When you are by yourself, Christmas Eve is the loneliest night of the year. Yesterday I woke up with the twinge of a migraine headache buzzing behind my eye, and it stuck with me throughout the day. Saturday is a typical migraine day for me, so it wasn’t a big shock. Most days, it stays in the “mild buzzing” stage and never advances. Some days it gets so bad that I end up vomiting.
I was invited over to grill steaks with some friends, and figured it’d be a great way to distract me from the headache and the loneliness of Christmas Eve. I went over there and had fun for a few hours, until the buzzing behind my eye became a DJ playing house music far too loud behind my eye. I did what I normally do in this case. I excused myself and drove home, hoping to fall asleep before it got any worse. I didn’t drive fast enough.
By the time I got home, which was only about ten minutes, my stomach was upset and I was feeling that wonderful nausea that I’m unable to fight off. (Steak, potatoes, and beans were a bad idea. Next time I’m going to stick to water when I feel a migraine coming on.) By midnight, I had made four trips to the bathroom to throw up and was still unable to sleep, but at least my stomach was settling down.
I don’t know what time I finally fell asleep, but the last time I checked the clock it was three a.m. and my head was still kicking my ass.
I’ve heard a lot of women say that men turn into big babies when they’re sick, and that we want someone there to pamper us and make us feel better. Normally, I’m quite the opposite. I prefer to face whatever ails me on my own, to the point of refusing the offer of asprin and such from friends. (I know a few of my readers who will back me up on that statement.) Call me pig-headed. Call me stupid. Call it macho posturing. Honestly, who wants a man who can’t take care of himself?
Last night, though, I wanted nothing more than someone to be here with me.