Friend of the Devil
“I set out running but I'll take my time
A friend of the Devil is a friend of mine
If I get home before daylight
I just might get some sleep tonight”
–Lyrics from “Friend of the Devil” - Robert Hunter, The Grateful Dead
Based on previous short-lived attempts and apathy, I don’t usually make New Year’s resolutions. So instead of a resolution, I hereby announce my intention for 2019. This year, I will reinforce my existing commitment: Respond. Don’t react. I’m applying this commitment to any pain I may be experiencing, be it physical or emotional. When I sit with difficult feelings, they eventually subside.
Twenty years ago, a friend pointed out to me that not everyone experienced repetitive ice pick blows to their temples, debilitating pain that laid them out for days. It never dawned on me that I belong to a special club, the unfortunate band of sufferers of the dreaded migraine. I had a blissful ten months of relief while pregnant with my son, now 12. After his birth, the headaches returned and have plagued me ever since.
The first medication I tried made me so stoned, it laid me out as much as the migraine did. The next one I took worked like a charm, miraculously setting me free from pain while making me feel like I was floating on a happy little Relpax cloud. I loved it so much, I overmedicated, resulting in debilitating cluster headaches. I had to lock myself in my kid’s room for a weekend, grateful for the blackout shades. Sweating, writhing and twisting around for two days, I felt like a heroin addict going cold turkey.
“Should I or shouldn’t I take this pill?” The migraine sufferer ponders this decision with each sign that a migraine is coming on. It’s recommended to take medication at the earliest sign of an oncoming symptom, but sufferers of this affliction consistently have an internal debate – is this really a migraine, or just a regular ol’ headache. It’s a usually a migraine. We question until the torture is full blown. The drugs may work, but it’s a slippery slope to overuse. This is, no doubt, how the opioid crisis was born, leaving decisions up to suffering patients who believe they hold relief in in the small, childproof, plastic bottle they’re clutching.
The chemo treatment I received for my bone marrow failure disorder, Aplastic Anemia, brought the headaches roaring back. I often slept propped up on a wedge pillow to avoid blood rushing to my brain, poised at the front door, ready for a trip to the emergency room. Though I thought my head would shatter from the pain, I resisted taking the migraine meds for fear of it interacting with other crucial lifesaving drugs. Well-intentioned loved ones offered their unsolicited advice – ditch dairy, shun sugar, take these supplements, and, my all-time favorite, relax. No one wants to be told to relax. But it turns out that they were right. My meditation practice changed my relationship with pain. Mindfulness cultivates the ability to be with things just as they are.
Currently, my jaw is tight and my temples pulse, but I’m not taking anything for it. I’ve decided to go it alone and shun my migraine pill. I’m making friends with the devil. I sit with the pain. I don’t try to run from it when it stabs me. I give my full attention to each throb, attacking it with breath, like a carnival game of whack-a-mole. I focus my breath on the physical sensation of discomfort, over and over again, without judgment or attempt to change it. Every time the pain comes, I acknowledge it. “How am I right now?” I’d be OK with taking the Relpax, but my breath does the trick. I don’t react to the throbbing. The practice of mindfulness teaches me patience, tolerance, reminding me to stay calm. Eventually the pain subsides, just like a toddler calming down from a tantrum.
When the pangs revisit, I barely notice. They’re dull, much less prevalent and frequent, a reminder that things change. That’s one thing I can count on. I’m going to try to power through it when a migraine strikes again. Easy road, I’ll miss you. My migraine is a metaphor, an experiment in learning to live with physical or emotional pain. Respond. Don’t react.
I’m about two months into the experiment. I’ve taken a couple of migraine pills and a few Advil. I’ve been diligent about my twenty-minute morning meditations. It’s a great relief to let things be as they are. Pain or pleasure, it won’t be here for long.