Migraines suck. But what’s worse? The day after. The lethargy that follows, the way everything feels off-balance after a day spent in darkness and pain. The world today feels flat. Even the sky is gray, as if it shares the pain I suffered. I’m struggling to find words, sometimes spelling them backwards. I stare at my screen, running through lists in my head, trying to find the one I want. My eyes burn and my head feels full of cotton. My muscles are weak and shaky. Getting out of bed feels harder than getting into it last night. And that says a lot, considering the pain made even the idea of resting unbearable. I had to find that one perfect spot to place my head, the precise position that wouldn’t make it worse. Sometimes, even closing my eyes hurt more. Sleep was hard to find through the pain.
And once the pain starts, so do the thoughts. The spiral. I’ve had that headache. The one they warn you about. The one that’s different. The one that tells you something might be seriously wrong. The one that says, Get to a hospital. Now. And I didn’t. I got lucky. But luck doesn’t erase what followed: vertigo and nausea that lingered for weeks. I turned to traditional Chinese medicine, using cupping, massage, acupuncture, and herbal tinctures. Anything to avoid the hospital. Anything to quiet the whisper in the back of my mind that said, You’re not okay.
Eventually, I went. I had a CT scan. And the fear that had lived quietly inside me was justified. There was a bulge. Something to monitor. Something that could mean everything. That moment changed how I lived. That headache happened after a yoga retreat in the mountains of China. And for someone who loves hiking more than anything, it felt like a cruel joke. Suddenly, hiking became risky. Dangerous. I stopped. And every time a headache came after that, I tried to reassure myself. You’ve had migraines your whole life. It’s probably nothing. But there was always that voice in the background. What if this is it? What if I go to sleep and don’t wake up?
As time passed, the fear softened. I started hiking again, just a little. I tried to stay hydrated, though I still hate water. I slowly rebuilt the life I had before that big headache. But yesterday, I was pulled right back into it. I got a migraine. A big one. Nothing I took helped. The pain was relentless. Light was unbearable. Movement impossible. I found myself hunting again for that perfect position to rest my head. The one that didn’t set off a cascade of nerve endings. When I closed my eyes, the world buzzed. I turned my head one way and heard a strange clicking. The other direction? Silence. And with it, panic.
Is this another one of those headaches? Should I be worried? Am I safe?
I woke up this morning checking my pillow for telltale traces of blood, relief flooding me when the pristine white cotton remained unmarked. I’m not at home. I’m traveling for vacation. I’m supposed to be relaxing, finishing out the journey. But I can’t. Yesterday scared me. The taskbar on my computer reminds me that today’s high will break a record. The same conditions that brought on my migraine haven’t changed. And today, it still lingers, waiting quietly behind my eyes like a comic book villain, watching for the moment I lower my guard.
I can’t talk about my migraine because I’m traveling with my niece. She doesn’t need to know how bad it is. Migraine’s are just headaches to most people. Unless you’ve had one. And my fears, as heavy as they are, do not need to become hers.
So instead of heading to Chongqing, I booked a flight back to Shanghai for us. The train ride home is twelve hours, and that’s too far. Too long. A flight will get me there in four. But even that carries risk. If this is one of the dangerous ones, what will the cabin pressure do? Still, I need to be home. I need safety. Familiarity. I need to stop wondering if I’ll wake up in the morning.
Because even when the pain fades, the fear doesn’t.
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