Tag Archives: nature

Weathering the Storm in a Mammoth Winter of Migraines and Snow

winter of migraines
Skiing among whispy clouds. Image: Angie Glaser

Chronic Migraine makes me feel like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I am two people living in the same tired body. The pull into the pain and madness of Hyde has been strong this winter, as my body and mind weathered migraine attack after migraine attack – some lasting as long as 6 days.

This winter has been a winter of snow, a winter of change, a winter of adventure. Like the 15 seasons that came before it, this winter has been a winter of migraines.

Resisting the Urge to Hibernate

winter of migraines
Goop doesn’t let his limitations keep him from adventure, either. Image:: Angie Glaser

I am lucky. I live in a little cabin sandwiched between snowy domes and formidable peaks. The Sierra Nevada is my happy place – the place where I feel most connected to my healthy, vibrant self and the rich world I get to live in.

If anything is strong enough to dull the glow of my happy place, though, it’s Chronic Migraine.

I found joy in crafts, baking, my home, and my friends this winter. Even as I battled migraine attacks and snowstorms, I found joy in my body and in my environment.

While I devoted my time and energy to work, hobbies, and health, my Migraine self – my Hyde – constantly lurked in the shadows. Like most people with chronic pain, I spend huge swaths of energy steering myself away my Migraine self, my Hyde. If I don’t invest in me, if I don’t choose joy, I run the risk of becoming Hyde full-time.

Forcing myself to go for a run with a headache, popping on an ice pack and writing away on my laptop, bundling up and grabbing my skis when my body wants to be in bed for the fifth consecutive day – from the outside my battle looks like the normal life of a young person. In reality, each hour during this winter of migraines that I managed to resist hibernation is a huge victory.

winter of migraines
My partner Eric Smith and I digging ourselves out of a mammoth winter. Image: Angie Glaser

Shoveling, Skiing, and Sleeping My Way Through a Winter of Migraines

winter of migraines
Atmospheric rivers turned our street into a ski track. Image: Jackie Glaser

These victories are even more impressive when you consider the kind of winter we’ve had. If there was ever a winter made for hibernation, it is this one.

The ski mountain that looms dramatically over my home currently reports 330″ inches of snow at the summit. That’s twenty seven and a half feet!!

In an attempt to save some cash, my housemates and I decided not to pay for snow removal for our four-car driveway. This means we shoveled (by hand!) our way out of each atmospheric river snow dump. The snow was so thick that on several occasions we left our cars at home and skied the unplowed streets.

Chronic Pain Be Damned

Living well when you’re sick every day is damn hard. I know from experience, though, that

winter of migraines
Snow + headband = emergency ice pack. Image: Eric Smith

it is well worth the effort. I have bad days and worse days and I’m tired all the time. But I am creating a life I love with people I love in a place I love – chronic pain be damned.

Really, what more could I ask for?

Today is the Vernal Equinox – the first day of Spring. I am ready for a new season, a sunnier season. This spring, I chose adventure. I strive toward health and pain-free days.

Above all, I remain committed to taking this journey one step and one day at a time.

One Less Wild Woman

One Less Wild Place

one less wild woman
The wetlands bloom for most of the year.

Wild places to walk, sweat, explore, and breathe in are precious. Growing up in the suburbs, wild places that were near to me were made even more precious by their rarity.

I was surrounded by concrete and the inescapable roar of engines, but I could retreat to a wild place. I was lucky enough to grow up near the ocean and the wetlands. I run on dirt trails and watch as migratory birds pass through our coastal home. Migraines make me spend too much time in a dark room, but I am able to practice my own ecotherapy in these wetlands where I find nourishment in fresh air and clouds.

My favorite running route wound through a large field that was half strawberry field, half undeveloped chapparal. Songbirds, raptors, bunnies, and squirrels called the large area home. I ran through the field and along the channel hundreds of times, passing the same dog walkers and familiar bird species each time.

one less wild woman
The strawberry field is now a construction site and soon to be a neighborhood.

The strawberry field is now gone. The raptors perch in snags at the edges of what used to be a thriving field. The drone of engines is inescapable as tractors comb the wet earth, flattening and scraping for the neighborhood to come. It is impossible not to mourn the loss of this wild space and the wild things that called it home.

A neighborhood behind me stands mostly empty on the bluffs. The bluffs provided nesting sites for large herons and egrets. The houses are huge and mostly alike, but for some reason, no on really lives there. Who decided to replace these wild homes with more empty concrete ones?

One Less Wild Woman

This is, of course, not the first or most dramatic time I have mourned the loss of wild things. I spent summers in my early  20’s living, working, and playing in the Sierra Nevada mountains. I fell in love with rivers and mountains, lakes and peaks. I lived in a tent cabin and spent as many nights beneath the stars as I could.

wild place wild things
Canoeing on Mono Lake with my boyfriend Eric Smith. Photo by Scott Smith

I worked on a river and a lake. I guided hikes and campfire programs. I met people from all over the world and swam, hiked, and loved the mountains all summer. Fall, winter, and spring were spent dreaming about getting back to the Sierra. I continued to run and climb indoors, preparing my body for miles of adventures to come.

A few days after my 24th birthday I awoke with a migraine. It was a persistent one, and it seemed to launch me into a new life of chronic migraines. After several weeks in bed, I said goodbye to my job and mountain home. My migraines and I spent the next three years healing in the suburbs. It was the most trying period of my life.

One Less Wild Cat

one less wild woman
Boxes make the best beds.

Sometimes caring for another helps you care for yourself. A rescue kitten came into my life shortly before my 27th birthday – just last June. He was sick, blind, and needed a home. I had no intention of adopting a pet until I met little Jupiter (aka Goop). Knowing how it feels to be lonely, sick, and stuck in the dark, I couldn’t let the little guy go back to a hard, wild life despite his special needs.
The last thing my life needed was responsibility and more medical bills, but that is what I got. Like most reluctant pet parents, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Migraine days and good days alike are made better with a companion and kitten cuddles.

A New Wild Home

The domestication of both Jupiter and myself is finally coming to  an end! Last week I signed the lease on a new home in the mountains, not far from where I lived before chronic migraines. The relief and gratitude I feel every morning that I wake up to smell Jeffrey pine trees and listen to nuthatches call to each other is indescribable.

one less wild woman
The shady porch of my new mountain home is a cozy place to sit during a migraine.

The transition period is still in full force. My clothes are in boxes, and I left my kitten at my parents’ home for another week. The aspen trees are turning brilliant orange and the air is noticeably crisper. Soon the snow will come and we will settle in to a season of warmth, health, and growth.

Moving back to the mountains and creating another wild home was a dream too big to consider for years. Now, thanks to a part-time job with an understanding boss, fantastic roommates, and my always patient boyfriend, I once again feel at home. I once again feel wild.

Feature Image by Eric Smith

A Fresh Start

Just before sunset on Christmas Eve I put on my neglected running shoes and went for a walk. As the sun set over the wetlands, my mom and I watched the dabbling ducks dive for the last meal of the day. We watched the ibises and the egrets fly home in groups of threes and fours. We watched the colors change in the sky and on the water, and we just walked.

After more than two months in bed with pain so big  standing up made it worse, walking in the cold fresh air felt like a baptism. It is hard to feel full of life when you are stuck in bed, day in and day out. It is hard to feel full of life when every movement, sound, and light hurts. It is hard to feel full of life when your whole world feels as big as as your bed on a good day and as big as your body on a bad day. Just being outside, feeling my muscles and joints reawaken, I felt like I had been given a completely different body.

Recording the end of my migraine, maxed out at 999.99 hours

Even better, I felt like I had been given hope. The chronic illness journey involves constantly toeing the line between hope and fear. Naturally, any time my health gets worse or I experience a prolonged migraine attack my thoughts turn more easily to fear. Fear of getting worse or never getting better, fear of side effects and complications, fear of judgement and abandonment. These are the days when hope is at its most powerful but is the most difficult to draw upon.

As I move further along on my chronic pain journey I am getting better at  finding joy and hope during periods of illness. I expect this to be a continuous challenge filled with ups and downs befitting the cyclical nature of grief and gratitude. When the pain subsides, though, the joy is overwhelming.  All of a sudden the hope and gratitude that I have struggled to hold onto come easily. Watching the sun set and the birds dance I am reminded that my place in the world is so much more important than my illness. I am reminded that I am so much more important than my illness.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.                                                                                                                                     – Mary Oliver