Life Can Be a Real Headache

It occurs to me, as I write this at age 37, that my life mostly feels like a fantasy dream. I do what I want, when I want…and things seem to work out for me. If I were told it’d all end tomorrow, I might borrow Lou Gehrig’s famous speech and upload it to the blog.

There’s a new-ish cliché that says, “Everyone is battling something you know nothing about.”

I’m no exception. I envision taking rose-colored screens off your devices for this article. I probably won’t receive any more texts saying, “I want your life,” because life ain’t always as it seems to be.

Life is Suffering

Once you understand that nobody is exempt from pain, you’ll never spend another minute of your life jealous of someone else. Life is suffering. As soon as you think you’ve got the world by the “short-n-curlies,” the world will punch you in the face.

For almost nine years, I’ve suffered near chronic, sometimes ferocious headaches. To rid myself of them, I’ve tried prayer, yoga, meditation, primary care, ENTs, neurologists, physical therapy, allergy shots, allergy drops, changes in diet, vitamins, holistic medicine, treatment for TMJ, acupuncture, prolotherapy, multiple X-rays, MRIs & CT scans, massages, sinus surgery, quit drinking alcohol, anti-epilepsy drugs, opiods, pain patches, anti-depressants, beta blockers, muscle relaxers, CBD oil, changed environments, psychologists, spinal injections, nerve block injections, psyilocybin, and finally headache surgery a few weeks ago.

What is Wrong with me?

I’ve always been a hyper-driven guy. Had I overworked myself in pursuit of personal goals? Could the headaches be self-inflicted stress of which I was unaware? Was I experiencing a physical manifestation of something deeply embedded psychologically? An environmental factor (allergy-related)?

Traveling the globe without a care in the world rendered those theories false. I got terrible headaches in the most serene locales.

I thought headaches might kill me (if I didn’t kill myself first). Doctors were clueless—their guesses no better than my WebMD searches. No medication helped.

My brain felt squeezed, making it hard to concentrate on work. For relief I’d take 10-minute breaks, lay face down with my hands balled into fists, then grind my knuckles into my forehead.

I once fainted on my bathroom floor, woke up disoriented and unable to move for a few seconds (it felt like minutes). Trying to make light of my ordeal, I told my neurologist and a young intern that if I’d hit my head on the sink, at least I might’ve invented a new flux capacitor. My joke fell flat as a gymnast.

Swallowing muscle relaxers with NyQuil was my bedtime ritual. Sleeping was as difficult as smiling during the day. I’d get scary lightning bolt shocks of pain in my forehead.

My sleep-like state resembled anesthesia more than restorative sleep. It was my escape from feeling like someone’s thumb was pressed on a sensitive pecan-sized area above my eyebrow.

Going without dairy was no help. I ditched gluten, alcohol and other potential causes to no avail. My routine intermittent fasting started while trying to mitigate headaches.

I’d wake up not wanting to face another day. No project beyond breakfast seemed tenable. Even a sunny day at the beach wasn’t enough incentive to start the coffee pot.

Horror Stories

I made little traction searching for people in a similar pain predicament. Once down Internet rabbit holes, I’d get lost in reams of horror stories, some of which ended in permanent neurological deficits or death.

One man I read about had a minor procedure to treat lightning bolts of pain that were shooting through his face. Doctors placed a tiny drop of liquid cement on the suspected nerve to keep a vein from pressing on it. A week later, he developed worse headaches than before and died. Nearly every test was run, but no diagnosis was ever identified.

Another guy passed away from a brain-eating amoeba. Others died from ALS or aneurysms discovered too late. I worried my doctors missed a brain tumor, or that I had irreversible nerve damage because I’d suffered so long. Increasingly frustrated, I just wanted a goddamn diagnosis.

Beyond Pain

As my headaches became tougher to endure, I started to think the possibility of a long life remote. Those thoughts were probably irrational—my medical intelligence rivals my knowledge of Twelfth Century Latin Literature—that is to say, nearly none.

One night feeling overwhelmed, I pondered whether “offing” oneself because of physical pain is more excusable than ending deep psychological and emotional pain. Having experienced both, I can tell you they’re similar in feelings of helplessness and inescapability. Though enduring the former can portend growth and transcendence; the latter I’m not sure.

My next thought was, “Oh shit, do I now have to answer in the affirmative when the neurologist asks if I’ve had suicidal thoughts?” I wasn’t depressed. I loved my life: my friends, job, colleagues and bosses. In fact, I’d joke to my girlfriend that life would be too good if I didn’t regularly have this feeling of my head in a vise.

Love and support isn’t what one needs when faced with chronic pain. Understanding is needed. You want your apology accepted when you can’t talk on the phone, attend social functions, or have an uncharacteristically “short fuse.”

Diagnosis and Procedure

Almost a year ago, I was referred to the top neurologist in Houston. It was the third neuro I’d seen in as many years. Finally, after nearly a decade of searching, a doctor used words to describe my condition: trigeminal neuralgia.

My trigeminal nerves were caught-up in, or being compressed by, muscles in my forehead, causing atypical facial pain. It’s a condition afflicting 4 in 100,000 people. Finally, a diagnosis. Hallelujah!

The doctors were convinced a newly developed surgical procedure could significantly reduce my pain. It’s a controversial operation insurance wouldn’t cover. I’m $20,000 lighter than I was when the Philadelphia Eagles won the Super Bowl. I figured it was a risk worth taking—I’d exhausted all other options.

Success rate of surgery: 80%.

Post-Op

I’ve been recovering from nerve decompression surgery for over a month. Seven incisions in my head, including two under my eyebrows. Too early to tell if I’ll get permanent relief from headaches—much of my forehead is still numb.

I’m finally able to exercise following weeks of lethargy. I ride the recumbent bike and walk on the treadmill (like a boss).

Amazing how much you miss movement when you’re laid up. My energy levels and overall mood are up 10x from where they were a month ago.

The Iron Horse

Unable to do much during recovery has enabled me time to think and reflect on life. I remembered that both my grandfathers died at age 74, which seems so young now that I’m halfway there.

I learned that Lou Gehrig and I share a birthday, June 19. I also hit left-handed like he did. When Gehrig was diagnosed with ALS, a neurological disease that destroys nerve cells, he gave what is referred to as “The Gettysburg Address of Baseball.” In it, he said, “Today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.” We have that in common too.

I’ll be fully recovered by my 38th birthday. Then I’ll approach life like it’s the second half, with more toughness, durability and renewed vigor—those traits which earned Lou Gehrig the nickname, “The Iron Horse,” before his life was tragically cut short at age 37.