Just now; crawling out; emerging; on the edge but not quite there; waves of this and that…receding maybe; not over.
Migraine taking control; perfect timing; predictable if I'd been paying attention; living breathing confirmation that not letting it all hang out is the invitation Migraine needs.
Target? Yours truly. One of those, Step aside, pal; I'll take it from here Migraine interventions that comes when the pressure—cumulatively; years in the making—results in a multi-powered body and mind explosion. To wit: I'm off to NYC shortly for five days; an expansion from my usual in and out visit to my ophthalmologist; the extra days for my son John; meetings; party; dinner with old friends. A treat.
As departure nears, I've felt some tightening in my neck; slight waves of nausea; fleeting thoughts; stirrings of anxiety; checking and rechecking reservations; admiring photographs on the hotel website; a little shaky; sort of off, you know?
To bed one night beginning of the week; asleep; disturbing dream fragments; more nausea; drop off; suddenly awake.
Swing out of bed and the room is spinning; wild vertigo; stomach churning; totally out of control. Heart pounding; trouble breathing; panic. Talk to myself. Breathe. Breathe. Grab my phone; Mayo website. Vertigo. Not death dealing. Not uncommon. Various causes. Biggie? Migraine: my usual suspect. "Migraine. People who experience Migraines may have episodes of vertigo…"
Not going to die. Vertigo slows. I ease myself into bed. Doze off; sleep fitfully. Some dizziness when up…nothing like last night; but anxiety; nausea. Know there were reasons; and they all line up. A parade.
One; I've been fully aware that the imminent date of my wife's death is just a few days away from my NYC trip; this time coinciding with my periodic eye doctor visit—a long way to come; why not someone nearby?—hadn't considered my deep memories of his kindness and lengthy musings on life, eternity, the limits of our understanding; the major reason I've been making this trip.
Two: Hotel we'll be staying at happens to be just a few blocks from our last residence in NY; site of my, It's Me Or Her fraught moment when I abandoned ship; leaving to save my life; still awash in lingering feelings of guilt about my children; never fully dissipated.
Three: The hotel—a beautiful old place—is a restored town house; the gracious feel of a nineteenth-century NY brownstone. Looked familiar to me when John recommended it; realized—later—it was very much like my brownstone in later life, with, of course, my late wife.
Etc., etc. and so forth and so on.
Enough to stoke the fires start the engine; all aboard and here we go folks. Get the picture?
I sure did.
Timely reminder: you can run but you can't hide.
That you of course, is me.
Furthermore, the piper will be paid.
Anyway, I'm back in the game.
Sort of.
Not quite.
Almost.