Unless it is.
Okay, so if you read my blog, you know I’m crazy. I’m not telling you anything new. But this is one of my truly crazy things.
And I blame my mother.
I know, mothers (and fathers) get a horrible rep when it comes to causing problems with their kids. But in this case, it’s totally legit.
See, when I was younger, any time I had a headache that was bad, which was often since I get migraines, my mother’s first response was to worry that it was meningitis.
“Oh my god,” she would say in a realistic yet dramatic way. “What if it’s meningitis? Is your neck sore?”
And, of course, the minute she asked, my neck would be sore. Within minutes, I’d be convinced that I did, indeed, have meningitis, and I was, indeed, dying.
Obviously, it hasn’t been meningitis yet. And I’m still alive.
But now, it doesn’t matter that I know that not every headache is meningitis. (In fact, very very few headaches are meningitis.) Every time I have a headache, I am convinced it’s meningitis.
The problem is that this morning, I woke up with a headache.
It was not my typical migraine. With a migraine, one side or the other hurts like someone has shoved a spike through my eye.
This morning, it felt like someone had put a vise on my head. There was pressure coming from seemingly everywhere, and I didn’t want to move because it made me want to throw up (which is like having a migraine).
I’ve probably had a pressure headache like that before, but I couldn’t remember when.
So it happened.
Oh. My. God.
I have meningitis.
Except I’m pretty sure I don’t. I’m up and moving around. I created PowerPoints for two classes I’m going to teach. I’ve been responding to emails. I even worked on booking a craft show. And the headache is getting better (thanks to a bunch of OTC pain meds and a lot of coffee).
What if it’s meningitis?