I had to try and get better... stickfirmly to my spartan diet so I didn’t trigger an attack and try to relax. Andfor a time, thing seemed to be improving.
It was on one of these occasions – a month into myconvalescence – that I plucked up the courage to phone Kaz at the radio stationand suggest I go in to do the interview at last. It had obviously beenpostponed because of my accident, and it had been left that I would contact herwhen I felt ready.
It was arranged for the following morning, but as soon asKaz ended the call, I started to worry. My confidence had taken a huge hit.
What if I messed up the interview? What if my brain letme down?
I felt my heart sink as a warning pulse started in mytemple.
I remembered clearly how thrilled and excited I was when theradio interview was first suggested, and it made me sad. I was full ofself-assurance back then, afraid of nothing.
That was the ‘me’ that Logan met...someone bright and breezy, who knew what she wanted and was determined she’dnever give up striving for that goal... someone full ofconfidence, who’d take a radio interview in her stride.
But that girl was gone.
And it was precisely why I couldn’t let Logan see me now...
I dosed myself with medication to try to calm the stressfulthoughts in my head, praying that when I woke up the next morning, my headwould be clear and pain-free.
And it was.
But as I was getting myself ready, drying my hair, thetell-tale pulse at my temple started up again. And I mustn’t have been quickenough, taking a tablet, because within fifteen minutes, I knew I was in for afull-blown attack. And I also knew from experience that migraine was like arunaway bulldozer. Once it picked up pace, there was nothing on earth thatcould stop it.
But I couldn’t phone Kaz to cancel.Not again!
Nausea was ramping up inside me just thinking about that.
No, I had to go. And actually, the pain wasn’t too bad atthe moment. Perhaps I could get to the studio and do the interview and get homebefore it got really bad?
I was feeling weak and a little shaky, but I had to try.
Dad was worried. He always said he could tell by my eyeswhen an attack was under way, but I played it down as I always did, not wantingto worry him. I must have been convincing because he called a taxi for me so Iwouldn’t have to drive, and I waved him off to work. While I waited for my liftto the radio studios, I did some deep breathing exercises to try to keep thepain at bay.
But by the time the taxi arrived, the drill in my temple waspiercing and insistent. I might have been okay if it wasn’t for the very chattydriver who kept asking me questions, especially when he knew I was going to beon the radio. The motion of the car, and having to lean forward from the backseat to talk to the driver was increasing my nausea.
We were almost at the studio when I knew I was going to besick.
Frantically glancing around the taxi, my eyes lighted on myhandbag.
Oh, hell!
But what else could I do? I knew if I asked him to stop thecar, it would be too late.
So to my enduring mortification, I did what I had to do. Andthe taxi driver turned around and drove me home. Feeling slightly better after losingmy breakfast coffee, I apologised profusely, but he was really nice about it. Itried to give him a big tip but he waved it away and said at least I hadn’tbarfed all over his back seat, and that he hoped I’d feel better soon.
He drove off cheerfully as I gingerly retrieved my pursethen dumped the handbag in the bin.
Inside, I called Kaz and explained what had happened.
‘Never mind. These things happen,’ she murmured. ‘Look afteryourself, won’t you? And when your headache’s better, give me a ring and we canreschedule, okay?’
‘Oh, but it’s not just a headache. It’s...’I tailed off uselessly as the stress of the phone call ramped up the nauseaagain. I got off the phone swiftly.
I never understood migraine before I experienced it myself.
Why would Kaz?
I fumbled with the front door key, then had to run to thebathroom.
