It all begins with a faint, deep-seated headache. After enduring so many of them, they’ve become a frustrating part of my routine. I keep bottles of ibuprofen stashed in the kitchen, my nightstand, the bathroom, my purse, and even in the car, hoping to catch the headache before it escalates. Most of the time, this strategy works. However, there are moments when I find myself without medication, or the pain refuses to relent.
In those instances, the migraine descends upon me fully. I scramble to get home, often having to cut short my kids’ playdates or outings with little explanation, as even speaking feels unbearable. I toss some snacks into the back seat and drive us home as quickly as possible.
I am fortunate that my partner has the flexibility to take time off when I’m incapacitated. If the migraine strikes after lunch, I hesitate to reach out to him, opting instead to plop the kids in front of the TV with an abundance of snacks until he returns. I let them indulge in the most annoying shows and dump a bin of toys in the living room. I lock the bathroom door to avoid any messy mishaps and retreat to my darkened room.
Typically, I tackle these tasks with sunglasses on, often closing my eyes when I can manage without sight. I find myself snapping at the kids, even though I know yelling only intensifies the pain. But in those moments, I feel I have to act quickly to shut down any requests or discussions about their toys or snacks.
As a migraine sufferer and a parent, my body instinctively shifts into survival mode. I rush to create a quiet, dark environment while anticipating my children’s needs for the next few hours. I check diapers, direct bathroom breaks, and hope for minimal messes, knowing I’m not up to cleaning anything right now.
Once I’m settled in bed, I shove my head under a pillow to block out the light. I can’t watch TV, read, or even listen to a podcast, so I’m left with my thoughts, which are consumed by the overwhelming pain. I can’t take anything stronger than ibuprofen until my partner is home; my prescribed migraine medication often worsens my pain before providing any relief, making it a last resort.
Despite my best efforts, the outside world intrudes. Sudden noises require my attention, and my children occasionally burst into my sanctuary, seeking reassurance. I try to convey my discomfort, and I’m sometimes touched by my 4-year-old’s empathy as he quietly tells me to feel better, only to return moments later with his toy doctor kit, wanting to “diagnose” me.
Bribery becomes my go-to tactic. I’ll let them play with my phone, use the computer unsupervised, and even indulge in whatever shows they want to watch, provided it keeps the noise to a minimum. At this point, my kids can do just about anything until their father gets home, as long as it means I can have some peace.
When my partner arrives, I either muster the energy to ask for my medication or wave him away, craving solitude and silence. If I manage to fall asleep during a severe migraine, I pray it will be gone by the time I wake. Otherwise, I may find myself in the middle of the night, grappling with excruciating pain, weighing the decision of whether to drive myself to the hospital or wake my partner to arrange care for the kids while he takes me.
I’ve explored every remedy available, from unconventional alternatives to medical solutions. After months of physical therapy addressing neck issues that trigger my migraines, I’ve accepted that they are a part of my life. I work on exercises and posture correction to reduce their frequency, but the unpredictability remains daunting. As I prepare my family for outings, I can’t shake the dread that comes with the first hint of a headache.
Parenting while dealing with migraines is undeniably challenging. If you can relate to this struggle, know that you are not alone in this fight. It’s perfectly okay to prioritize your well-being without feeling guilty.
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