Pain

I am not really one to complain.
At least I don't think I am one to comlplain. Maybe those around me have another take on the subject, I'll have to ask around.
But I am going to take a bit of space up here and now and talk a bit about the past few days.
I have been struggling.
Struggling more than I ever have.
I am on day 12 of a constant migraine.
Twelve days.
One trip to the ER.
One trip to the family DR.
Three days lost to just laying in my bed with my head stuffed under blankets, hoping and praying for some sort of relief, any relief.
The pain is in the left side of my head. It is a constant beating reminder that a pain free existence of any amount of time is a God given Blessing.
The pain takes everything away.
It's just you and it.
Your family is far away.
You are far away from your family.
I can not read, it hurts too bad.
I can not watch tv, it hurts too bad.
There is nothing that can distract.
One minute drags on agonizing into the next.
Your hands shake with the effort of keeping your face impassive.
You drag yourself up to the toilet to pee or dry heave and drag yourself back to the bed or the couch (if you are trying to pretend to spend time with your family).
You haul your sorry ass to the car and fulfill you parental duties as best you can, getting your child to gymnastics, hoping that nothing too taxing arises, that just the bare minimum will be required of you.
I can deal with the pain really.
It is this forced absence from my husband and children that I hate and loathe so much. I only have so much time with them before they grow up, every hour I am forced to sit here with my head throbbing in white hot constant pain and making me more and more diminished just kills me. It just eats me up. I hate it.
I avoid the triggers.
I take the meds.
I do all of the things I am supposed to do.
 Yet, here I am. Stuck in this throbbing, aching hell.
Just the pain and me.
Me and the pain.
"Status migrainus", they say and send you home with no idea of how that impacts your little children, how it tears at the fabric of who you are and what makes you tick.
You make the appointments.
You go for the MRI's.
You will try the new meds.
And maybe a few days of no pain come.
But even those days are marred by the worrying if tomorrow you will hurt again. If the pain will carry you off to your soft prison again where you can hear them two rooms away, playing but stopping every once in awhile to ask if Mama is still sick.