Читать книгу Sweet Poison - Janet Starr Hull - Страница 13

CHAPTER 1

A Bad Headache

It was a day like any normal day. For me, anyway. I was home with my three toddlers doing my favorite activity, the “mom” thing: playing with and taking care of my children and nursing the baby. I was also doing my not so favorite things: changing three sets of diapers, picking up an endless number of toys and doing laundry. It was almost nap time for the boys and me. With the newborn riding side saddle on my left hip, I walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed a diet soda. Sean, my three-year-old, asked for a bottle of apple juice. We all sat down to watch thirty minutes of Sesame Street on television.

Then a blinding headache struck. Strange, I thought. I never get headaches. Oh well. I must be tired today, I rationalized.

The headache got worse. Sitting quietly on the sofa with the baby on my lap watching Bert and Ernie, the room began to spin. It spun faster and faster, like riding the merry-go-round at the Texas State Fair. It was making me sick to my stomach. I guessed I must be coming down with something. Then I began feeling nauseous. I was going to throw up if my head kept dancing pirouettes.

I let the boys stay up a big longer so I could remain still a few minutes more. Maybe a sip of cola would settle my stomach. I reached for my diet cola. Another sip. I felt worse.

“Sean, honey,” I said to my oldest with a pathetic tone in my voice. “Will you go over to the window and pull the blinds down for Mommy, please. Mommy has a headache. The sunlight is making it worse.” By now, my eyes were throbbing in agony.

Little Sean proudly looked up at me, smiling. His new assignment made him feel so big. Honored, he marched over to the window and pulled the shade down with a force that almost yanked the linen roll off the brackets. I was too sick to care.

The baby started to cry, and Alex, my middle child, cried out for some milk. Sean was now running to every window pulling each shade down with vigilant drive. I felt worse.

“Sean,” I barked. “Please stop pulling down the shades so hard.” My scolding crushed his enthusiasm. He started to cry. Alex was now bellowing for milk, and Brian, my newborn, was so tired he was screaming. The sound shattered my aching head as if it were breaking glass.

“Mommy! Mommy!” Their cries rang in my ears.

“Boys, please!” I squealed. “Mommy is so sick. Help me stand up.”

Desperate to get to my bed, I depended on a three-year-old and a one-and-a-half-year-old to come to my aid. I put the baby in his playpen praying he’d fall asleep quickly.

With gentle help from the boys, I worked my way down the hall. Hugging the walls to keep from falling down, I directed my feet to the bedroom. The house was now spinning round and round. It was becoming harder for me to swallow. This headache was like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

I dropped weakly onto my tidy bed. Circles continued to reel around my pounding head. The headache pierced the middle of my forehead, driving painful spikes deep into my eyes. “Oh, God!” I cried out. “What’s going on?” I wished Chuck, my husband, would come home. I needed some help.

My body trembled and twitched. I started to sweat. The pain in my forehead persisted. “What is this?” I murmured, nauseous and agonized.

The boys slowly shuffled my way. They looked scared. Seeing me must have been frightening to them. “Mommy?” they modestly asked in unison. “What’s wrong with you? Are you going to die?”

Unable to lift my head to comfort them, I replied, “Oh no, boys.” Speaking made my head pound. “I’m not going to die.” I wanted to chuckle at their innocence, but the pain was too intense. Any movement started me spinning like a top. The pain in the middle of my forehead pounded.

“Boys,” I said, “go get Mommy a wet wash cloth from the bathroom.” Sean’s second assignment today. Neither Sean nor Alex was tall enough to reach the sink, but they toddled off to the bathroom full of delight with a challenge that would occupy them long enough to give me a bit of peace and quiet. I heard Sean, the inventor, and Alex, the domineering one, engineering plans on how to reach the sink. I had no strength to arbitrate.

Suddenly, the head pain began to subside. By the time the boys returned from their unsuccessful mission, I was able to shift from horizontal to a sitting position. Slowly, I dropped my legs over the side of the bed and stood on wobbly feet. I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. Creeping down the hallway, I made my way to the kitchen, stopping to peek at my sleeping baby. He was fine, thank goodness. The boys teetered close behind. I got them some milk and myself another diet cola. A cold one. I sat on the sofa and took a deep breath.

Damn. What just happened? I was confused but not yet worried.

A couple of days went by. I seemed fine. I guessed my headache was a freak occurrence. Other moms with three young children must get headaches, too, I told myself.

The following week I got another headache. Same setting. Home with the children, watching Sesame Street on television, diet cola in my hand. Then it was spin city. Aside from the pain, I was getting annoyed. “I don’t get headaches,” I repeated to myself.

The next morning I headed for the grocery store. “I’d better shop fast in case I get another headache today,” I said to the kids as if they’d really understand. They had no idea what I was talking about. Doing something simple like buying groceries is a big deal when you have three kids under three years of age in tow. Usually I tried to shop when Chuck was home so he could watch the boys, but he got home too late these days. I had to take all three offspring with me. I hoped the store was ready. As we drove there, I tried to talk to the older two about behaving once they were there. They grinned back, mischievously I thought, but maybe I was imagining that.

I found a parking space and after a couple minutes of fumbling with car seats, we were crossing the parking lot and heading towards the front door. Inside the store I lifted Sean into the shopping cart. I hoisted Alex kicking and squealing onto my back. He protested being strapped into the blue-framed backpack. Brian, unaware of what was going on, slept in a front pack laced across my chest, his limp legs swinging with every step I took. “Okay, boys,” I professed with uncertain fortitude, “let’s go get ‘em.”

Pushing my family cargo and the groceries we’d accumulated down aisle ten, I bumped into my next door neighbor, Edith. I adored Edith. She was the “cup of sugar” kind of neighbor. Like family.

“Howdy!” I said as I smiled with surprise.

Edith had a disturbed look on her face.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I inquired with concern.

“Jan,” she said, “you’re always so well put together. Have you had your pants on backwards all morning?”

“Well,” I laughed, not too surprised that I didn’t look my best, “I thought I had it together.” I winked at her and we began talking of other things.

Suddenly, in a split second, a tiny dot appeared in my field of vision. I blinked, but it didn’t go away. It was a bright pin-hole-sized light inside my eye. Minuscule at first, the pin-point began to grow. It got brighter, too. Growing longer and more brilliant, it magnified into an electrifying jagged line blinding me in a matter of seconds. The line was blurry and fuzzy and annoying. I saw the shifting line whether my eyes were open or closed. It got so large it overcame my vision, eventually disappearing behind my eye. When it maneuvered behind my eye, a horrendous headache struck. Pain like never before. Even more intense than my other recent headaches.

I cried out.

Edith didn’t know what was happening to me. I had no choice but to lean against the grocery shelves, riding out the pain.

“Edith,” I cried out. “Help me. Something’s wrong with my eyes. Take Alex out of the backpack, would you, please?”

Although she was confused, Edith did what I asked without question. Totally liberated now, Alex ran up and down the store aisle, laughing and having the time of his life. Sean wanted to join his brother and squirmed to get out of the cart.

Edith had her two children with her. They wanted to start running around, too. The scene was quickly getting out of control.

Meanwhile, the pain in my head intensified, and I started to sweat. I feared I might have to vomit right between the cereal boxes and the pop-up toaster pastries. Edith stood motionless, unsure about what to do next.

Eventually the pain subsided. I wearily opened my eyes and stood up straight. With Edith’s help, I checked out my purchases. She insisted on driving us home. Gratefully I accepted. At home she unloaded my groceries and gave the kids a snack while I lay down.

“I wish Chuck would get home. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I said when Edith came into the bedroom to see how I was. “I can’t cope anymore. I wish these headaches would just go away. But they don’t! They come more often and get worse over time.”

“They’re migraines,” Edith interjected.

I guessed she was right. But migraines? Me? How could I be developing migraine headaches all of a sudden?

I had no idea.

I figured perhaps my hectic schedule could be the cause, and I vowed to get better control over the demands in my life. I had to blame something for these recurring headaches. Too little rest. Three toddlers pulling on me all day long. A husband who worked too much. Whatever.

However, no matter how I rearranged the demands of my life in the next few months, nothing helped. I was experiencing at least one bad migraine every day. How could I cope with the boys’ needs when I could barely stand up because of the pain?

Before those first couple of headaches, I never had a problem sleeping. But I was having trouble getting any rest now. And stress. Stress had always pushed me into action instead of getting me down. I was always happy-go-lucky, a person full of energy, always on the go. I loved doing things with my three boys. I enjoyed gardening, taking the children on walks, playing with the dog. I really liked my life. That was, until now. I was changing, both physically and emotionally, and my life was changing. The changes were intensifying, too, and not for the better.

I was losing control of myself day by day. I started having problems with the kids and with my marriage.

Handling the boys had become less rewarding. When they bickered and fought over toys or were messy, I used to see the humor in it. Now I yelled. When they dropped food on the floor, I cried.

I could not seem to keep the house straightened or food prepared.

I continuously asked my husband to spend more time at home. “You’re never around to help,” I protested. “I need more support with the boys. I’m so tired.”

“Okay, Baby,” he replied blankly, but his attention was on the ten o’clock news.

I had no energy. Because I couldn’t get a good night’s sleep, I was worn out during the day. If the boys didn’t take a nap, I got very cross. “Go to sleep!” I screamed at them more than once. “Give Mommy a break. I’m worn out. I’m so tired.” When they finally slept, I’d fall into my own bed for any rest I could steal.

My husband didn’t understand what I was going through. Gone by 7:00 A.M. and not home until after 9:00 P.M. every day, he seemed tired and on edge, too.

Why was I acting like this? Chuck worked hard as a self-employed contractor. I knew this. So why was his routine suddenly bothering me?

“My schedule never bothered you before,” he said.

“It does now!” I snapped back.

Something was happening to me. I didn’t know why I was changing, but something mysterious was taking control of my life.