I had a migraine during the week. As anyone who has experienced migraines before, it’s not simply a “bad headache”. A full-blown migraine is crippling. Every breath reverberates through your brain as a crushing pain. Even the dimmest light feels like you’re looking at the sun. Your eyesight can suffer and you can feel on the verge of vomiting.
I’ve experienced migraines before. The trick is to catch them early, take a load of drugs and hope that it either goes away or at the very least doesn’t get any worse.
I was on my way to see a customer during the week. Normally I have a stash of migraine tablets in the car. Without meaning to plug, the Tesco own version which are no more than £2 seem to work wonders for me.
Unfortunately, I’d run out.
I recognised the sharp pain that stabbed away between my left eye and the bridge of my nose but chose to ignore it. I had no other painkillers at all with me, so simply ignored the pain and went to see my customer.
Two hours later I’d finished and was feeling horrendous. A migraine was properly kicking in by now and there was only one thing for it. I needed drugs.
Asda happened to be two minutes away and so I drove there and popped inside. Their pharmacy aisle didn’t have what I was looking for and so I queued at the pharmacy counter. I dislike forced social interaction at the best of times, but being in pain I really didn’t want to speak to anyone at all.
Because it was late, only one pharmacist was working behind the counter. She spent a couple of minutes serving the guy in front before turning her attention to me.
By this time I was practically green in the face, wanting to vomit, squinting heavily because the lights in the store were so bright I waited my turn and, when asked, practically whispered my request for Migralieve, lest any volume in my voice makes things worse.
“Who is it for?” the pharmacist asked. I genuinely thought she was kidding.
“It’s for me…” I mumbled, battling the searing pain in my head.
She then proceeded to ask about a dozen questions before she could sell me any medicine. “Have you used it before?
Do you know that you can’t take other medicine with it? Are you aware that it is addictive?” and more.
I swear I’d have said anything at the time to relieve the symptoms. “Yes, it was me that killed off the dodo… Yes, I agree that iTunes is a magnificent price of software. Give me drugs!”
She then charged me £9.25 for the tablets. My own fault, perhaps, seeing as I was bent over, leaning on the counter. Perhaps she thought I was merely assuming the position to be rogered.
I resisted the urge to ask for KY Jelly to make the rogering less painful, but I was in no mood to be sarcastic.
Instead, I limped home, gave a couple of minutes thought to sleep in the car until the drugs kicked in and eventually made my way home.