By

Headache Disorders & Migraine Blog Carnival: Last Call for Submissions

Submissions for the September Headache Disorders and Migraine Blog Carnival are due tomorrow, Sept. 5, by 11:59 p.m. Invisible Illness is the theme of this month’s carnival. Let us know your thoughts on the pros and cons of having an invisible illness or respond to the 30 Things meme sponsored by the 2014 Invisible Illness Awareness Week, which will be Sept 8-14.

To join us, email the link to your post to kerrie[at]thedailyheadache[dot]com and include the following information with your submission:

(1) Your name as you would like it to appear in the carnival.
(2) The title of the blog post you’re submitting.
(3) The url of the blog post you’re submitting.
(4) The title of your blog.
(5) The url of your blog.

By

Understanding of Invisible Illness & Visible Disabilities

When you’re struggling with the frustrations of an invisible illness, it’s tempting to think, “If only people could see how sick I was, they’d understand.” While people may have a different understanding of visible disabilities or illnesses than they do for invisible ones, the understanding isn’t better or more. The judgement and criticism still come, just in different ways.

Despicable Memes is an excellent article that addresses some of the harmful beliefs about physical disabilities, particular people in wheelchairs. This particular article struck me because I saw so many parallels with the aspects of invisible illnesses that people struggle with. In particular,

  • If your symptoms or behaviors don’t fit with what other people expect of you, you’ll be judged.
  • When you speak up about how hurtful and damaging the comments are, you’ll be told you’re too sensitive.
  • People are only comfortable talking about illness or disability if the focus is on working hard, getting better, being strong, and overcoming strife.

Obviously, having a visible disability isn’t a breeze. I know that you know that. Still, I’ve seen plenty of people online say that they wish people could see their invisible disability so they’d understand it. I do not. Not only because I don’t want stares and pity or because I like being able to hide my illness when I want to, but because the grass is just as dry and brittle on the other side.

This month’s Headache Disorders & Migraine Blog Carnival, which I’m hosting here on September 8, will be devoted to invisible illness. Bloggers, if you’d like to share your thoughts on invisible illness, please read the call for submissions and send me your posts by 11:59 p.m. on Friday, September 5.

By

Call for Submissions: September Headache Disorders & Migraine Blog Carnival

In honor of Invisible Illness Awareness Week, Invisible Illness will be the theme of September’s Headache Disorders & Migraine Blog Carnival, which I’m hosting here on September 8. Let us know your thoughts on having an invisible illness or respond to the 30 Things meme sponsored by Invisible Illness Awareness Week.

To join us, email the link to your post to kerrie[at]thedailyheadache[dot]com by 11:59 p.m. Pacific time on Friday, Sept. 5. Please include the following information with your submission:

(1) Your name as you would like it to appear in the carnival.
(2) The title of the blog post you’re submitting.
(3) The url of the blog post you’re submitting.
(4) The title of your blog.
(5) The url of your blog.

I’m looking forward to reading and sharing the submissions!

 

By

Use Migraine as an Excuse, Recommends Advice Columnist

An advice columnist recommends using migraine as an excuse to avoid the potentially awkward conversation that would ensue if a female employee told her male bosses that she has to work from home one day each month due to menstrual cramps. And he does so in a remarkably insensitive manner:

I suggest, at the risk of overkill, concocting a migraine headache. Migraines can last for hours or for days; they’re famously disruptive to work schedules and social calendars. Also, it seems somehow permissible to use a migraine as an excuse because—well, I hear they’re awful, but—they’re not contagious and they don’t generally snowball into anything fatal, right? There’s no special worry about the mortality of the migraineur. Further, some back-on-the-envelope cultural analysis suggests some mystery and glamour to the ailment. It’s a serious person’s malady, with a Didion tinge of thoughtful drama.

Glamorous is not the word I’d use to describe the illness that has caused me to be housebound and even bedridden. I should start wearing silk pajamas and calling everyone “dahling.” I may not be able to work a steady job or form coherent thoughts, but at least I have a “serious person’s malady” — too bad few people take migraine seriously enough to recognize it is a potentially disabling neurological disorder. Perhaps if I play up the “thoughtful drama” people will understand how migraine has gutted my life. At least a woman can be spared the embarrassment of admitting that she menstruates by trivializing the severity of an illness that wreaks havoc on millions of lives.

Think I’m over-reacting? Here’s an explanation of the harm of using migraine as an excuse.

Want to leave a comment for the advice columnist? Following this link to the article on Slate. I have left a comment and expect people will soon respond that I’m too thin-skinned and need a sense of humor. Funny how people say that so readily until they encounter a topic that pushes their buttons.

By

Migraine in “We Were Liars”

“I cannot recall a time when a narrator has brought this much focus on migraine disease with such apt descriptions,” Janet wrote in her Migraine.com review of the novel We Were Liars.

I had similar thoughts when I read the book a month ago (at Janet’s recommendation). The descriptions were so good that I highlighted passage after passage, eager to share them with you. Here are a couple:

“Welcome to my skull. A truck is rolling over the bones of my neck and head. The vertebrae break, the brains pop and ooze. A thousand flashlights shine in my eyes. The world tilts. I throw up. I black out. This happens all the time. It’s nothing but an ordinary day.”

“‘You have no idea what it feels like to have headaches like this. No idea. It hurts,’ I say—and I realize tears are running down my face, though I’m not sobbing. “’It makes it hard to be alive, some days. A lot of times I wish I were dead, I truly do, just to make the pain stop.’”

Then I got to the twist for which the book is known. The power of these incredible descriptions was diffused by a stereotype that, while not untrue, is a major contributor to migraine’s stigma. So much so that all the positive regard I’d had for the book’s depictions of migraine was gone. For me, no matter how elegant and accurate the descriptions, they can’t cancel out the harmful message I fear the book ultimately spreads about migraine.

I was so eager to have a wildly popular book raise some awareness of the severity of migraine that maybe I expected too much. Still, I’m disappointed. I’d like to say more, but don’t want to risk spoiling the book for anyone — it’s a great read.

That’s my take, which is probably a minority opinion among migraineurs. Have you read We Were Liars? What do you think of how it depicts migraine? (No spoilers, please!)