…isn’t chocolate, or chips, or pickles: It’s the tall prescription bottle full of 800 mg. Ibuprofen.
Lots of concerned friends and family keep asking how I’m feeling. The answer depends on the day. Mostly, I’m fine–fantastic, even. But these days of feeling super healthy are alternated with occasional bouts of covers-to-the-ears kinds of days, flattened, not by nausea, but by skull-rattling headaches that settle behind one of my eyes and insist, “There’s nothing you can do but sleep.”
That and roll towards a view of the bureau, where I fix my gaze upon that bottle of pills.
I used to have migraines pretty frequently. But AF (After Francisco) and ADSUSJ (After Ditching Screwed Up, Stressful Jobs), the recurring headaches almost disappeared. When they made their infrequent appearances, I’d pop a prescription Ibuprofen and generally be fine within an hour.
But not now.
Pregnant women aren’t supposed to ingest lots of things, and most medicines, prescription or otherwise, are on that list. There’s nothing I’d love more than an Ibuprofen to dissolve in my stomach and push through my veins to work its magic on this ache that’s been pounding in my head for 24 hours now. But since I can’t, I’ll just sit with it until it passes.