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My Life With Migraine

MY LIFE WITH MIGRAINE is my conversation with you; just the two of us; from the beginning when I opened my eyes and knew I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Of how I tried to keep myself reasonably intact in the face of unremitting assaults. Of my years of psychotherapy and how that relates to Migraine; nailing loaded issues that feed the flame. Every day. A challenge? You bet. But don't count me out. O.K.?

So, now what? p. 115




Headaches, Nausea, Vertigo, Deja Vu, Nightmares, TMJ, Anxiety, Muscle and Joint Pain, Abdominal Issues...from childhood on. Why? No facts. Plenty of theories. It's coffee; alcohol; aged cheeses; changes in the weather; it's inherited. Nope. Not me. My conclusion - experience; not a theory - migraine starts with me. See? That's my finger on the trigger. Pull your chair up close and I'll tell you my whole story; from the very beginning. 

I Have Migraine, eh?
So, what's the treatment, Doctor? ummm...Doctor? p. 19
What you see is only half the story. p. 91
Migraine: Force of nature, right? Wrong; it’s an inside job. p.31

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Just Wait Till Your Father Gets Home

Dead but not quite; on the edge; slipping; sliding; almost gone. No will; no struggle; only his Uncle Morrie's love and fierce determination are there to  bring his dear nephew David back from the depths of despair; guide him through the life he's lived; reexplore his descent into hopelessness and then rebuild for him the possibility of hope; of return. Reliving in memory, in dreams and imagination the good the painful and the might have been; and ultimately with Uncle Morrie at the wheel, rising up and beginning to believe the possible; to recover his self; a future; from the almost end, back to where it all began. Let's have a cheer and a God bless Morris Stone, MD, PhD. the savior of David Miller's soul. 

You're Thinking Too Much

You'll Give Yourself a Headache

"7:00 A.M.

And it is really cold.

Wreck of a cab—only one he could flag down—isn't any warmer. An old Checker now rattling its way up Sixth Avenue, not missing a pothole. Exhaust pipe dragging, windows that don't quite make it to the top; heater making more noise than warm air. He might as well be in the street running alongside…"


Why meet this early? Lou wants to; and what that little shit wants he gets. "Lots to talk about, Adam; short week; clients depend upon us; can't let them down, eh?" Solace for Adam this Monday of Christmas week? A pastrami sandwich; on rye with Russian Dressing. For breakfast? You bet. For anytime. As for Eleanor Kingman; have to calm her down. Lou's in a rage; he's going to kill me, she says. Give me a break. Lou? Kill anybody? Nah. Mmm. I can already smell that pastrami sandwich.

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