Family, Friends, Life, Menopause

Pain

Kari
I don’t like to talk or write about the bad in my life. We all know the bad is there, and for some reason, I don’t want to dwell on it—especially in this space.
But today, as I write these words, I feel like I need to level with you.

I am in pain.

Since the beginning of January, I have had some sort of headache most days of the week. I typically have headaches once a month, usually migraines, usually hormonal, but manageable. Nothing my sumatriptan couldn’t handle here and there. Since 2005, I’ve dealt with migraines—some months better than others—but nothing like this month.

I’ve tried oils, massage therapy, changing my diet, basically everything. I will be at my doctor’s office on Monday morning, and until then I am praying she won’t just tell me it’s in my head. Because I just can’t do this anymore.

I consider myself a really strong person. I’ve gone through a lot over the past 15 years, and I am still here. Weary, but here.
But this is bringing me to my knees—literally. I am not enjoying the simple things, like watching the Real Housewives on DVR after the kids go to bed or getting a hot chocolate with whipped cream. When I’m not in pain, I’m constantly worrying about when it will return. And when I am in pain, I am not in a good place. I have days where I stare out the window and wonder why I am going through this. Is it a life lesson? Is it my fault? Am I causing my own pain?
pain calendar
The M’s are days with migraines. The H’s are days with headaches. The most depressing journal ever.

My kids are tired of seeing me in pain. My seven-year-old talks about “migrians” like it’s a common cold. “Do you have a migrian today, Mommy?” My almost 15-year-old found me sobbing in the shower last weekend. I had the doors shut, but apparently, I was louder than I realized. Hugging me, wet and naked, as my body heaved with emotional vomiting—that was a moment she won’t soon forget, I’m sure. It has been really shitty.

I actually said to my Mom on the phone last week, “If it takes ten years off my life to make the pain go away, I don’t even care anymore.” That isn’t me. I don’t know who that is.

Young troubled woman using laptop at home

Yesterday, I woke up with another headache after going to bed with one the night before. To say I woke up frustrated is an understatement. My youngest had been sick the previous day, so I kept her home. It was a gray, late January day, I was in pain, and at 7:30 a.m., she asked, “WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO TODAY?!” She should have gone back to school, in hindsight, but I wanted to make sure she was 24 hours from illness before sending her back.

When my husband was leaving for work, I clung to his jacket and sobbed heaving sobs. I felt awful for sending him to a 14-hour day like that. It wasn’t my finest moment. Telling my seven-year-old that “I called Panera and they sold out of all the desserts today” was definitely my least finest moment.

I’ve been begging God, the Universe, anyone who will listen up there, to help me help myself. I know You up there aren’t giving me the pain I feel down here, but please, I am begging You—help me. I started to doubt. I started to question. I am ashamed to admit: if there is a God, why are You letting this happen?

An hour after my husband left, the phone rang. It was my Mom, responding to an alarming text from me, I’m sure. We had an hour-long conversation. We cried, we talked, we hoped, we wished. We told each other, between sobs, how much we loved each other, how we wished we lived closer, and how we literally couldn’t wait to see each other. It was deep, emotional, and really, really real.

I got off the phone, turned on some 80s music, turned on every light in the house at noon, and made snickerdoodles for Ella and me. Okay, mostly for me, but she loved them too. The same snickerdoodle recipe I made when I was in 4-H in sixth grade. I felt like it was 1982 all over again. It was healing—my Mom’s words in my head, my 4-H cookies in my belly, my childhood music in my ears.

Around 2 p.m., the doorbell rang. Ella ran to get it, and I whispered, “NOOOOO.” The other day, during a migraine, a window salesman made me stand in the cold with an ice pack on my head to make a decision. I have lost the ability to reason with this month-long tour of pain. I stood there, talking to his boss on his phone, trying to schedule a “free estimate” while in pain. “NOOOOOO,” I whispered.

It rang two more times. Then a knock. GET A CLUE ALREADY! I worried it might be a neighbor or a child who lost a key. I finally answered and saw a woman taping a note to my door from a flower delivery company. She looked like the mom of one of my childhood friends. I literally bawled as she handed me the flowers. She probably thought, “This poor woman never gets flowers. There, there.”

As soon as I saw they were tulips, I knew they were from my husband. And I sobbed again.

flowers from my hubby

While I was in the glow of the flowers, my 14-year-old came home. I was so happy to see her. I hugged her tightly, showed her the flowers, and told her about the phone call. While eating a snickerdoodle, she noticed the note on the flowers and said, “Aww, he is a keeper.” That made me laugh because she sounded 70 years old. As I laughed, the doorbell rang again. It was a package.

I opened it to find Ohio in the box from my friend, Vikki.

Inside the box were little things from Ohio that mean a huge deal to me.

my buckeye pain kit

Inside the box were little things from home that meant a huge deal to me: flyers from places I once visited as a child, a newspaper from my hometown, reminders of a time when migraines weren’t even a thing. A box of love, that’s what it was. She had no idea I was going through the month of hell. Normally, I tell my friends what’s going on in my life, but this time, the more I talked about it, the more real it became. I didn’t want my life to be full of pain talk; I wanted to preserve some relationships with just life and laughter.

On this day, the conversation with my Mom, the cookies with Ella while singing along to Purple Rain, the flowers from the love of my life, the excitement of seeing my teenager after school, the box of love—everything was a huge sign that I am not alone.

Thank you to everyone who messaged and texted me after reading my call for sympathy on Facebook yesterday. With every ding of my phone, I had tears streaming down my face. Happy, life-affirming tears. You made a difference yesterday—a life-changing difference—and I will never forget it.

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28 thoughts on “Pain”

  4. I am so glad you found specks of love and joy yesterday. I cannot imagine the strength it is taking you to function with a journal that looks like that. I hope the doctor has some simple answers that let you be you again quickly…and I hope they involved peanut m&m's. Hugs to you, Kari!

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  6. Sending you lots of love, and thoughts of colorful Chuck Taylor's, and spring days, and giggling, and hey you want to write a screenplay with me? We'll talk.

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  7. Oh, my sweet. There are no words to describe migraine (well, there are a few, but they are all four-letter and well-worn). And to have that pain, or the aftermath of that pain, or the anticipation of that pain all the time? Well, I'm impressed that you haven't gone postal. You might be crying and telling little white lies about Panera (brilliant!), but the fact that you're still standing means that you're winning. You got this.

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  8. I wish there was some kind of magic spell that I could cast to make you feel better. I wish we could pay a fee and never have another headache. i wish, I wish…You'll get through this and the world will seem brighter and happier on the other side of it. Sending all the love…

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  10. I hadn't read this post yet when I messaged you earlier. You made me cry, Kari! I really hate that you are in so much pain. I wish there was something I could do to help. I'm really glad you have so much love in your life.

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  11. Ugh I'm so sorry!! Ongoing headaches are so horribly debilitating. I hope your doctor can provide some relief. Glad you are getting lots of love and support. Hang in there.

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  14. You are NOT alone, Kari. I'm so sorry you're going through this. I can't believe the number of friends I have who are dealing with constant headaches. I wish I could offer relief but all I have is support and love.

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  15. Hi Kari, I don't think I've commented before but this post–well, I know just what you're talking about. For some reason, the past few Januarys have been horrible for my migraines. What might be hardest for me is not knowing what triggers them. I guess I think if I knew, i could control it somehow. Wrote a piece a while back on the upside of migraines. (Hah! But, yeah. There really is one for me.) Thought it might be helpful. If you can get past wanting to smack me for the title. (When I'm suffering, the idea that there can be any kind of upside to my pain and the havoc it wreaks on the rest of my life makes me want to hurt things.) http://www.purpleclover.com/relationships/477-upside-chronic-pain/ Wishing you relief soon.

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  16. Omg Rita, this was amazing.What a great perspective you take.I am looking at my pain very differently now.But I must say, I really miss chocolate.

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  18. You are not alone. This —> "When you are in pain you can't enjoy life." When you are not in pain, you are waiting for the next time it will knock you on your ass. I'd love to say that I just enjoy the pain-free moments, but I'm not there yet. It seems you have a wonderful support system IRL, too. Love the Ohio box but the flowers…amazing. Best to you.

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  19. Kari, my eyes filled with tears as I read this. I will PRAY for you to get some relief soon and until then, as hard as it friggin' is, put one foot in front of the other to get through your days knowing that nothing lasts forever. Not even the stuff we WANT to last lasts forever, so surely this won't either. There is an end to it. I'm praying for you. Hang in there.

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  20. I'm sure that is very difficult to you to live with that pain and thank you of been so honest in this post! I wish i could help you but I don't know what to do but will pray for ou to feel better.Ealing Carpet cleaners

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  21. Oh mama! I'm so sorry to read this! I'm hoping that your migraines subside with the help of the medication, and that you know that you always can share what you're going through without any of us thinking that you're not being awesome. Love you!

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  27. I have read this so many times these past few days…and I cry. Tears for you, my wonderful friend, because I hate that you were in so much pain for so long. I truly believe all the positive vibes/wishes helped….I don't care what anyone else says. And I cry tears of happiness from all the love that has been shown. THIS is exactly what friends are for…..love and support. It doesn't matter where we are physically, we are always here for each other. Thank YOU for your kind words…I am so glad you liked the package! Please know that you have inspired me…beyond words. I am forever grateful for that. Which means you will probably get more boxed love from Ohio :)

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  28. People can say all the negative things about Facebook that they want but for me it will always be the medium that brought us closer.I am so grateful for your friendship, you really have no idea. That care package saved me in so many ways that day. You need to know that you have such a beautiful heart and you make a difference. I love you, friend.

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