Why Men Are Not Mothers.

Two am this morning, I woke from a crazy dream in which I was actually Emmi trying to learn to read. It took a few seconds for the dream to fade, before I realized what woke me was a nasty migraine. One that had probably been in full swing for at least an hour untreated while I slept. Trying to get back on top of this one would be almost impossible. I took the first round of medication, waiting the appropriate fifteen minutes to determine if I needed to up the dose. The pain increased. It was then I decided this was not a migraine. Oh no. It was an aneurysm. Do you even get a headache or have any symptoms? It had to be. I never woke up with migraines. The pain often stayed steady with the first round of medication, but never increased. I could no longer put my head on my pillow due to the pain it caused. Nausea had long since set in. Something was really wrong.

It was then I woke Kenny. "My head. Something is really wrong," I was barely able to gasp out. Pain shot through my head with each word. I was dying.

Kenny reached over, patted my head, and went back to sleep.

Fine then. See what happens next time you are dying.

Obviously, I was not actually dying. It was jut a migraine. One that is still hanging around this morning, although it is down to dull throb. And I should probably give him credit for getting up an hour later to get me third dose of medication.