Hope for Healing

I started getting migraines fourteen years ago. Fourteen years.

I'm really struggling with them lately. I've had four migraines this February. Four. In the last three weeks.

When I say "migraine" I mean pain so severe I literally cannot talk. I lie in bed and feel like I am screaming out for Chris to bring me a drink and most of the time I am not making a sound. When he comes to check on me, it takes every ounce of strength to scream out, "I need a drink!" and all he hears are some decipherable moans and whispers.

When I say "migraine" I speak of a pain so great that I lose my eyesight. Literally, I am blinded by the pain.

I speak of pain so severe that I begin to vomit. I stumble blindly to the bathroom, all of my senses assaulted by the smallest whisper, dimmest light, softest touch.

I speak of lying in bed wondering at what point I will break and simply melt into the migraine and die. I know that migraines were never listed as anyone's cause of death, but in the midst of one I am not so sure.

Much of the time I lie there awake. People come to check on me and because of my inability to respond, they believe me to be sleeping.

Most of what I think about while I lie in this hell is of the hemorrhaging woman in Luke's gospel (8:23). I relate to her perhaps more than anyone in Scripture. I scream out to God that I might be delivered from this pain. I yearn to reach out and touch the tip of Jesus' robes in order that I too might be healed. I have faith that I will one day be healed. I wish it were an unshakeable faith, but patience is something I'm still working on.