I was going to write wonderful things about our entertaining family weekend. About how the kids enjoyed seeing Annie today or about how we had a pseudo celebration of our cat’s 2nd birthday. All very whimsical.
Instead I get to write about the evilness of migraines. It strikes suddenly. But it is not me, it is my son that is victim. He lies on the floor, holding his head. We’ve been through this too many times. I slip rapidly into the routine – get the Tylenol in, make him drink and put him in bed. We cover the pillow with a towel, grab a cold cloth and a bucket. The stomach ache follows soon. A warm beanbag helps but it is not enough. When I step away, he is sick to his stomach. Poor guy. Strip the bed, change the clothes and put on laundry. Emptying his system helps. He sleeps.
I wish he didn’t have to deal with these migraines. We work to piece together the parts of the puzzle. He is not overtired, overheated nor dehydrated. He did not have chocolate, a trigger in the past. We did have pink sprinkles on the cat’s birthday cake (human food, not kibble). Is it the dye? Who knows. He sleeps and I worry. May we not have this routine again anytime soon.