Saved

I was born with an original sin. While I was still in her womb, my mother was compelled to get baptized for my sake. I was no blameless babe, but an evangelist in utero, an inadvertent colonizer. She pinched her nose, submerged, and succumbed to her fears that I would not be saved unless she became a godly woman. And so we were baptized together, four years before the scheduled Armageddon.

When I was three years old, my mother was pregnant again. At the Kingdom Hall I was asked if I was excited for my little brother or sister to be born into Paradise. 1975 was the year when God would say enough is enough and summon destruction, ending this wicked world and its Satanic system of things.

Armageddon came, but not for us. Not yet. Pol Pot took over Cambodia. The Americans pulled out of Vietnam, and my sister was born not in Paradise but in the same downtown hospital as I was.

It’s been forty-five years since the earth was supposed to be reclaimed by God, and my mother still tries to save me. Our simultaneous baptism wasn’t enough. Now she preaches to me through text messages and the mail, beseeching me to come back to the religion I was born into but grew to reject. Armageddon is going to happen any time now, she says. Any time.

And I watch our world grow ever more polluted, watch the climate boil, the extinctions accelerate, and I know we’re already in the midst of it, but no God can save us.

Death is a Surefire Cure for Migraines

Scintillating scotoma. Migraine status aura. This is the fancy name for the condition I had from my late teens through to my early 30s. For most people who get this, it only lasts for a few minutes. I am one of those unlucky few who get it as a chronic condition.



For some reason, it left when I moved from New Brunswick to Ontario. My variety of migraine isn't the usual one. I don't typically get pain with it, although I definitely become more sensitive to sound and light. Instead, I get brain fog and hallucinations. I don't see people or monsters that aren't there. Nothing like that. I see strobe lights and fireworks and blank spots and lots of flickering, twinkling floaters. It feels like the visual representation of my chronic tinnitus. If it wasn't chronic, I'd think it was pretty, but it can be debilitating. Between 1999-2004, I would have bouts which lasted months at a time, 24/7. The flickering took over the bulk of my vision leaving me unable to read, see where I was stepping, or follow a conversation. It was there when my eyes were open. It was there when my eyes were closed. It was almost impossible to think clearly or converse with folks because I was being distracted at every moment. If you had a strobe light going in your peripheral vision at all times, you'd be spacey, too.


About a week ago, my own private light show returned. I'm told this is a neurological condition, not a mental health one, but I honestly don't see the difference. They're both in my head, after all. One is just viewed as less "crazy" than the other. I guess it's not mental illness if you go to a neurologist for your hallucinations instead of a psychiatrist.

I reluctantly went to the doctor yesterday. I've never spoken to this doctor about my migraines before because they've been gone for over fifteen years. But here they are again. I suspect they have returned because of the extreme muscle tension in my jaw. I have bruxism, which means I have the jaw strength of a pitbull. If my teeth weren't such a crumbly mess, I could gnaw through iron bars.

These overdeveloped muscles are causing me a world of hurt. Ruined teeth, mouth pain, headaches, wry neck, tight trapezius muscles, dislocated upper ribs.... It's a cascade of body trollery. I am one of those folks who look fit and healthy, but it's a disguise worn by my array of invisible disabilities.

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So I went to the doctor and explained what was going on. I told him I'd been on beta blockers before and the side effects I experienced were far worse than the migraines they were supposed to treat. He told me to go to an optometrist (it's not an eye thing), to increase my vitamin D intake (ok), and he wrote me a prescription for a medication called Cambia.

I went to the pharmacist and was given a box of meds. I said, "Wait. What do I need to know? Are there any contraindications?"

The pharmacist lied and told me no.

I got home, mixed my meds up, and drank them. It tasted kind of like someone chewed Double Mint gum and then spit in my mouth.

This morning, I woke up and the fireworks are still there, so I went to mix up another pouch. That's when I noticed that there actually is a fact sheet buried at the bottom of the box, and yes, there are all sorts of contraindications and risks. The more of this stuff I take, the greater the risk. Heck, I could end up with fatal bleeding at any time after taking this. I will not be taking any more. I'd rather deal with partial blindness than have heart failure, bleeding ulcers, increased asthma attacks, kidney failure, stroke, or life-threatening skin reactions. No, thank you. I'd rather live with my own private light show.

Why do doctors prescribe medicines which cause more harm than good? What happened to the hippocratic oath?

Oddly enough, it does not seem to affect my writing. As long as my fingers are on the keyboard, I can write even if I can't see properly. And the light show isn't quite as bad in dim light, so maybe I'll just become a night owl again.