Headaches and husbands.

It's been nine days.
Nine days of a nearly constant, thumping timpani inside of my brain.  A "headache" that threatens to swell up and crack my skull at the seams, and spill those throbbing brains all over my pillow.
Relief is fleeting.  Medications stand little chance at putting a dent in the pain, and the tension that's developed above my shoulders.
For nine days.

In those nine days, my family has watched me slowly begin to come unhinged.  They've watched me grow increasingly clumsy, and awkward.  Well, more awkward than usual.  They've seen me react to seemingly innocent situations with tears and absolute emotional devastation.  They've seen me become more and more irrational, tired, depressed, as I swing from impossible, painful lows, to giddy moments of relief that border on an actual high.

My husband has tolerated twisted bed sheets and hours of flailing, due to my worsening insomnia.  He has listened during repeated, tearful phone calls, during which I have complained about our broken vacuum, my intense pain, our blocked kitchen sink, our children's antics, and my insatiable craving for cookies.  He has worked tirelessly on the knots in my neck, in an effort to help me feel relief, and enable me to fall asleep.  He's made special trips between his exhausting two jobs, in order to fetch me medicine and comfort food.  He's maintained a cool head and an empathetic concern, when anyone else would have rightfully walked away ages ago.

When it feels like the world has left me behind, and that the pain might never end, he has been there, as a constant reminder that I'm not alone.  That even if everyone else disappears, and my head threatens to cave in on itself, he is there, ready to accept, support, and love me.  And all of the crazy that comes along with me.

My favorite medicine <3 

I feel as if I owe him an enormous "thank you."  And an apology.  Which should also probably extend, thanks to all the recent medication, to my liver.
I'm sorry, husband.  I'm sorry, liver.