I woke up from my four-hour migraine-induced nap yesterday to late afternoon sun shining through the windows. Small fluffy white clouds dotted the oh-so-rare blue sky. From most of the windows at least. A massive dark gray cloud crept up from the east. I enjoyed the sunny sky as much as possible, but couldn’t ignore the impending rain.
Ready for the obvious metaphor? My migraines followed a predictable pattern since last Thursday. The mornings were good. Each day I soothed the migraine episode so it only lasted part of the day instead of consuming it all. But downpours are always a threat.
Monday the pattern was broken; a severe migraine was inevitable. I hoped if I let the migraine run its course, I’d be left with sunshine and flowers. I gave in, knowing that a two-hour nap usually means the difference between writhing in pain and being capable of coherent conversation. Not this time.
For five days I wasn’t even concerned about the deluge lying in wait. Monday’s migraine seemed like a cruel joke but an anomaly all the same. When Tuesday’s migraine wouldn’t abate, I remembered how heavy the rain normally is.
I try to approach my migraines as Seattleites approach weather: hide when the rain is too much, enjoy not-too-rainy moments and celebrate the beautiful ones. Always expect rain and have an alternate plan, but secretly wish there will be a break in the weather.
From November to May, the 10-day weather forecast is predictable: Clouds and rain with a few bright breaks. I always expect the breaks — both rain and migraine — to be longer than they are. My only backup plan is to get through each migraine, knowing the weather can change anytime. Maybe the clouds on the horizon will blow right past.