Going to the ER With a Migraine
The year is somewhere around 2014. My hand hovers on the light switch, caught between needing the light to guide me to my medicine drawer, and knowing the sharp beam will cut through my eye like the force of an arrow into a target’s bull’s-eye.
Medicine at 10 p.m. and again at 11:30 p.m. Vomiting happens at midnight. The episode was too far along for the pills to work. A sumatriptan injection is my only chance to slay the beast attacking my body, but the injection I have on hand has expired.
My husband helps me to the car and drives me to the ER, where the pain will be transferred from my body to my wallet. My stomach grows more nauseated thinking about the cost of my illness.
The interrogation portion of the event begins in the exam room. I don’t remember the questions. I do remember wondering if we had accidentally driven to the police station instead of the ER. The plastic pan in my lap (in case I need to vomit again) assures me we are at a medical facility.
Why is the initial reaction to my illness one of suspicion and accusation? Innocent until proven guilty doesn’t apply in the ER. I glance at my husband half-wishing he were an attorney instead of a computer programmer.
Speaking loud and clear is difficult as the stabbing pain pierces my concentration. My responses are slow and slurred as I struggle to provide answers. I can’t make them see me. I’ve exhausted my ability to help myself, and I need them to look at me as a patient, not a criminal.
I’m a 50-year-old, slightly pudgy woman, with a streak of gray hair running down the right side of my fairly well-cared-for head of hair. I’ve been described by people as having a wholesome look. Maybe I’m being naive, but I wouldn’t think I’m the poster child for drug addiction.
Granted the sweatpants and T-shirt I put on in the throes of my debilitating pain don’t look like I care about my body. Does that mean you’re going to jump over all the other possibilities and label me as either a drug seeker or someone whose pain level isn’t real enough to be in the ER? And for this privilege, I will be charged hundreds of dollars. I tolerate the ER treatment because the ER has what I need.
An Imitrex injection and 12 minutes will take care of my problem, but that’s not what happens. The ER doctor has decided I need narcotics instead. At least that explains the inquisition. The narcotics took the migraine down and took me out of commission for 12 hours instead of 12 minutes. Narcotics and I do not get along well. It seems I wouldn’t last 2 weeks as a drug addict. Good thing I’m not one.
I learned an expensive lesson lying in an ER exam room in the middle of the night several years ago.
Do a better job of monitoring the expiration dates of the sumatriptan injections in the medicine drawer. Replacing expired medicine is much cheaper than a trip to the ER.
If an ER visit is required, insist on the treatment of Imitrex only. No narcotics for me. I have the power to decide the course of action that’s best for me.
Develop a plan. Talk to the doctor about what to do when an at-home treatment plan fails after business hours. A doctor’s written list of medication protocols is a good idea for an ER visit.
If I’m going to be a poster child for something, I prefer that something be migraine management.
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Originally published on WebMD.com on 3-30-22.
