Gerflunk.

Pumpernickle. Achinobob. Kadinkiwink. Bubblejenapoop. Karingadingblob.

My brain is smoosh grey jelly type substance. I have spent more time and energy the past couple of days thinking of reasons why I wasn't blogging that I could have spent most of it thinking of something interesting to blog about.

The most notable thing to write about is what I like to call "The Curse of the D-gene" (sorry Dad!) For some unknown reason, out of all the wonderful things to inherit from my father, I have inherited the rare Migraine gene. And it ain't a nice thing.

Yesterday started off quite nice. I was walking happily to work, content with the day and the beautiful sunshine, excited about the fact that I actually left my scarf at home and could breathe in the thick (albeit smoggy) sun-beam filled air. Whilst waiting for my bus I started having to squint my eyes to see the numbers on the on-coming buses. I tried reading the text on my phone to see if it was just the sun bouncing off of the metal and shining into my eyes. I couldn't see the text on my screen. I glanced over to the advertisement on the bus and tried to focus. It was blurry and my eyes just couldn't pic up any of the shapes.

I panicked when I realised I was starting to see what I like to call 'white-flashy-things'. Every time I tried to read anything or look at anyone, they became invisible. I had to sit down because I couldn't really see what I was doing. It was as if somebody had taken a close-up picture of my eyes with a super-bright flash on. Closing my eyes was not an option because if I closed them, I probably wouldn't be able to open them again.

I started rifling through my bag just *hoping* I had remembered to put my mini-pack of extra-strong pain killers in that morning. I had remembered, but I only had one left in there. I got annoyed at myself, but remembered that sometimes it didn't get as bad as normal, so hoped today would be one of those days. I got on the bus, thankful that there was a seat near the front.

Eventually when I got to work I was feeling totally fine. The white flashy things had gone; I had taken my extra-strength pain killer and was happily replying to emails on my desk. It was about 20 minutes into my shift that a dull ache started presenting itself at the lower back of my head which connected to my neck, and I started feeling a little queasy. I went to get a small glass of cold water thinking it was just because the pain killer hadn't kicked in yet. My eyes started to hurt. I tried to squeeze down on my eye sockets with my fingers to get rid of the pain. When people spoke to me it felt like there was thick sheet of perspex between my ears and their mouth. Every small task took the maximum amount of effort. I drank some more water and promised myself it would go away after a while.

It didn't.

I went to the ladies to sit down in a dark room for a while. I breathed deeply trying not to feel the nausea creeping down from the top of my head through to behind my eyes, around the temples and finally down to my stomach. I did not want to be sick at work. I think I was in there for about 20 minutes but time was only calculated by concentrating on how deep my breathing was and how I was going to make it back to my desk.

Luckily enough, when I did go back to my desk I looked as sick as I felt and was able to go home. The bright sun outside was not a happy sight. I kept looking for a place to walk where the sun wouldn't be in my eyes. I walked as fast as I could, trying not to pound too hard on the concrete, sending instant pain tremors through my head. As soon as I got home I went to bed, covering up my head with the darkest blanket I could find, hoping the children's happy playing noises outside would fade away quickly with sleep. I woke up 7 hours later feeling groggy and surprised that I had slept so deeply.

I have been to several doctors for these migraines and none of them could hazard a guess to why I get them. They are completely random - I once didn't have one for several months, and I once had two in a week. I've tried different pain killers for them, and none of them really work. They just dull the pain slightly. The only cure is to go to bed - and hope that you get to bed before you start with the puking.

The worst thing about getting migraines is my complete understanding that people do not believe me. There is always a look of disbelief when I tell someone - it's like a get-out-of-jail-free card for work. One moment I'm chatting away happily with colleagues, the next I can't lift my head off of the desk and can't move from my chair. How do you explain this to someone who doesn't know the complete and utter horror of a migraine?

Jeroomeepoop.