THAT'S not a very nice title for a blog post on a Lenten Sunday, now, is it?
I've been taking Topamax for two and a half months now, as a total shot-in-dark Hail Mary additive to my migraine regime. I didn't really think it would work. Nothing ever really does. Dr. McDonald didn't really think it would work, either. Still, I faithfully took it for the first week. And nothing. One week, no headaches. Maybe low-grade ones, but nothing real. Do you know what an amazing feat that was for me? One week. You better believe I never missed my Topamax after that.
My previous record for not needing elitriptan was 3 weeks. I blew by that. I almost doubled it. In 2.5 months I think I've had maybe two or three real migraines. It's a miracle. (Or a fluke. But I hope not).
It's not even that I feel so much better, which I do, but that I suddenly have so much more time. Being sick takes up so much time. And I can make plans. And keep them. It's really a rather amazing life. I can't even remember a time when I ever had a life like this, although surely at one time I must have.
As we all know, all of my silver linings have a cloud, so let's outline the clouds. 1) This could just be a coincidence. Winter and spring are normally my healthier times of the year, anyway. Maybe it's just luck.
2) I think Topamax might be making me sick to my stomach. In the time I've been taking it, food and I no longer really get along. In a way it's nice, because I have dropped a fair amount of weight without doing anything at all. In another way, it's not that fun to be sick to my stomach all the time (but that kind of sick doesn't really count as REALLY sick).
I don't want to have my Topamax taken away. I will gladly take the stomach rot forever just to have this life that I've gotten to taste lately. I have to go in soon for my 3-month med check, so I guess we'll see what happens.
3.03.2011
The Maass Family Travel Journal Plays Dress-Up
Or Alternately: The Maass Family Travel Journal Tries Not to Completely Lose Its Shit and Melt into a Giant Anxious Puddle of Insecurity.
So. We here at the Maass Family Travel Journal sat down with our wine and cheese and aged steak and agreed that we need to comport ourselves with a bit more decorum.*
Well, not really. We are being kicked into maturity. It's not exactly a welcome change. But grad school, that dirtbag whore, is making me do it.
Okay. Drama over. I have to attend a conference for grad school in Philadelphia in a week. If I'm being honest, it actually sounds very interesting, and I imagine I'll get quite a bit out of this experience. The part I'm not looking forward to, however, is the part that has to do with class. Because all of a sudden I am absolutely sure that I am without a doubt the worst student in the class, and also the ugliest and most unstylish to boot (that part is likely true). Clearly I am not even close to looking like a cool person. Looking like a fool is much more likely. Looking like a little girl trying to play dress up in fancy shoes is much, much, more likely. Yuck.
I want to whine now. About how much I hate being fakey, and about how much I am about to do it. I have to cut and color my long, now two-tone hair. My long, stringy Saturday hair. New clothes. I don't know how that will turn out, but let's just say that none of them are the raggy jeans, cargo skirts and band T-shirts that I generally prefer. I'm having trouble with clothes right now anyway, because we are messing with my meds so much that I can't stay at a regualar weight. Normally I gain, but lately I have lost. Which, yay! but now all my pants look like I could wear a large, filled diaper because of the butt bagginess. Professional, right? Do I even try with make-up? I only wear chapstick, and everything else makes me feel (again like a little girl playing dress-up. What to do? Be me and be slightly more comfortable in a very scary environment? Or try to dress and act like I belong?
Greg tried to comfort me over dinner the other night. "You aren't the worst," he said. And I jumped down his throat. "How would you know?" I asked. "Really, how would you have a clue? There's 20 of us. Somebody has to be the worst. Somebody is always the worst. This time it's me. I'm not used to it, but that doesn't mean it's not happening to me now. All I can do at this point in time is be the worst with as much grace as I can muster." Grace. Me. HAHAHAHAHAHA. Seriously, though, this is what I will have to keep reminding myself. Or I will have a nervous breakdown.
The Maass Family Travel Journal will be flying out early and (weather-permitting) traveling a bit on the East coast before the conference. This will serve the dual purpose of letting us here at the Travel Journal get out a little (it's been awhile!) and keeping me from thinking about school too much. Stay tuned to see how it all goes, complete with how many times I puke out of nervousness. That'll make you come back.
*We tell our evil border collie at least once a day to "comport yourself with decorum." Not that he ever does. But it's still funny.
So. We here at the Maass Family Travel Journal sat down with our wine and cheese and aged steak and agreed that we need to comport ourselves with a bit more decorum.*
Well, not really. We are being kicked into maturity. It's not exactly a welcome change. But grad school, that dirtbag whore, is making me do it.
Okay. Drama over. I have to attend a conference for grad school in Philadelphia in a week. If I'm being honest, it actually sounds very interesting, and I imagine I'll get quite a bit out of this experience. The part I'm not looking forward to, however, is the part that has to do with class. Because all of a sudden I am absolutely sure that I am without a doubt the worst student in the class, and also the ugliest and most unstylish to boot (that part is likely true). Clearly I am not even close to looking like a cool person. Looking like a fool is much more likely. Looking like a little girl trying to play dress up in fancy shoes is much, much, more likely. Yuck.
I want to whine now. About how much I hate being fakey, and about how much I am about to do it. I have to cut and color my long, now two-tone hair. My long, stringy Saturday hair. New clothes. I don't know how that will turn out, but let's just say that none of them are the raggy jeans, cargo skirts and band T-shirts that I generally prefer. I'm having trouble with clothes right now anyway, because we are messing with my meds so much that I can't stay at a regualar weight. Normally I gain, but lately I have lost. Which, yay! but now all my pants look like I could wear a large, filled diaper because of the butt bagginess. Professional, right? Do I even try with make-up? I only wear chapstick, and everything else makes me feel (again like a little girl playing dress-up. What to do? Be me and be slightly more comfortable in a very scary environment? Or try to dress and act like I belong?
Greg tried to comfort me over dinner the other night. "You aren't the worst," he said. And I jumped down his throat. "How would you know?" I asked. "Really, how would you have a clue? There's 20 of us. Somebody has to be the worst. Somebody is always the worst. This time it's me. I'm not used to it, but that doesn't mean it's not happening to me now. All I can do at this point in time is be the worst with as much grace as I can muster." Grace. Me. HAHAHAHAHAHA. Seriously, though, this is what I will have to keep reminding myself. Or I will have a nervous breakdown.
The Maass Family Travel Journal will be flying out early and (weather-permitting) traveling a bit on the East coast before the conference. This will serve the dual purpose of letting us here at the Travel Journal get out a little (it's been awhile!) and keeping me from thinking about school too much. Stay tuned to see how it all goes, complete with how many times I puke out of nervousness. That'll make you come back.
*We tell our evil border collie at least once a day to "comport yourself with decorum." Not that he ever does. But it's still funny.
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