Migraine - 1, Rosemarie - 0

Two twenty-eight a.m. I roll over and realize I have intense pain in the right front quadrant of my head. Another migraine. Every movement is agony, but I force myself to get up and take an Imitrex, or rather, it's generic (and significantly cheaper) version. Sumatriptan. An oasis in a desert of extreme pain. Thank god for quality Canadian medications.

So I take the triangular tablet, go sit on the couch (sitting is less painful than lying down), pull my grandmother's lap quilt over me, and drift in and out of sleep. The cats are confused and the older one takes advantage of the unexpected human company by climbing up on my chest. This is a good thing for him, not for me. I gently push him away, and now he's really confused. He is used to being cuddled and kissed even when I'm knitting. Now I feel guilty, so I put a hand on his back and he purrs.

About 6:30 Dorne gets up. He knows I've been out of bed for a while, and after two years of living with me, knows why I'm not there. He's ever so quiet, and creeps over to me, kisses two of his fingers and tenderly puts those two fingers on my right temple. The epicentre of my migraines is there. That doesn't make my migraine feel any better, but it certainly warms my heart. I know I look like hell, I can barely open one eye, and he can still show his love.

It's been more than four hours since I took the sumatriptan, and still no significant relief. That was my last one, too. I can go to my drugstore and get a refill, but am in no shape to drive. I go back to bed, thinking that maybe if I can lie down, sleep will overcome me and push the rage out of my head. Not so. I call in to work, talk to my supervisor (Dianne, she's great) and let her know that if the migraine lifts, I'll be to work by noon. Another wasted hour follows, trying to sleep, and then I smell cigarette smoke.

It's coming from downstairs. Gerry, the tenant down there, is smoking, because he believes both Dorne and I have left the house and are at work. Just to make sure I'm not being paranoid, I go outside and see if he's moved his smoking chair to the patio just under our bedroom window. Nope, not there. I go back in, hear pots clanging in his kitchen, and slam our back door hard enough to wake the dead.

A few minutes later, he leaves the house, gets in his boss' truck, and leaves.

I am pissed right off. Here we go back to the "No Smoking" thing again.

My head hurts too much to call our landlord and leave a message on his voicemail. I'll deal with it later.

As a result of my little tantrum, Innu (that beautiful furry four-legged boy of ours!), purebred Malamute husky, knows that he's not alone, and starts vocalizing, almost inaudibly. He's very good at that. So, back outside I go, full blown migraine into the very bright sun. Innu's happy to see me, so I take him off his tether and he rushes around the yard a few times, with WAY too much energy and exuberance. We both come in the house, and he finds the older cat. They play (in other words, Mowzer the cat, who's a long-haired cat, teases Innu and then runs under the furniture, but allows Innu to get a hold of him long enough to get Mowzer's fur matted up with saliva, or as I say, Innu flosses his teeth on the cat) for about 1/2 hour, then the big guy takes a nap on the mat inside the front door.

Jehovah Witnesses are headed up the street. I take out my laminated "ABSOLUTELY NO RELIGIOUS SOLICITING" sign and pin it inside the screen door. Religion is the opiate of the feeble-minded, a crutch and an excuse for not taking responsibility for one's actions. (hmm, sounds like the definition of an addict, yes?) Anyway, that's as much as I'm going to think about that subject for one day.

The pain seems to be lifting. I've had two cups of killer strong coffee, and maybe that's the medicine I needed. I'm going to make use of my time at home alone, do some cleaning (we're having Easter dinner here on Saturday, with my dad and his wife, my best friend Adonus and her 11 year old daughter) and maybe listen to some music and knit for a while. My head is still too damaged to go to work and be able to withstand the constant pounding of a machine that is used (long story), but at least at home, I can control the lights and the noise level, and get something done.

New score. Rosemarie - 1, Migraine - 0.