"Basically, it looks like the medication has confused your hormones enough that you probably won't get over this headache for another month or two."
"So there's no way to stop these migraines until then?" I felt the back of my eyes start to burn with tears.
"I'm sorry, but no. You can try some over-the-counter meds but, other than that, you're just going to have to ride it out."
I ended the call with my doctor's office and didn't even try to stop crying. I can't believe this. I don't know how I can live with this pain for even another day, let alone another month…or two.
My neck and shoulders were flamingly sore to the touch; the throbbing in the back of my brain was a train on the tracks—constant, pounding, heavy. I had already experienced this headache for two weeks without reprieve. The prescription medication the doctor had offered refused to even touch the pain; I had left work multiple times because I couldn't focus on my computer screen. My hope that the doctor might have some new way to help just disappeared. Apparently she was out of options, too.
On top of the pain, I was exhausted. The migraine was so severe that it was difficult to fall asleep; sometimes the throbbing woke me up in the middle of the night. So even my only escape from the pain—sleep—was precarious at best.
After hearing that there was no clear end to this ordeal, I suddenly felt very afraid.
Michael held my hand, one of the only places on my body that the pain did not radiate toward.
"Honey, I'm so, so sorry." His voice was soft. "I wish I could take the pain for you."
I gave him a half-hearted smile through my tears. "I wouldn't want you to have this either. I'm just scared it's never going to end."
He squeezed my hand. "It will; I know it will. God is going to get us through this. I have faith that he's going to heal you. We just don't know how soon that's going to be. Hopefully soon.
I gently lowered my head onto the couch pillow, unable to stay upright any longer. "Hopefully."
Choosing Intimacy in the Midst of Pain
For the first two weeks of what turned out to be a month-and-a-half-long migraine, Michael and I had put our sexual intimacy on the back burner; even getting out of bed caused pain to ripple through my body and neither of us could imagine trying to make love when I was in that state. We assumed the raging pain I experienced was going to dissipate soon and we would be able to reengage fully in our sexual relationship. But after two weeks and a diagnosis that pointed to more of the same, we needed to find a way to connect sexually even in the midst of the migraine.
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