Clouds equal migraines for me, it’s that simple. In my six years in Seattle, I refused to recognize that I felt better when I was visiting Phoenix or vacationing at a sunny destination, always thinking it was because I took medication while traveling or forced myself to do more than I did at home. Moving to Boston in 2009, where the weather changes regularly, and keeping a headache diary forced me to admit the connection between clouds and the severity of my migraines.
In the 14 months I lived in Boston, a “good day” meant I had between one and three hours of feeling well enough to be off the couch. On average, I got this respite twice a month. In the “good” time, I’d go to the farmers’ market, get groceries or, occasionally, treat myself to a trip to the arboretum. Sometimes I’d do housework with glee (cleaning and pleasure had, until last year, been mutually exclusive). Rarely was I able to make a doctor’s appointment on my own. Hart would have to leave work to take me. Running errands was an epic accomplishment. Hell, shaving my legs was nearly as exciting as a night on the town (an impossibility for at least five years.) Except for the five Dave Matthews Band and six Phish shows, which I absolutely refuse to miss because they are so restorative, I had no life.
The best news I’ve had in 10 years is that I’ve finally found an effective treatment. Hart and I are moving to Phoenix. To all of you whose migraines are triggered by weather, I’m sorry to say that my remedy is so extreme. He and I are fortunate to have grown up there. Our friends and family are there. Our roots are there.
Wait, I should say they are here. I’ve effectively moved, living at my mom’s house for the last three weeks. Hart will visit in a couple weeks, then join me at the end of January. To make this move happen, Hart will be leaving his dream job. He’ll stay with the same company, but his role won’t be the same. While we’d both rather this not be the case, the prospect of getting a life (and his wife!) back far outweighs the cost.
My solution is nowhere near perfect. I’m far from migraine-free in Phoenix and the background headache is ever-present. Even with the sky a brilliant blue, I still have a migraine every day. But each migraine is a distinct episode. That is, they end. Whereas I’m used to one migraine running into another, happy when I have even an hour-long break, the ones I have in Phoenix often only last six hours. Sometimes a Midrin, a naproxen and a nap will reduce the duration to two hours. I leave the house nearly every day.
Yes, that’s right, I leave the house nearly every day. I’m not exaggerating to say it feels like a miracle.
Seattle’s lakes and trees and cranes and Space Needle fill my soul. Even when I didn’t leave the house, the glimpses out the windows cheered me. I didn’t realize how much the city carried me as I struggled with an ever-worsening chronic illness. Moving to Boston was the right choice for Hart and me and I want to make it home while we’re here. But how do I find my place in a city that doesn’t nurture me?