If you are a member of the migraine page I frequent, you will have probably read this already. I don't have the energy to come up with something for my blog today. I thought I'd just post what I posted at the forum. This way, I will never forget June 22, 2005. Lucky me.

If you have a weak stomach or small children in the room, you may want to skip over this thread.
While I have been a migraineur for over 40 years, my experience with porcelain hugging is rare (about 5%) thankfully.
Yesterday, I awoke with a horrid head at 3 AM. I tossed and turned (gently, if you can imagine) with an ice pack on the couch until a reasonable hour (7ish).
I ate some ambrosia (big mistake) and an hour or so later, I got to revisit the ambrosia. In fact, my body dragged it up from the far end of my intestines (or, at least it felt that way). My body wasn't happy enough to leave it at that as it tried to bring up what I had eaten for the past week!
Not only did my body want to revisit these meals, it was performing some sort of an exercize to squeeze every bit of liquid waste from my bladder at the very same time. Unfortunately, it was my face that was directed toward the porcelain and not my "other end". No less than three times did I have to wash up and change my clothes (the third time forcing me into the shower).
I suspect some evil demon was inside my body and this was some sort of purging ritual that my sympathetic nervous system took charge of.
All along, my head accompanied this barbarous dance with a drum beat so loud and painful, the neighbors surely wished to call the code enforcement officer to ask me to keep it down.
HA HA Keep it down! Now that would've been a feat worthy of Houdini or Charles Atlas or some other magnificently strong being.
I found myself face down on the couch when my husband came home to check on me. There should've been a sign next to me warning that a lit match would be very dangerous within 50 feet of my breath. Yes, dragon's breath. Dragon's breath with a side of 3 day old dead horse meat in the Florida sun.
(I told you this was not a thread for the weak stomach folks).
I stirred at the sound of my wonderful husband's voice. I was surprised that he didn't have a divorce decree in his hand. (Surely, the condition I was in is justification of an immediate divorce in some states.)
This wonderful man told me he loved me. I grunted something of a similar nature. He asked if he could get me anything. I indicated I still had half a can of root beer left from the morning and that would be fine.
There is a happy-ish ending. Actually, not ending as I don't think I am over this, yet, but I digress...I am sitting in my office and typing. The white throne in the other room is void of offending material (but I should really go in there and clean it). Alas, my head is not throbbing but merely humming in the way it does after taking such a beating.
I must be gentle with myself today. I had the house looking so neat and tidy! Now, it looks like a band of teenagers had a frat party here. At least they weren't drinking alcohol. I am sure the stench of that would send me into a relapse.
The reason for my long story of my short malady is my hat is off to you, you who suffer from nausea every time you have a migraine. I had taken phenergan and it was not acknowledged at all by my alimentary canal.
So, my dear migraine friends, and especially those who suffer with their stomachs equally as with their noggins. The lid is down, the lever is engaged......the sound you hear is yesterday's torture whooshing down to the awaiting septic system. I salute you!