The one that is ironic.

How's that for ironic.  Right after all of my whining and admitting defeat, this is my first night in WEEKS (I'm thinking 4) that I have not had a headache right on schedule, starting at around 5:30- 5:45.  I started to get it.  I drank a lot of water and some caffeine.  I took no medicine; it's gone.  I just can't believe it.  I had been starting to get a little afraid, too, because of how they had been gaining in intensity.  I am terrified of having attacks like what I've head about; who wouldn't be?!

Anyways, now I'm wondering:  Is the cycle over?  

A cluster headache is one of the most painful types of headache. A striking feature of cluster headache is that the attacks occur in cyclical patterns, or clusters — which gives the condition its name.

Bouts of frequent attacks — known as cluster periods — may last from weeks to months, usually followed by remission periods when the headache attacks stop completely. The pattern varies from one person to another, but most people have one or two cluster periods a year. During remission, no headaches occur for months, and sometimes even years.

From Mayo Clinic Website

The one in which she is resentful.

This morning:

Me to me: This moment is the perfect teacher. This whole cluster headache thing and toomah thing, it's good for your soul. Thank the universe for reminding you that there is not real ground in this world, that everything in it and all the perceived "ground" is impermanent. Pain is inevitable. Suffering comes when we resist.

Me back to me: You're right, me. Everything is perfect just the way it is; this is exactly where I am supposed to be and exactly what I'm supposed to be doing. Do you want to light the campfire, or should I? Kumbaya, my...

Later today, B calls Walgreen's to get my prescription filled. I tend to need 3 to 4 pills a day to be functional, which ends up costing about $20/day; Yes, that's a lot for us!:

B to me: Did you hear me talking to Walgreen's? Your insurance will only approve 9 pills every 28 days. It's $230 for 9 pills. (About $100 a day)

Me to myself: Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

So the gist is this: Things just keep undoing more and more. Overall, I've gained some kind of inner spiritual-ish strength with each little piece of ground that disappears, but every now and then I want to throw a tantrum. So here it goes.

I have to admit that I can't complain too much about the tumor. I am afraid of the surgery (if it even needs to happen--we could still luck out with meds, people, or even watch and wait if it's not the big causal thing happening), because, really, I'm just like that. I'm actually more secretly afraid of the procedure that's often done before the surgery, in which they take a little balloon thingy and thread it up from your leg to under your brain to take a hormone sample. While you're awake. The hell?

My thinking has gotten so cloudy- I think that's close to the top of the list. All of this crap, and I really try to learn from it. Not to squash down my inner cry baby, but to emerge at some point with an answer deeper than a tantrum.

But, now I start to get these cluster headaches. Cluster headaches. Are you kidding me? Cluster headaches are like migraines, but more severe. They are called cluster headaches because you'll go through cycles in which you'll get 'clusters' of these headaches every day at the same times; then, you have a remission for awhile. I got some medicine, and even with it, I wondered what I was going to do. Just to function (as in show up), I needed to take about 20 dollars a day in pills. B and I have had conversations lately about what will happen if I'm not able to work.

And that's what really makes me feel resentful.

I dare you to find ten other people who love teaching as much as I do. It is such an incredible privilege to me, and here I am, wondering if I can at least make it through the year. I feel bitter about teachers who don't appreciate their profession; I feel incredibly and increasingly judgmental about it. I find myself hoping and praying someone will make an unlucky comment to me so I can feel justified in saying what I really feel.

Now, without the medicine, I just don't know. I know I'll have to accept whatever happens. I know it'll be okay. I don't always feel okay about it. The lesser me (egoic me?) feels like I'm missing out on life. Missing out on being there 100% for the best job in the world, for kids that deserve someone to actually be present for them.

I'm trying to hard to keep swimming, and when do I say I'm doing great, I really mean it. I know I'm learning from this. I know this is important for me, otherwise it wouldn't be happening. But I feel like two people right now. There is the wiser self, who sees the perspective in it all, the greater purpose. The other thoughts are there, too. And I'm not going to try and make them go away, because I've finally realized we aren't our thoughts. Our thoughts just are.

It is what it is.