It started on on around January 23, 2003. I say I don’t know how it started because it was a migraine, and those were so common for me, even ones that would last weeks, that I don’t know exactly when it started. I only know that whenever I talked to a neurologist about my migraines, they dais, only go to the ER if it’s the worst headache of your life. January 23, 2003 is the first mention I make in my journals prior to my first ER visit for this migraine. It wouldn’t be my last.
By the time I’d called for Shaman’s help, my fiancé had already taken 40 days of leave to nurse me through the worst. I’d been in the hospital for 4 days for an IV DHE infusion. I had 20 hours with no pain, and then right back up to “please, God, kill me now!” levels as soon as the medication crapped out. My savings was gone, I was selling everything I owned just to eat. Neither state disability nor other services could help me. Migraines aren’t listed as a debilitating condition, because for everyone else, migraines END. Mine refused to, and I was desperate.
I can remember how brief it was, considering. He was honest with the bad news that he couldn’t do much, but that I was doing everything right. However one part of his healing struck both of us. There was something he did that only one person before him had done, and that was stare into my eye, face to face, to see what he could see. “Most people can’t look eye to eye for that long…” he mentioned…
“I figured if I want this to work I better be willing. I mean, it’s not the first time someone has done that to me…” (or that I’d done to someone else…. though I didn’t remember I could do such a thing at the time.)
“Yeah…” he began, ” you still were able to look longer than anyone else.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, knowing we’d stumbled on something.
“I don’t know, what does it mean?” and he turned his head away and laughed.
“What was that for?” I asked, somewhat perturbed. I knew when someone was blowing smoke up my ass.
“What?” he asked, genuinely shocked that I’d noticed. “All that…” I noticed, waving to his change in posture, his difference in mood, his pulling away. Even though he was as old as my father, I could tell there was an attraction there. He blushed brightly through his wrinkles. I noticed it made him look younger and older at the same time. Younger because of the blush, older because of how the color darkened the lines on his face.
“Oh,” his voice was lower and softer, “I can see the woman you are to become, and it threw me for a moment. In a different lofetime we were something … else to each other, but that’s not now.”
I remember what made me willing to invite him back to my home and this was it. It wasn’t the admission he was married. There are plenty of men out there to whom a wedding ring means absolutely nothing, so that wasn’t the convincing piece of evidence. No, the convincing piece of evidence came earlier.