maybe he was having "one of his headaches"
Michael J. Nelson has chronic headaches too. I've been hearing mentions recently from MST3K fans of Mike having "one of his headaches" at fan events, and these fans deciding he's really just a dick.
I would like to tell them all to shut the fuck up.
Until you've lived with migraines and/or chronic daily headaches, you have NO IDEA how hard it can be to get through the day, be nice to people, pretend everything's fine. I have a headache EVERY DAY. It's not always a migraine. Sometimes it's just low-grade pain, sometimes it's medium-grade. Those are the days I come to work anyway, pretend everything's fine, and try not to burden other people with my illness. If your idea of a "headache" is, "oh, I get one every now and then, but I take a couple aspirin and that takes care of it," your experience bears no resemblance to mine. I have a headache EVERY DAY. I can't "take a couple aspirin" every day, because (1) they don't work, and (2) if you take over the counter pain meds every day you get rebound headaches. Even if you take prescription migraine meds nearly every day you get rebound headaches. That stupid nasal spray my neurologist prescribed is supposed to have the benefit of not causing rebound headaches. But it costs ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS for EIGHT DOSES and also doesn't always work.
The roller coaster ride I'm on right now is the same one Mike describes in his article:Because there is no medicine dedicated exclusively to the treatment of chronic headaches, he gave me pills for coronary artery disease, depression, joint pain, eczema, etc. - the theory being that in studies of these medicines, some patients found that they treated their headaches. Now, if 1,000 people were given a dose of ringworm medication, I would expect one or two of them to exclaim, "Hey, I find I no longer dislike the music of Rascal Flatts as much as I used to!" That would not lead me to conclude, however, that ringworm medication cures an aversion to the music of Rascal Flatts. But then, I’m not a neurologist with the voice of Winnie the Pooh.
If you judge these medications on their ability to cure my headache, all failed. If you judge them on their ability to deliver a string of bizarre and unpleasant effects, however, then they were a rousing success! One caused my heart to slow significantly, so that if I exerted myself by, for example, walking several paces, my vision would swim (inconvenient, as walking several paces was a big part of my life back then). Another scrambled my sense of time, giving me the sensation that I was continually shifting several seconds into the future and waiting for the rest of humanity to catch up to me. For the record, imaginary trips several seconds into the future have nothing much to offer, aside from feelings of stark terror.
His headaches are bad enough that he was eventually willing to have Novocain INJECTED INTO HIS HEAD (which didn't work, by the way). Mine are bad enough that I'm taking five thousand medicines and considering having Botox injections all over my head on a regular basis.
This is not something that can be described as "one of his headaches." This is THE headache, the one that's always there, the one that you WILL NOT GROK until, FSM forbid, you have it too. Then you'll be spending your time trying five thousand different meds that might lessen your aversion to Rascal Flatts and wishing you'd SHUT THE FUCK UP about the wonderful pain-relieving powers of "a couple aspirin."
(Another good explanation of living with chronic illness is The Spoon Theory (Warning: PDF) by Christine Miserandino. She says:Most people start the day with unlimited amount of possibilities, and energy to do whatever they desire, especially young people. For the most part, they do not need to worry about the effects of their actions. So for my explanation, I used spoons to convey this point. I wanted something for her to actually hold, for me to then take away, since most people who get sick feel a "loss" of a life they once knew. If I was in control of taking away the spoons, then she would know what it feels like to have someone or something else, in this case Lupus, being in control.
She uses the spoon theory to describe how she has to plan her day, based on how many "spoons" she has that day. Every little thing she does takes away a "spoon", so she has to plan to have enough to do what's necessary, and hope there's some left over to do something fun, all the while hoping her illness doesn't ambush her and steal all the "spoons" she was planning to use to live her life. Exactly.)
I would like to tell them all to shut the fuck up.
Until you've lived with migraines and/or chronic daily headaches, you have NO IDEA how hard it can be to get through the day, be nice to people, pretend everything's fine. I have a headache EVERY DAY. It's not always a migraine. Sometimes it's just low-grade pain, sometimes it's medium-grade. Those are the days I come to work anyway, pretend everything's fine, and try not to burden other people with my illness. If your idea of a "headache" is, "oh, I get one every now and then, but I take a couple aspirin and that takes care of it," your experience bears no resemblance to mine. I have a headache EVERY DAY. I can't "take a couple aspirin" every day, because (1) they don't work, and (2) if you take over the counter pain meds every day you get rebound headaches. Even if you take prescription migraine meds nearly every day you get rebound headaches. That stupid nasal spray my neurologist prescribed is supposed to have the benefit of not causing rebound headaches. But it costs ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS for EIGHT DOSES and also doesn't always work.
The roller coaster ride I'm on right now is the same one Mike describes in his article:Because there is no medicine dedicated exclusively to the treatment of chronic headaches, he gave me pills for coronary artery disease, depression, joint pain, eczema, etc. - the theory being that in studies of these medicines, some patients found that they treated their headaches. Now, if 1,000 people were given a dose of ringworm medication, I would expect one or two of them to exclaim, "Hey, I find I no longer dislike the music of Rascal Flatts as much as I used to!" That would not lead me to conclude, however, that ringworm medication cures an aversion to the music of Rascal Flatts. But then, I’m not a neurologist with the voice of Winnie the Pooh.
If you judge these medications on their ability to cure my headache, all failed. If you judge them on their ability to deliver a string of bizarre and unpleasant effects, however, then they were a rousing success! One caused my heart to slow significantly, so that if I exerted myself by, for example, walking several paces, my vision would swim (inconvenient, as walking several paces was a big part of my life back then). Another scrambled my sense of time, giving me the sensation that I was continually shifting several seconds into the future and waiting for the rest of humanity to catch up to me. For the record, imaginary trips several seconds into the future have nothing much to offer, aside from feelings of stark terror.
His headaches are bad enough that he was eventually willing to have Novocain INJECTED INTO HIS HEAD (which didn't work, by the way). Mine are bad enough that I'm taking five thousand medicines and considering having Botox injections all over my head on a regular basis.
This is not something that can be described as "one of his headaches." This is THE headache, the one that's always there, the one that you WILL NOT GROK until, FSM forbid, you have it too. Then you'll be spending your time trying five thousand different meds that might lessen your aversion to Rascal Flatts and wishing you'd SHUT THE FUCK UP about the wonderful pain-relieving powers of "a couple aspirin."
(Another good explanation of living with chronic illness is The Spoon Theory (Warning: PDF) by Christine Miserandino. She says:Most people start the day with unlimited amount of possibilities, and energy to do whatever they desire, especially young people. For the most part, they do not need to worry about the effects of their actions. So for my explanation, I used spoons to convey this point. I wanted something for her to actually hold, for me to then take away, since most people who get sick feel a "loss" of a life they once knew. If I was in control of taking away the spoons, then she would know what it feels like to have someone or something else, in this case Lupus, being in control.
She uses the spoon theory to describe how she has to plan her day, based on how many "spoons" she has that day. Every little thing she does takes away a "spoon", so she has to plan to have enough to do what's necessary, and hope there's some left over to do something fun, all the while hoping her illness doesn't ambush her and steal all the "spoons" she was planning to use to live her life. Exactly.)