Name Your Headache

Well, it’s midnight. My usual wake-up call is 3am. The interrupted sleep can be a time of inspiration or imagination. Did I awaken with amazing insight? Did I have a prophetic dream? No. Tonight’s edition of Name Your Insomnia is nothing short of frustration:  I woke up with yet another headache.

I used to tell my husband that I have as many names for headaches as Eskimos have for snow. That’s before I confused myself by consulting Wikipedia. Since there’s no single Eskimo language, it’s like saying I have as many ways to say “snow” as France, Germany, England, Ireland, Scandinavia, Russia….

Let’s start with the migraine headache. I’d rather not, but that’s where this one is heading. It’s the behind-the-eye pressure cooker that, if I succumb to the overwhelming urge for hot chocolate, will soon burst forth into the migraine-extraordinaire. But…but all that scalded metallic tasting overcooked condensed milk loaded with beet sugar and lumps of finely processed organic cocoa is calling my name. I’ll not tell you what name it’s calling me. It may be highly accurate, but it’s not very nice.

My, BAID (My, But Alas I Digress). There’s the forehead headache, the electric buzz-cut headache, the back-of-the-head hammer-attack headache, the right side migraine, and the sinus headache (with or without the feeling your nose is going to explode at any second). There’s the great gobs of light headache, the dyslex-ache from trying to herd alphabet soup-like letters into readable form, then there’s the stress headache (not to be mistaken for the sharp-pencil-through-the-ear anxiety headache). Then there’s the left side a-typical migraine with no pain but an oversized portion of dizzy with a side of vertigo.

Damn! I think I’ve just bored myself into oblivion. If I’m not careful, that particular headache is going to escalate into the Zombie brain freeze.

Now that I’ve identified a new headache—the bored-myself-into-oblivion brain freeze pre-migraine surprise—will I be able to kill the symptoms with a pill and go to sleep?

Not yet. The dog is sleeping on my pillow.

What names do you have for headaches? Please, don’t use my name to describe one. You’ll be standing in a line that could reach across Texas.