Category Archives: health

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The Japanese art of folding patterned paper

A few years ago, a work associate I knew only slightly was diagnosed with a brain tumor. He was given a few months to live, but survived almost a year. During that time, I followed a Caring Bridge blog documenting his illness, treatment and family life.

One of the ways his loved ones coped was to fold origami cranes. Thousands of them. Their goal was to fold a symbolic 1,000 cranes, but they exceeded that number. At his memorial service, they handed out the extras.

I thought this was a beautiful idea and decided to learn how to fold cranes. For Christmas, I received a book on origami and a couple of packs of patterned paper. Last week, I opened them for the first time.

Cranes are not difficult to fold, but unless you have someone to show you in person, I recommend following along with a book, starting with the more basic shapes until you master the preliminary fold and the petal fold.

Here is my offering for the Weekly Photo Challenge: Pattern:

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I don’t eat Paleo, but my dogs do

Have you heard about the potentially controversial research that dogs, through evolution, can now digest carbs in a way that wolves could not?

When I heard, and decided to blog about it, I was astonished to see how little I have written about raw feeding. A mention here or there, sure, but nothing significant since I first started feeding Isis raw meat in 2009.

I’m a believer in the nutritional benefits of feeding a dog raw meat. Humans are the only creatures that cook their meat, after all. Based on the information I had at the time, I fed Isis a prey model of 80 percent muscle meat, 10 percent bone, 10 percent organs. She seemed to thrive on the diet with a glossy coat and nonstinky breath.

She died very suddenly within two years of being put on this diet, but I have no reason to believe the diet had anything to do with her death from a thymic hemorrhage. I had recently added vegetables and nuts to her diet, at the suggestion of a holistic vet. I don’t think the vegetables or nuts killed her either. She had seen both the holistic vet and our regular vet within a few months of her death, and neither found anything medically wrong with her as a result of her diet, or otherwise.

Leo has eaten raw meat since I brought him home. Because he was extremely lean at about seven months, the holistic vet suggested I supplement the meat and bones with a grain-free kibble. He has eaten a combo of raw beef, deer/bison/llama bones and Taste of the Wild Pacific Stream formula ever since.

As a puppy, Leo works on a bison neck

As a puppy, Leo works on a bison neck

Mia was a little smelly and dull-coated when we got her, but shortly after transitioning to this same diet, her coat glistened and her breath got fresher. She did gain some weight from overfeeding, but otherwise is terrifically healthy.

So I won’t change my dogs’ diets based on the news reported today in the Los Angeles Times, NPR and the BBC. (I offer you three links to give the choice of reading, listening or watching the report).

The way I understand it is that dogs are capable of digesting grains. That doesn’t make it more nutritious than their historical diet. That doesn’t mean that they will live healthier, longer lives by eating a corn-based processed kibble.

I’m amused by the paradox between this research and the Paleo Diet, which is based on the idea that humans should still be eating the things they ate before the agricultural revolution. So, dogs have evolved to eat grains, but humans haven’t gotten there yet?

I don’t dispute the health benefits of going paleo, but I digest cake, bread and french fries just fine, thank you very much. I do know that I would be better off eating more vegetables. And I believe that dogs are better off eating a diet primarily consisting of raw meat and bones.

I think I haven’t blogged much about this before because I wanted to stay out of the fray, but I’m ready to stir the pot. So let’s hear it: My fellow raw feeders, what do you make of this news? Other dog lovers, where do you stand on a high-protein versus high-carb diet for your pooches?

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How to sabotage the Skinny Rules: Holiday Edition

Make excellent choices.

  • Breakfast: Oatmeal with greek yogurt and flax seed.
  • Lunch: Salad with grilled salmon
  • Dinner: Grilled fish, salad, grilled zucchini

Surprisingly, I found it easy enough to observe Bob Harper’s Skinny Rules at meals over the holidays. At the Fish Grill in Brentwood, I even opted for salad and zucchini instead of fries or baked potato, and I resisted eating any of my mom’s fries.

Ready for the the trick to completely sabotaging any hopes of losing weight?

Between meals, stuff your face with cookies, cake, and candy. All of it you can get your hands on. Non stop.

For example, I baked my boyfriend a He-Man cake for his 42nd birthday. (Is that weird?)

While working at home last week, I reduced He-Man from a bust with shoulders and hair to simply a face. Then I ate that too.

heman cake

Look, I’m not conceding defeat or anything. I’m congratulating myself on learning how the rules work, even as I blatantly flouted them.

Starting today, this time I mean it. I’m gonna stop eating starches after lunch, or anything after eight. I’ve almost gotten rid of all the other crap around the house. Except for maybe a little bit of candy. But I’m totally going to exercise some will power over that. Totally. (And if I don’t, I’ll start the Skinny Rules tomorrow.)

 

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A new food pyramid

I learned about the pyramid of quality in film school. Between Good, Fast and Cheap, you can only have two. Your movie can be good and fast, but it won’t be cheap. Cheap and good, but it won’t be fast. Fast and cheap, not good.

I’ve noticed a similar pyramid regarding my efforts to eat healthfully and locally. Between healthy, local and convenient, I can’t do all three.

After I read Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, I consciously tried to eat locally. My problem is, if I buy too much produce at once, I can’t eat it all. Sometimes, I become extremely averse to it, as was the case when I came home with some mushrooms and kale from my local food co-op and was unable to eat one bite of it. I did not prepare a single meal with it. Wound up throwing it away a few weeks later.

As much as I want to buy all my fruits and veggies from my local farmers, I’ve been seduced by the convenience of Trader Joe’s. I know in my head that I don’t need my veggies to be pre-sliced and wrapped in plastic, but my heart… I find it so much less overwhelming to buy a plastic container labeled “Asian stir-fry vegetables,” or “Asparagus sautee.” Granted, their bag of chopped kale isn’t particularly superior in price or preparatory ease to the kale I buy at the co-op, but the stuff stays crisper in the bag if I buy it and don’t wind up eating it for a week. (The local kale wilts.)

So, if I want to set myself up for success, which is one of my Skinny Rules, I have to do the non-eco-friendly thing, and shop at Trader Joe’s. (They also have prepackaged servings of mixed nuts, which prevent me from eating an entire bag of trail mix.) I balance it out by eating lunch most days at the co-op, and buying most of my apples there.

How are the Skinny Rules going, you ask? Well, I still think they should be easy to follow and result in tremendous weight loss. In theory. But I’ve been breaking an awful lot of them.

Look, the holidays are a tough time to eat right, and all I can think about are cookies! I want to eat All the Cookies. Basically, I’m doing my best for now, and will do better starting Jan.1. Promise. I’ll make a resolution or something.

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True Confessions, weight loss edition

Almost 10 years ago, I lost a bit of weight on Weight Watchers. Following the plan was fairly easy and it took me a little over six months. I lived alone and didn’t have much of a social life; controlling what I ate was a piece of cake. I didn’t even exercise that vigorously at the time. And I was in my twenties.

I mostly kept the weight off for several years, despite moving in with Rob, perhaps because I practiced martial arts with him regularly. If the pounds started to creep back on, I thought, no problem, when the number on the scale gets higher than I can stand, I’ll just do Weight Watchers again. I rejoined on two occasions. Once with meetings and once online. I didn’t find it as effective either time, and not because they changed the plan slightly.

Partly, I found it too hard to keep track of my points. I eat lunch at the Skagit Co-op a lot. How am I supposed to know how many points are in their tuna cassoulet? I also blame my thirtysomething metabolism. The pounds don’t just melt off anymore.

When you’ve been meaning for a few years to lose that pesky five pounds, it’s especially discouraging to watch that amount double… and triple… and …

“Okay,” I’d tell myself. “Let’s do this.” Then I’d finish Rob’s fries. A couple of fries can’t hurt, can they?

A few months ago, I saw Biggest Loser trainer Bob Harper on the Today Show talking about his new book, The Skinny Rules: The Simple, Nonnegotiable Principles for Getting to Thin.

The rules include:

  • Drink a big glass of water before every meal.

I can do that!

  • Eat apples and berries every day.

Oookay.

  • Go to bed hungry (don’t eat after 8 pm)

Challenging, maybe, but definitely a good idea and something I could work toward.

  • Eat protein at every meal.

This is a tough one for me, since I don’t eat meat (although I do eat fish, eggs and cheese). When I was on Weight Watchers, I considered a baked potato to be an acceptable meal. Which brings me to:

  • No white potatoes. Not even baked.

Uh oh.

  • No starchy carbs after lunch.

Oh, hell, no. That’s too hard. If I can’t have rice, potatoes or pasta, what am I supposed to eat for dinner?

The following week, I may have tried to drink more water and not eat after 8, but that was about it until Rob downloaded Harper’s audiobook from the library. (He downloads lots of books by trainers. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t telling me I needed to lose weight.) I spent a recent Sunday morning lying in bed listening to Harper’s twenty rules.

“Okay,” I told myself. “Let’s do this.” Then ate most of Rob’s fries at lunch.

BUT… I also stocked up on veggies, apples, and berries. Bought the Skinny Rules for my Nook, so I could reference Harper’s sample menus to give me ideas about what I’m supposed to eat for dinner.

A week and a half later, I’m down four pounds. Which is awesome, considering I cheat every day. Just a little.

What’s the difference? I needed some rules to enable me to make better choices. No potatoes. Fine. No starches after lunch. If you insist.

Also, I’m not thinking about what I can’t eat, but what I get to eat. Yay, salmon, peanut butter on apples, fancy hard cheeses, cucumbers and hummus, Greek yogurt mixed into my oatmeal. I feel like I’m changing the way that I eat, not just dieting. Remember that tuna cassoulet? I’m not eating it anymore (pasta noodles and creamy sauce). I stick to the vegetable dishes at the Co-op and make sure to get a small scoop of tuna or egg salad. That place is really a blessing, since I don’t like preparing my own lunches. (Or dinners, for that matter, which makes it less fun to follow Rule 15: Prepare and eat ten meals at home a week.)

I don’t usually tell people when I’m trying to lose weight. And incidentally, I’m allowed one splurge meal a week, so if you see me eating a cracker at 7 pm, don’t wag your finger at me.

If I gain those four pounds back by next week, I’m totally deleting this post.

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One last thing about my severe cough and cold

I’m not really a germaphobe. I tend to think, “Meh, that’s what my immune system is for.” Until I get sick, and wonder about the trail of germs that led me here. It’s like that movie Contagion. (It used to be like that movie Outbreak, but I try to stay current.)

I had an itsy bitsy cold in St. Petersburg. Then I felt better for a few days, but started to feel sick again in Moscow. Just a sore throat and the sniffles. After being home for a couple of days, the cough started, escalated, didn’t get better, sucked pretty bad, and is now very slowly getting better.

Where did I get sick? Did the cough come from the same virus I had in Russia, or was that something new I caught on the plane? When someone local says, “Oh, yeah, that’s going around,” can they possibly be talking about the same thing I have, since I wasn’t even in this country when I first got sick?

You know where I think I got it? Amsterdam.

On our layover between Florence and St. Petersburg, we visited the airport spa for the Stress & Tension Eliminator. Seemed like a good idea at the time. A head, facial, neck and shoulder massage, right? I wasn’t too impressed with my masseuse lady, though. Didn’t feel like there was too much expertise behind her touching my face.

A few hours later, I had a sore throat.

Let’s think about this for a second. Having my face touched by a stranger in the airport. Who touches all kinds of other strange faces all day. The faces of people who think they need a massage to relieve sinus pressure. Why might they do that? Perhaps because they are sick??

Consider me now completely grossed out by the idea of having a facial massage at the airport. (Or anywhere, actually.) In fact, next time you see me on a plane, I’ll be the one disinfecting my armrest and tray table with an antibacterial handi-wipe.

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Good fortune or bedside nagging?

I’ve been quite sick with a cough. Mostly, I’ve been lying on the couch watching the Bourne movies. Yesterday, I rewatched almost the entire series of Firefly. (Wow. Christina Hendricks. Someone tell me she does those ninja kicks on Mad Men, I might actually watch that show.) One episode to go. Then the movie.

On the one hand, my lucky doggies get to spend the entire day with me. On the other, they seem a little bored. Days are short and rainy. I fear this is what they have to look forward to for the next several months.

In my hermetic state, I’ve found blog inspiration in my Halls cough drops and Yogi tea. They’re the new fortune cookie.

Who doesn’t love a fortune cookie? Even if you scoff at horoscopes, I bet you give the slightest consideration to your cookie fortunes. I prefer the ones that are predictive to those that are prescriptive. I once got a very specific one that said, “Remember this day three months from now. Good things are in store.” Man, did I mark my calendar for that one. I interviewed a fascinating young man that day for a newspaper article, not that it changed my life, but that cookie really gave me something to look forward to.

Some prescriptive fortunes can be taken to heart, such as, “Don’t ignore your needs in the area of new challenges,” and “Don’t be afraid to ask for help.”

I used to eat at Panda Express at least once a week and post my fortunes.

For several years now, I’ve enjoyed the helpful guidance on the tags of Yogi tea. Their Throat Comfort tea was a fixture during my tonsillectomy recovery, and today’s tea advises me, “To be great, feel great and act great.” Yes! I can do that. Very motivating.

From yesterday: “Your greatness is not what you have, it’s what you give.”

While this particular box seems rather focused on greatness, this is sound life advice, one tea bag at a time. Spend a day ruminating on it, because how many tea bags does a person go through, really? I confess that I’m more likely to reuse a tea bag than to use up a second one.

How could I be anything but delighted then, when I spotted some words of wisdom on the wrapper of my honey-berry Advanced Formula Sugar Free Halls with Triple Soothing Action?

“Fire up those engines.”

Yeah! Thanks, Halls. I’m not feeling my best, but there you are, with a “Pep Talk in Every Drop.” I’d seen the commercials, but I didn’t realize there were literal pep talks printed on the wrappers.

However, after a full week of rib-aching coughing fits, I’m over it. Halls doesn’t settle for just one motivational message per cough drop. They’ve mass-printed them several to a wrapper, and I’m going through 5-10 cough drops a day.

On a single wrapper, my medicine is telling me, “Go get it!”, “Conquer today,” “It’s yours for the taking,” “Get back in the game,” “Be resilient,” “High-five yourself.”

Shut uuuup, Halls! You don’t know what I’m going through. I just want to rest.

All those really translate to is, “Get off your ass and go back to work.” Maybe you’re the one slacking off on your job, Halls. How about you help me stop coughing… then I’ll get back in the game!

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Hazy shade of autumn

I apologize to my new readers and old friends who grew accustomed to my daily postings. I surprised even myself with how often I blogged during my trip. Now that I’m back home, my goal is to post at least once a week, but I’d love to find as much wonder in my daily life as I found during my travels. Treat every day like an exciting adventure.

Jet lag’s always worse coming home, and an 11-hour time difference is one of the hardest to overcome. Add to that the resurgence of my head cold, and I’ve been in kind of a fog since we got home Monday. I’ve been sleeping fine. Getting out of bed is the hard part.

I’m back at the office today and felt like I was fading to black just before lunch. Eyes glazing over, thinking, If I just had a bed (or a couch) I could fall asleep right this second. I considered going home, but instead decided to grab a bite and take Mia for our regularly scheduled noontime walk. I can’t guarantee I’ll last until the end of the day, but the fresh air (and mango shrimp and rice) revived me quite a bit.

Yet another reason dogs in the workplace are a very, very good thing. She gets me up and moving. I was tempted to just eat and come straight back to my desk. Too tired to walk. But that wouldn’t be fair to her. So we strolled through a woodsy trail that is both roadside and riverside. I unhooked Mia’s leash as we got to the stretch that is protected from the road. Usually, she trots off ahead of me, but today, she looked over her shoulder with a huge smile, like “I’m so happy you’re home,” and walked beside me a little longer.

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High on life, no thanks to the walk-in clinic, Part 2

(Continued from Part 1)

I could barely walk up the sidewalk to the entrance when Alice and I arrived at the ER, my head was pounding so badly. Because I knew that emergency rooms didn’t take migraines all that seriously, I explained to the triage nurse that the Walk-In Clinic sent me there because I didn’t have a migraine. I had a worst headache ever that didn’t match the pattern of my one previous migraine.

She wrote down “migraine.”

We sat in the waiting room at least another hour, but at least the ER had wifi. I should have gone there first. I resisted the urge to tweet, “At the ER, probably have an aneurysm.” Or email my mom. No point worrying her when she probably wouldn’t be able to fly there before I had my CT scan. I watched all kinds of interesting cases get called ahead of me. A heavyset woman with a pink streak in her hair hobbled in and was offered a wheelchair because she was in so much pain after slipping in the shower. Another guy got rushed back when they discovered his pulse was 225 bpm.

I stopped thinking I was dying, and started getting pissed that this was wasting my whole day when I should be proofreading, and I’d promised to have the report finished by the next day. There was no way I could do that now. I should have brought the report with me, I could be proofreading right now.

I anticipated that the doctor would look at me and say, “Huh. I don’t know. You have a headache.” And give me something that might make it better for a short time, but wouldn’t really be a cure. That’s usually what happens to me.

I wished Alice and I had stopped for lunch on the way to the hospital. I considered asking her to get me something from the cafeteria, but there was a sign near the triage desk that said not to eat or drink until after a doctor has seen you. And if I did need brain surgery, better to do it on an empty stomach.

A strapping dude who resembled MMA ref Herb Dean got called and the nurse said the room was a little far away, could he make it? He said he was fine, but I worried that I wouldn’t be. When it was finally my turn and I stood up, I knew I couldn’t walk very far. The same nurse didn’t offer me a wheelchair, though, so I had to ask for one, feeling like a “difficult” patient.

I was put in a room with four beds, but was on the end, so I never saw any of my roommates. I heard them though. A nurse said they were bringing a guy in without going through triage because he was “pretty miserable.” He had kidney stones, he was pretty sure, because he’d had them before, twice, in the 90s. He hasn’t been to the doctor since, but last year he was in a lot of pain and then when he “took a leak” another stone came out. It looked pretty old, so he thought it might have been left over since the 90s. He brought it with him. (He told this story approximately 67 times.) When his son came in, he spoke highly of the EMTs, who didn’t want to over-treat him. “I don’t know what triage is,” he said. “But they decided not to give me that.”

My doctor, an older fellow, came in with a stylish young woman he introduced but who said nothing, just took notes on laptop she set on the foot of my bed. He asked who this was with me and I said “My mother-in-law equivalent,” which he found highly amusing and a sign I still had most of my faculties. He was pretty sure I didn’t have an aneurysm (or encephalitis or meningitis). Not all headaches are the same. No reason to think that just because this wasn’t the same as my last migraine that it wasn’t still a migraine. Had I had any head trauma? Any dental problems?

No and no. I also hadn’t had any caffeine or alcohol to speak of. And barely any chocolate, if you can believe that. But he didn’t ask me any of those things. Just if I smoke, which I do not.

Have I ever had a CT scan?

“I had one a few months ago of my jaw, as part of a TMJ study, because I have TMJ. Guess I probably should have mentioned that.”

“That’s why I asked you.”

“Yeah, I’ve had really bad TMJ for years,” I said, straining through the throbbing behind my eyes to think what other details he might find helpful. “Did you ask me that? I don’t remember you asking me that.”

“Yes, I asked you about dental problems.”

“Oh. I don’t think of it as a dental problem.”

Anyway. It sounded like he was going to give me the CT scan and some drugs and I’d be on my merry way. Typical. Once again, I was in serious, debilitating pain as a side effect of my TMJ, for which there is no cure. All I wanted was a prescription, why did this have to take all day?

It was about 3 o’clock, maybe I’d still be able to pick Rob up from work.

A nurse came in and started telling me about the combination of drugs they were going to give me. Narcotics and Ativan. Uh, pretty sure that’s not what I got last time for my migraine, but whatever. And fluids. Ohhhh, you mean in an IV. This is all happening right now? OK, then. I gave them some urine; they took some blood. They started the IV.

The quality of my headache changed from throbby to lightheaded. Was that the drugs? Yes it was. OK, then.

I heard a nurse tell kidney stone guy what drugs he was getting. Same as mine. Guess it’s their standard cocktail.

Some dude started to wheel my bed out to take me to CT, but then got a phone call he had to take. He came back, and I went for a little magic hospital bed ride, had the CT, and was wheeled on back.

The throbbing was mostly gone. I felt pretty groovy.

The results came in. I was dehydrated. No shit. I hadn’t had anything to drink since that cup of water after my craniosacral at 11 a.m.

I did not have an aneurysm. He gave me a prescription for Midrin, a migraine medicine that also works on regular headaches, and a Vicodin/Tylenol combo. (I really appreciated that one after my tonsillectomy.) And he sent me on my way.

The fun blissed out feeling from the drugs was gone, but so was the throbbing. Alice dropped off my prescription and drove me through Wendy’s because for many years I have considered root beer floats to be headache comfort food. Rob picked up my prescription a short while later. Turned out both medicines had acetaminophen (Tylenol) in them. Was I supposed to take them together? The Midrin said to take 1-2 pills at 8-hour intervals. I took one, just in case, put the Vicodin in the medicine cabinet, and went back to my proofreading chair.

A very light pulse danced behind my forehead. Was that the headache coming back? Better take the other pill. And go to sleep.

The next day, I finished proofreading the report from home. I felt a lightness in my heart. Isn’t life wonderful? If this were my last day on earth, I would be totally fine having spent it curled up on a chair with a red pen in hand and my doggies at my feet.

What the hell? Where did this zest for life come from? My brush with death? It wasn’t even a real brush with death. I only thought I was dying for maybe 10 minutes. Mostly I was just cranky that I wasted my day.

But since then, I can’t explain it, I have felt better than I have in YEARS. Better physically and emotionally. Energetic. The music in my car affects me deeply. Nothing bad will ever happen to me again.

I went to a restorative yoga class yesterday morning, which was exactly what my body needed, but I found myself wanting to move faster, do more. Usually in yoga, I start crapping out, skipping plank pose and going straight to downward dog. Or child’s pose. But yesterday, in a class where there was no plank pose, I was thinking, “Come on, bring on the vinyasa!”

I don’t want to oversell it. I don’t think I could have handled Zumba yesterday. But I came out of forward folds without any lightheadedness, which I consider a very good sign. I haven’t taken any more of the meds, but I sure am glad I have them. If only I’d had them Monday night, I could have knocked that headache off its tracks before it interfered with my schedule.

Oh, and my jaw still hurts, so I’m not, like, cured or anything. But damn, am I high on life.

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High on life, no thanks to the walk-in clinic, Part 1

As a presumed side effect of the TMJ that has plagued me for about nine years, I suffer severe headaches from time to time. The first notable one throbbed on one side and was accompanied by nausea and light sensitivity. I had driven the half-hour to work and was struggling to look at my computer screen when I realized, “Holy Sh*t, this is migraine.” I’d never had one before. My doctor’s office happens to be closer to my office than to my home, so it was easy enough to go there and get diagnosed. I can’t remember exactly what she gave me, I think it was a pill, and they left me in the dark exam room while I waited for it to take effect. I was afraid to leave before the headache was gone, so when my doctor came back about 20 minutes later, I told her I wasn’t sure it was better. I thought the migraine was better, but I could still sort of feel it lingering, you know?

The next thing to try would be the Imitrex shot, which as she described it, “feels weird.” You feel a zing and a tingling that goes up through your head and out, and when it leaves, the migraine goes with it. I’m sure people who have had the shot could describe it better. Her description kind of freaked me out. I felt better enough, I decided, drove home and never had another migraine again.

A short time later, though, I had a tension headache that did not ease up for three straight weeks. I had acupuncture, therapeutic massage, heavy drugs, and physical therapy, but I think it just went away on its own. That was four years ago, and since then, I’ve had bad headaches here and there, but nothing like what I’ve already described.

Monday morning, as I was getting ready for an awesome day at work that consisted only of taking pictures of salmon being cooked, eating salmon, and proofreading (which, don’t judge, is something I really love), I started to feel a familiar dull ache around the crown of my head. I popped two Aleve (yes, TWO) and went on my way. When I returned home from my big salmon lunch, I settled into my favorite proofreading chair and fell asleep. I woke up, carried on proofreading, and noticed the headache had returned. By the time I picked Rob up from work, I was slightly dizzy from the headache. After we came home from dinner, I returned to my proofreading chair to make up for the time I missed on account of my nap. At about 9 p.m. I stood up and moved to my computer, and as I sat down, my head started to throb and I thought, “Oh, this must be a migraine.”

Conveniently, I already had an appointment with a craniosacral therapist for the next morning. It was my seventh session, and so far this is the only treatment that has had any lasting benefit for my jaw. He dons a latex glove and massages inside my mouth. Pretty intense. (Probably deserves its own post someday, but let’s move on.)

I thought he might be able to make the throbbing go away. But what if he didn’t? I still had this huge proofreading job to do. I couldn’t just come home and suffer the throbbing. Should I go to the emergency room? Didn’t seem like the most efficient plan. I knew that ERs didn’t consider migraines life-threatening (and once read a “Overheard in the ER” site where ER staffers mocked people for considering migraines “emergencies” when they got them several times a month.) And no way I could drive the half-hour to my doctor’s. I probably shouldn’t even drive myself to craniosacral five minutes away. But Rob was at his second day at a new job and I didn’t want to ask his parents to drive me to my doctor.

I had the genius idea to go to a Walk-In Clinic that takes my insurance and purports to “offer immediate medical services for non-life threatening medical conditions.” (Note: that’s a direct quote from the website and I object to the hyphenation. How do you threaten a “non-life”?)

After my head and gum massage, my head still throbbed. Every time I stood up or changed incline, I felt like my brain was throbbing right behind my eyes. I wasn’t nauseous, though, or light-sensitive. And the pain was dead center, not isolated to one side. So maybe it wasn’t a migraine, but I thought the Walk-In doctor would be able to give me some drugs and make it go away.

I waited more than an hour, alternately reading the subtitles of a Planet Earth special about whales, and closing my eyes and leaning my head against the wall behind me. If I remained perfectly still, the throbbing stopped and I just felt a regular tension headache. I’d had the foresight to bring my Nook with me, but even if I could have read it comfortably, I didn’t want to undermine my claims of a “migraine.”

When I finally saw someone, it wasn’t a doctor, but a physician assistant. She was concerned that my headache did not follow the pattern of my one previous migraine. (Can one migraine have a pattern?) I described it as “A worst headache ever,” and it changed with movement. She didn’t want to treat it as a migraine in case it wasn’t a migraine, because it might be something else. She advised me to go to the emergency room for a CT scan. She’d note in my chart that she’d told me to go there, so insurance wouldn’t think I just decided to do that on my own. I should tell them at the ER that I’d been sent there from the Walk-In Clinic, and they would triage me accordingly.

Instead of saying, “So, do I get my $20 copay back because you have done absolutely nothing for me?”

I asked, “What else do you think it could be, if not a migraine?”

“Oh, you know,” she said (I’m paraphrasing). “Buried aneurysm.”

She left the room to write me a note and I waited another 20 minutes wondering, “Should I call Rob? Do I really want him to leave in the middle of his second day at work? I’ll just go by myself. It will be fine. But what if it is an aneurysm? At what point do I call Rob and tell him, ‘Hey, I’m at the ER. Gonna have some brain surgery.’”

I started to freak out a little. And cry. And feel pissed off that every minute I spent waiting for the Walk-In Clinic to release me was a minute I should be putting toward my ER wait. When the nurse finally came back, she told me that she had been trying to reach my doctor to find out what I took for my last migraine, but no one answered the phone there. I could have told her that you can never get anyone on the phone there.

I went to my car, head throbbing, and called Rob. When he answered, I wailed, “I’m freaking out,” and filled him in. He very calmly came up with a plan to have his mom pick me up where I was and take me to the ER. That’s when I realized he couldn’t come get me himself anyway, because I had driven him to work. He’d have to take the bus home to get his car.

He told me later that when he first heard me crying, he assumed something bad had happened to the dogs. Of course he had. That’s always my first fear, too. Not that he then thought, “Oh, phew. The dogs are fine. Kari’s just having an aneurysm.” No, he thought of Bret Michaels, infamous Lothario and lead singer of the band Poison, who went to the ER a few years ago with the worst headache of his life, which turned out to be a cerebral hemorrhage.

In Part 2 of this thrilling tale:

The Physician Assistant’s note fails to bump me to the front of the triage line, and I start to doubt that I have an aneurysm at all. I realize that my detour to the Walk-In Clinic was a complete waste of time, but it’s not until well into the next day that I start to wonder about that $20 copay. What did I pay for exactly? Do I have recourse to ask for a refund? I mean, she probably spent as much time “examining” me and writing my “note” as she spent with the out-of-town baby with an ear infection who came in after me and left while I was waiting for Rob’s mom to pick me up. But the P.A. didn’t DO anything for me. I was at the Walk-In Clinic for TWO HOURS with a throbbing headache that could have been a brain aneurysm!

Is that my fault for making the wrong choice? I could have gone straight to the ER, but I went to the Walk-In thinking it would be more efficient for me, and not waste the time of those busy ER doctors treating real life-threatening ailments. My visit to the Walk-In Clinic was a gamble where I bet $20 (and two hours of my time) that they could help me, and I lost.