It begins with a dull ache deep in my skull. After countless episodes, they’ve become more of a nuisance than anything else. I’ve strategically placed bottles of pain relievers in my kitchen, nightstand, bathroom, purse, and car, hoping to catch that creeping headache before it escalates. Most of the time, this approach works. But there are moments when I’m caught off guard, and the medicine fails to provide relief.
And then, without warning, the migraine hits.
Before it can fully set in, I scramble to get home, often having to cut short my kids’ playdates or outings. I toss snacks into the backseat and drive as quickly as possible, aware that talking is painful and arguing is worse.
Fortunately, and I recognize I’m incredibly fortunate, my partner has flexible work hours and can usually step in when my migraines render me unable to function. If the headache strikes post-lunch, I try not to distract him since I can manage the kids for a few hours with snacks and a TV marathon of the most annoying shows. I lock the bathroom door to prevent any mischief, and then I retreat to my dark sanctuary.
Most of this is done while wearing sunglasses, and I often close my eyes, navigating my tasks carefully. I find myself snapping at my kids, even though it’s counterproductive; screaming hurts more than talking, but it’s quicker. When my children approach with their endless chatter about snacks or toys, I squash those conversations with a sharp shout, hoping to maintain some semblance of quiet.
In these moments, my body and mind shift into survival mode. I’m frantic yet focused, seeking darkness, silence, and my bed. I anticipate my kids’ needs, checking diapers and directing bathroom trips, praying there are no messes to clean up.
Once I’m nestled in bed, I shove my head under the pillow, desperately blocking out light. The pain is overwhelming, and I can’t engage with anything—no TV, no reading, no podcasts. All I can do is contemplate how it feels like a herd of elephants is trampling my skull. I can only take stronger medication once my partner returns home, as the migraine meds I have make me feel worse before they offer any relief.
Despite my earlier attempts to quiet the noise, I still face unexpected interruptions. My children may burst through the door, seeking attention or affection. I try to communicate my pain, and I’m often touched by my 4-year-old’s concern, albeit brief, before he returns with his toy doctor kit, attempting to take my temperature with a plastic otoscope.
Bribery quickly enters the picture. “You can have my phone. Play on the computer without limits. Order whatever you want on Amazon.” At this point, my kids can do whatever they please until their dad gets home if it means I can find a bit of peace.
When my partner finally arrives, I either whisper for my medicine or wave him away in a desperate attempt for solitude. If I fall asleep during an intense migraine, I pray it’s gone by the time I wake. Otherwise, I’m jolted awake in the middle of the night, facing the unbearable pain that may necessitate a trip to the hospital.
In those dark hours, I must weigh my options: Can I drive myself, or should my partner call someone to help with the kids? With little ones in the house, spontaneous trips are not an option.
I’ve explored every remedy, from the bizarre to the scientific. After months of physical therapy aimed at relieving neck issues that trigger my migraines, I’ve been told this is a condition I’ll have to manage for life. I do my exercises and pay attention to my posture, but there’s no predicting when the next migraine will strike. As I prepare my family for trips, I can only hope to avoid that initial warning sign and the dread it brings.
Parenting through migraines is an uphill battle. If you find yourself in a similar situation, know that you’re not alone. You have every right to prioritize your well-being and do what’s necessary to cope, guilt-free.
For more on parenting and health, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination and consider exploring options like the Cryobaby Home Intracervical Insemination Syringe Kit Combo for your family planning needs.