And the torture returns...

Not Rowan. She's great. Her cold is gone, the teeth didn't pop (but I'm pretty sure they were moving) and she's back to her old self. She's happy, playing, coloring, dancing, learning new words, loving flash cards and stickers, and just generally a delight to be around. We've worked past her bedtime issues (they showed up with the sickness, but a few nights of stubbornness on our part seemed to do the trick) and now she's obsessed with wearing dresses, stealing my high heels ("Cute shoes! Cute shoes!") and playing ball, especially outside. It's warming up, and we've even seen the occasional crocus and other early flower peeking through the grass. Yesterday I even heard a woodpecker.

But the torture is my own. Apparently, the PCOS that has plagued me is back. I won't go into the gory details, but it wreaks havoc with my moods, energy levels, waistline and my head. And the migraine I've been dealing with for 6 days decided that the best day for it to really hit was the day I had Rowan and her buddy here the whole day. Not the best timing. Luckily, though he pulled another all-nighter, her dad was able to stay until 8:30 so I could give myself an injection and let it take effect (ie: nausea, head swelling, brain lining on fire, etc.) and even shower before I was alone with the munchkins. It did work, and chased with a Vicodin, it was tolerable.

I've been feeling blog guilt, so wanted to stop by and let you know I'm still here. I'm crabby, depressed (thank you, PCOS!!!), headachey, a little bit stuffed up (probably part of it, too), bloated, zitty, and I need a haircut, but I'm here. In my sock monkey pajamas, of course.

What's Up, Doc?

I had an appointment with the neurologist yesterday. I was excited, thinking through my history and planning what to say as I showered and blew my hair dry, hoping he'd have some ideas. Wondering if he'd take a CT scan. Could he prescribe massages? (Hoping). Would he want me to be a part of some migraine study, since they were so weird, and so unpredictable and so changeable? Was my head going to explode, or would he have a miracle cure?

I got to the appointment, went through my history sketchily, thinking he'd ask for copies of all my medical records. I listed the drugs I'd tried, the ways the migraines had changed over the 13 years I've had them, the lengths I'd gone to to stop them.

"Well, Ronica, you're a classic case."

What? Huh? When? Who?

Wait a minute. I've been going to doctors for these for years, and now I find out I'm a classic case???

Turns out, I have a chronic case of low seratonin. It can cause migraines, fibromyalgia (which my MIL has), and depression (which is common in my family.) When I was pregnant, it was high, and now that I'm 10 months out, it's dropping again. Thus, my headaches.

He prescribed higher doses of Imitrex and injections, and said I could go back on the amytriptylin if they got really bad again, so I headed happily to Target to get the new prescriptions filled, smiling as I drove down the street with the windows wide open and singing along with the CD.

My problem is solved! I know why! And now I know at least partly why my mom struggled as she did, and why other members of my family have struggled with depression and migraines. We have low seratonin! We're not freaks, it's just a medical thing!!! YAY!

I dropped off the scrips and toodled around the store, picking up the things I'd forgotten at the grocery store the day before and grabbing a few extras that of course we had to have. I went back to pick them up and check out before stopping at the Redbox to drop off our free rental of Sweeney Todd.

"Um, Mrs. B, do you know how much these scrips cost?" the pharmacist asked.

"I know they're pricey, but not exactly, no." I said.

"This one's 150 dollars with your insurance. This one's 97 dollars. I thought I'd let you know first. We get migraines, too," she gestured to another pharmacist assistant, who nodded and began shaking her head at the price, "and I don't know if you...uh... well..."

"Um, can I just not take them today?"

"Sure! No problem!" she smiled. "We'll keep them on file for when you need them."

I sighed with relief, and then headed toward the checkout, making one stop.

In the seratonin isle.

Thank God for chocolate.

Gone!

It's finally done! Yaaaaayyyyy!!!! (jumping up and down)

Combinations of Excedrin, Advil Cold and Sinus, Benadryl, Vicodin, an injection of Toradol and a fair amount of yoga.

I'm a bit sore, but I can finally relax and not worry that in the next half hour life will become unbearable. When we get back from our trip, I will have an appointment with a neurologist, so hopefully we'll be able to figure something out. I'm not ready or willing to stop breastfeeding yet, but if these escalate again, I might have to. I hope not, but it's better to take care of myself, for Rowan. Though it was a totally different situation, that's one of the things I am still angry with my mother about. I can't do it to my little girl--she deserves to have to put up with me for a long, long time!

Note to self: must do yoga more often. It does help. Now if I could just find a yoga studio in this dinky burg that has day care. I'd love to be back in a regular class.

Thanks for all your concern and well wishes. When you're suffering, it helps just knowing others are out there wishing it wasn't so.

Cross Your Fingers

I have an appointment with a physician's assistant at 2:20 today. Hopefully, she'll be able to give me something that will stop this. I know her, though, and I know she'll suggest 8 billion berries and twigs first. (Sorry, lady, but organic bear toe jam is not going to take away a 6 day migraine.)

I also have a hair cut scheduled for Thursday. Yay! My first since November. Yeah, it grew out really well, so I just let it. Planning on a little more length for this summer, so am just going to have her shape it up. I want to leave it longer anyway, so I can do this for the reception this weekend.

I've been busy planning in my head, and just bought us a new suitcase, smaller than what we had because we were tired of paying over-pack fees. Trying to decide which clothes to bring for Rowan, because she's got so many cute ones, and wishing it were warmer so we could break out the cute spring dresses and anklets. I'm looking forward to having Dr. B with me to navigate the airports--it will be much easier than when Rowan and I had to do it on our own.

I'm really looking forward to our trip. Time alone with Dr. B where he's not talking about work, seeing family and friends, and just getting away to a city. I love our life here, but I prefer a larger metropolitan area. There's just an energy that you can't find here, and I really miss it. Plus, we'll be back in the midwest, where everyone is overly friendly and no one comments on our accents, or lack thereof--I'm from Fargo, and every time I mention that, I hear, "but your accent isn't strong at all!" Note to everyone who's seen the movie: PEOPLE FROM FARGO DON'T TALK LIKE THAT. And Joel and Ethan Coen should have known better.

And maybe, just maybe, we'll even go for Thai. Ooooh, my mouth is watering just thinking about it.

Symptoms

I have a list.

A long list, of all the projects and things I'd like to accomplish. Sewing. Knitting. Sorting. Purging. Clearing out the old, the unused, unwanted, not needed.

And yet, here I sit. Nauseous. Achy. Woozy. Crabby. Unable to do anything. My sense of balance off, causing me to tip to the side and nearly fall. Craving chocolate and sweets, and having them make me even more sick when I succumb. The taste of tinfoil in my mouth. My sense of smell heightened, triggering yet even more nausea.

No, I'm not pregnant. I have a migraine. A whopper, day 4. Could have been many things--the change in seasons, change in air pressure, Easter being over, dog stress, bills, an upcoming trip to Minneapolis for my sister's reception, the looming 10-year anniversary of my Mom's death. All contribute, but that doesn't change the fact that it's here. Weighing on me.

As usual, I'm nervous about taking my medicines. The ones that don't work but are approved for breastfeeding mothers. The ones that kind of work, sometimes. The ones that do work if I catch it at the right time, but don't always. Unfortunately, there's no magic pill.

I put it off until I can't stand it anymore. Then, it's not enough.

And now I worry again. That she won't take the thawed milk I have for her in the fridge, because it comes from a bottle and not from me. That she'll get crabby and start to scream. That I'll get crabby and start to scream.

I want to feel better. I wish I wasn't complaining. I'm sorry. I just need it to go.