Pounding head. Blinding light. Shaking all over.
Brain fog. I'm a teddy bear. Someone is trying to fill my head with cotton. They shove in cotton. And more cotton. Uncaring. More cotton. My head aches from it all and yet it gets stuffed with more cotton.
I can't think any longer. It's like walking through quick sand. It runs over my feet. I struggle. The harder I try to walk the slower I become. It's trapped my legs. Still I try. I am no longer able to move. I am unable to form thoughts.
I just consign myself to my fate until the brain fog slowly dissipates.
Motherhood. A simple word, but hard to act out in the grips of migraine and brain fog. My husband. Her Daddy, must pick up the reigns and do the work of both of us. Heartbreaking. Thank God for the free moments. The moments I am free of my symptoms. When I can be the mom and wife I am. That is me. The brain fog is not. That only lasts for moments compared to everything else. Because I have the last say. And it has no power here.