your symptoms, diagnosis, and pain level at the ER.
It looks like uninformed and under-educated medical care unless you see a specialist.
It looks like inconsistent or rationed treatment because of the expense of medication and specialist visits.
It looks like a years-long list of ineffective treatments you’ve tried and that have failed.
It looks like someone who had a perfect 4.0 GPA but now has trouble finding the right words, remembering things, and making once-easy connections.
It looks like your specialist telling you very gently, “There’s not much to try beyond this, and these are the odds it will help… but even if it doesn’t I’m not giving up on you.”
It looks like new symptoms cropping up and surprising you unpleasantly.
It looks like your mother telling you that the birthday gift she’d like most would be you getting to have a good day with less pain.
It looks like your boyfriend feeling helpless because he’s a “fixer” and he can’t do anything for you but be there.
It also looks like your boyfriend learning about your disorder and patience and limits right along with you.
It looks like learning to live with a much-limited sex life.
It looks like finding new ways to define yourself and a new idea of self-worth.
It looks like smiling in front of strangers or people you don’t want to worry as if the pain and other symptoms aren’t breaking you.
It looks like finding the beauty in small things.
It looks like learning to appreciate small accomplishments you never would have thought twice about otherwise.
It looks like bad days when you envy those who can afford to go to the doctor for checkups and preventive care while you are debating if you can afford to take your last abortive dose for the month… mid-month.
It looks like a repeated cycle of the stages of grief in no particular order as you grapple with the old life you lost and acceptance of the life you didn’t choose.
It looks like learning to cherish the good moments and to hang on to them for all they’re worth as a buffer against the bad and unbearable days.
It looks like nothing to those on the outside looking in and everything to those living it.
It looks like me.
And it looks like him… and her… and millions of us struggling every day with something no one else can see.
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