Nothing quite like it...

OK. Hands up all you readers who suffer (is there any other more appropriate word?) through either an occasional or frequent migraine headache? OK, sisters, hands down; we know all about you!

I come by mine honestly enough; both my Mum and Dad had them as adults but pretty much grew out of them in later life. I'm told that I was a ‘victim’ as far back as my infancy.

Fast forward a decade or five and on the morning of November 12, I came down with one for the books.

Readers will know this was the day I was a ‘guest’ at the Toronto General Hospital. I was to have an angioplasty (more on that in other posts). Waking up at 4.00am that morning and crawling from the warm comfort of bed, I realized that I had a headache. Just a headache. Given I was under instructions not to take anything by mouth from midnight on (dinner the evening before was finished at around 7.00pm -- dubbed, The Last Supper by TLATO); I declined to chew on a few generic-branded acetaminophen with codeine. Also, no two, double espressos this morning. And, I drove to the hospital through darkness and soon-to-become-searing headlights.

By the time I was checking in on the 6th floor of the Eaton Wing at TGH, my once annoying headache had begun to mutate.

There was absolutely no anxiety on my part regarding the pending procedure; I was actually looking forward to it and could not blame the war drums in my temple as being symptomatic of (obvious) stress. I will put it down to not enough sleep, any breakfast and caffeine withdrawal.

Sensing I was not feeling 100%, the ever attentive Danielle, my day-shift nurse that morning, gave me a couple of Tylenol. Way too little, way too late.

At around 11.30am, an orderly arrived to take me to the catheter lab on the second floor. Well-meaning, he began to ratchet the head end of the gurney, causing mini whiplash-like incidents. By the time I was in the elevator, the small piercing lights were already searing into my eyeballs. I felt horrible. Nauseous. Pain sweats ensued. By the time I was wheeled into the very cool procedure room, I was in the throes of a full blown migraine attack.

The cardiologist took one look at me and requested a complete scan of vitals. All was well. Except, of course for the pain in my head. They determined that the procedure would proceed and since I am allergic to morphine, shot a dose of fentanyl into my IV delivery system. For good measure, a nurse stayed by my side with cold compresses – and a vomit bucket.

The lights in the procedure room were unlike anything I had seen before -- unless you count two weeks previous when I went through an angiogram. There lights are unusually bright and depending upon what is occurring in the room, blink on an off. Even through closed eyes, I could still feel their effects.

Due to the fentanyl I did not even feel the dye being injected into my heart. The pain over the next two and a half hours did begin to diminish, but not vanish.

In post op, I was provided with Percocet -- and a fresh gown.  Dehydration due to profuse sweating did not help my condition any.

For the rest of the day, I was prescribed additional Percs and ultimately Gravol since the nausea returned with a vengeance.

By the time I was taken from my bed and made to walk the 6th floor, the migraine had pretty much been conquered. Thanks to medication, rest, TLC, a cheese sandwich -- and lots of ice water.

Much like my parents, the frequencies of these often vicious and debilitating attacks are reducing.
But they can still occur. Sometimes without any warning whatsoever.

As much as I hate them, over the years, I have learned to respect them. Sound weird?

Obviously, you have never had the unfortunate pleasure...