My dog, too, is a victim of my migraines. He doesn’t understand, crawls into bed with me and curls into the small of my back. As I stir he perches on my pillow, puts a possessive paw on my shoulder, rests his chin on my forehead. He whines with me, not at me, doesn’t try to play, only insists on going out when he really needs to.
I wake up and it’s dark, it’s light, it’s somewhere in between and I don’t know if the sun is on its way in or out. It’s Wednesday, it’s Friday, it’s Tuesday. I’ve tried to keep track, but the days get tangled in my dreams. I’m back at College #1, in high school, or facing my elementary school tormentors. I have to go to gym to graduate, take a history test I didn’t study for, learn advanced calculus in time for the final. The migraine weaves its way into my subconscious’s story lines, and it becomes the cause or effect in each of my stress dreams. I’m driving down a highway and my auras get so bad I hallucinate or pass out and crash. I dream that I can’t wake up and I know it’s true. Even the pain itself sneaks into my dreams and my dream-self has to lay down to cope.
But the sleep is better than the awake. When the migraine won’t listen to drugs, sleep is the only thing that can kill it at last. And awake is boring. I can only read for 20, maybe 30 minutes at a time, and even then my comprehension is fuzzy. The computer gets an even shorter stretch because it is too bright. TV is out of the question. My mom calls me and her voice and worry pierce through me; she means so well, but it’s all about her and I have to fight for my independence enough on my functional days that I just can’t handle her from under the covers. I call friends but they are out living their lives and I feel so alone in the dark I cry but that makes it hurt more and my dog whines along with me as we curl up and go back to sleep and pray maybe next time I’ll wake up ok again.