pivotal [moments]

[moment 23]

I could feel it coming on all day. Then one minute I was talking with my husband and the next I was in agony. My migraine had reached the tipping point from manageable to not. The increasing weakness on my left side had made is way to partial paralysis. My speech was slurred, I had one of the worst headaches I've ever had and if I didn't know better, in that moment I would have thought I was having a stroke. If I'd gone to the ER, they would think I was having a stroke and they'd do all the tests and I'd fail them all and they'd send me for a CT scan and find out in fact I was not having a stroke. And then I'd lay in a bed for hours while they tried to figure out if there was anything they could do for me and I'd finally ask to be released so I could go home to the relative comfort of my own bed. 

I assumed I wasn't having a stroke for two reasons: 1. I've gone to the ER when this has happened on multiple occasions and it's never a stroke and 2. this happens around twice a month. 

It took years for me to get a diagnosis of hemiplegic migraines, which mimic strokes. And to find out there's nothing I can do to prevent them. Or treat them. Or help the after-effects, which for me include left-side weakness that never fully goes away.

But this time, in that excruciating moment that tipped the scales, my husband was at my side asking what I needed. He helped me lay down and get relatively comfortable. He watched over me while I was in and out of tortured sleep. He made sure I took my evening meds and did what he could to help me to the bathroom and back into bed. He made sure I was going to be ok before he slept. 

There were many moments that night where my husband's comforting words and arms made all the difference between me sinking into despair and me having hope that the pain would lessen soon and all would be ok.

It is those pivotal moments of care and concern that change the narrative of the situation from one of suffering to one of coping.