Do You Believe in Miracles?
I believe in miracles, because I’ve seen them. In fact, I’ve seen one recently. Its name is Sumatriptan.
Here at Sun Mesa, we have a rule—no work happens on headache days. We have to have this rule, because I have a lot of headache days. Or, on second thought, there’s no need for the rule, because no work would happen whether the rule was in place or not. My migraines preclude anything from happening, apart from lying in bed moaning and confusing Rufus when I can’t even muster the energy to pet him.
I’ve had migraines since I was a teenager. Their method of attack has changed over the years, but two things have remained constant—debilitating pain and the fact that no over-the-counter drug will touch them. In my younger years sleep would usually make them go away, but even that no longer works. Now I often wake up with a headache, and it lasts for two or three days.
You’d think I’d have talked to a doctor about them by now, but up until last month, you would have been wrong. I’m not a doctor kind of woman. My motto (unspoken but strong) has always been, “It’s not so bad, tough it out, quit complaining,” with a side order of, “A doctor couldn’t help anyway, these are a mystical curse from God.”
Well, I finally got tired of it. Tired of missing out on life, tired of trying to plan events around when a headache was likely to come, tired, frankly, of pain. I made the doctor’s appointment. I tried to describe my headache symptoms and cycle. And she prescribed Sumatriptan.
Honestly, I didn’t hold out much hope. No pill had ever touched the pain before, so I didn’t see why this one would. But when the first headache came, I took a pill. And then the miracle happened.
In fifteen minutes, I could feel the pain starting to leave. In an hour, it was gone. Gone, I tell you.
It’s been a month, now. I’ve had four headaches in that time, and each time, the medicine took them away within an hour. I haven’t been down with a headache for a month. My follow-up appointment with my doctor is next week, and I may just fall on my knees and kiss her feet. She is a miracle worker.
And yes, I could have had this relief years ago, if I weren’t such a stubborn cuss. Shh, don’t tell me. I’m grabbing on now and holding tight. What else can you do with a miracle?