Sleep

Sleep is one of our best weapons against the Trigeminal beast, but we know it’s easier said than done. It’s very hard to fall asleep when a jackhammer is hammering away on your poor temple or some mad scientist has you strapped down to a gurney while repeatedly shocking your eye in a failed experiment. My case is intense stabbing pains in the left eye, ear, or excruciating aches in my cheek.

A few years ago I made a decision to go to bed at almost the same time every night. My research told me it would help me manage the pain better. It worked. Oh, I’m still in pain, but the severity of it has greatly decreased. On those nights I don’t get a goodnight, well, it ain’t pretty.

Constantly battling pain drags us down, draining our energy reserves. Sleep helps replenish it, when we don’t sleep the pain increases and the vicious cycle continues. Here are some tips to try and help sleep well.

1. Sleep in a cool room

2. Roll up a towel and rest your neck on it…still can’t believe how well this works

3. Go to bed at the same time every night

4. Playing soft music helps some people who have trouble falling asleep

5. Stay away from caffeine in the PM

Gabapentin

Gabapentin was the last drug I took to battle my trigeminal neuralgia pain. The other two were complete duds that did little to stop the agonizing pain. As the proverbial cliché states, “Third time’s the charm!”

Once again I started ballooning like the BF Goodrich blimp. I gained ten pounds in a week, like before I did not change my diet, the weight gain just happened. The dreaded gain was the least of my worries, I had dreams that I would like to forget.

I think it was the fourth day, the first day of taking the full dosage of Gabapentin that the world of Donald Bellisario, Rod Serling, and Ray Bradbury invaded my sleeping mind. I dreamt a series of interconnecting dreams, one would end and it would continue in the next dream until I awoke. I can only think of one other time when this has happened.

The dreamt I was my dashing heroic fighter pilot, instead of blasting the evil from the friendly skies, he was investigating a murder that coincided with a missing shipment of missiles. The whole set of connecting dreams was dull until the end. Ryan was walking down a desolate beach trying to clear his mind. He heard something to his left and looked over a row of saw palmetto. He could see the missing missiles sitting in the back of a van, then a body bag being disposed of.

Wolf pulled out his 9MM and checked it, one round in the magazine. He grimaced and pulled out magazine, one round. He pulled out another…again only one round. It seemed like time was in a bottle during this particular scene as he searched for the missing rounds. The dream went blank but I do remember him firing a round.

I was behind a two way mirror, watching my wingman, Lieutenant Kara Pike and NCIS Agent Gibbs grilling a man. He caved and confessed, “I killed Lieutenant Commander Ryan Wolf.” I was too shocked at the startling revelation to do anything. I stood there stoically, watching as he sang.

Seconds later I had enough and walked away as I muttered something about it being time for a Cold Case type ending. Pike did a double take, she saw me walking out. My former wingman quickly excused herself and vainly rushed outside, for I was long gone unlike the ending of the TV show.

As of writing this, I will not discuss this dream any further detail. I won’t investigate or attempt to delve deeper into it. Nor will I attempt to search for any meaning other than it was a figment of a stupid pill I was taking. The next night I again found myself as my hotshot character. He was sent back in time to stop a murder from taking place…Do you see a pattern forming?

This dream was different than the previous one. It was interconnecting but cloudy. I didn’t see things completely, almost like looking through murky water. The ‘veil’ lifted towards then end. Ryan was struggling with the- would-be murderer. Wolf was stabbed in the left arm, but managed to save the day when the culprit turned himself in.

Ryan’s arm was in a sling as he stood outside the police station. His fiery wife Brooke took his hand and a mysterious truck pulled up a second later. “Come on,” he calmly stated and led her away. Another truck pulled up, they quickly picked up the pace of their walking. The couple ducked down alleyway, finding another truck pulling into it. They retreated back, finding a curving walkway between two stone buildings. I was looking down with the sense of that we would find something waiting for us at the next intersection, then my alarm clock blared.

“No more,” I muttered as I got up to do my early morning routines. I called my pharmacist and he told me to wean myself off like I started the pills. I did just that, but did it ever knock me on my furry fanny! Aches and pains in the back were about as bad my TN pain. However, the TN pain was the worst I ever felt. I took four Aleves to kill the excruciating ache in my left cheek. The hellish thoughts of ‘Why won’t God take me,’ made the pain all the worse. Thankfully He allowed the naproxen to work and things settled down.

I took three prescriptions, none of them successfully neutralized my atypical trigeminal pain, but they conspired to wreak havoc on my body. No more, I will battle the unspeakable pain through diet, supplements, and other means when it becomes legally available.

Going Down

I promise if and when this gets published I will edit to where the girl gets kissed. I still can't believe this thing took nearly four years to finish. Now for those of you who have Trigeminal Neuralgia, brace yourself for a potentially painful ride. I wanted to explain what we feel, the intensity, the sheer desperation to get a few hours of being pain free.

http://www.tnnme.com/author-brian-whitaker-going-down-short-story.html

Headache Journal

If you suffer from headaches and don't have a journal, do yourself a favor and buy a spiral notebook. There's all kinds of back-to-school sales going on right now, especially Wal-Mart, you can pick up one for under a dollar. It will help you keep track of your pain as well as recognizing your triggers.

A friend told me to make one before my neurologist told me to. I started keeping track of the headaches, including my undiagnosed Atypical Trigeminal Neuralgia, and the weekly migraines. I soon discovered that Swiss cheese and cold cuts were behind my fiery migraines in late 2010 and early 2011. One can also use it to track Trigeminal pain as well.

Tho I do recommend you writing nearly every detail when the pain strikes, the location, intensity, and whether its shocking, stabbing, or ache. It will help you identify different triggers whether they be food, weather, or other variables.

Check Your Meds

RIP: Matthew

We lost another Trigeminal Neuralgia Warrior yesterday.

A Crabby PSA

The day was Thursday, the day I clean Admiral Doolittle’s pool. The Old Man, as we affectionately call him at Gotham NAS, is also my bodacious wife’s grandfather. I dreaded the entire ride over to his house. I felt another excruciating Trigeminal Neuralgia attack bubbling underneath my left cheek as I thought of him asking me once again when Brooke and I were going to give him his first great granddaughter. I feel like telling him, “You can’t rush greatness.”

Apprehensively I opened the pool gate. I braced myself for the cantankerous cigar chomping man to verbally assault my tender left ear with his nonstop asking about his future great granddaughter. I could literally feel the TN attack tapping underneath my left cheek as I silently began checking the pool’s vital chemical supply.

I nervously peered around the corner to see if he was sitting at a table reading the front page of the Gotham Guardian, the number one rag in town. I breathed a sigh of relief seeing an empty table and continued to stealthily perform my duty. I bravely tipped toed to the edge of the silent pool.

One timid look over my shoulder and I went to work. I collected the water sample, pulled out the phenol red, and dropped five red drops into the sample. I vigorously shook it and smiled, the water sample was perfect. Then I saw an eight legged crustacean in the water. “Foxtrot,” I muttered, for if the old man saw it, he would be more crotchety than ever.

I fished the small blue crab and set it down on a concrete tile. The tiny crab made no attempt to scurry away as it stood next to my large shoe. I gently tapped it with my shoe, it slightly moved to the right, stopped, and sat down. “Whatcha got there?!?!?”

I nearly jumped out of my epidermis. I placed a quivering hand on my heaving chest as I turned around to face the voice that addressed me. “CAG! What are you doing here?” I breathlessly gasped as I felt the inevitable TN attack simmering under my left cheek.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Commander Quinn stated.

“I fished out a little crab,” I answered lightly kicking the sea creature in question. The tiny thing momentarily stood up and sat back down. “I think the pool’s acid and chlorine have the poor thing is on his way to Davy Jones’ Locker.”

“Hot diggity dog lieutenant! You did it again!” an excited Quinn exclaimed and slapped my shoulder.

“I what?” I replied full of incredulous joy.

“Just like you privatized international relations with Australia and Russia, now you’ve given life to Gotham NAS’ new drug Public Service Announcement,” the old A-4 Skyhawk pilot grinned.

“New PSA?” I was too busy trying to ignore the oozing pain in my left cheek to fathom an answer.

“Yes, my boy, taking bad acid will leave you a little crabby…”

I really hope Commander Quinn doesn’t quit his day job.

Safety Second

The following is a short story was entered into a writing contest. It didn't win, but it got positive reviews. Here's my short story for July 4, 2013.

I used to love the Fourth of July. Hotdogs, hamburgers, apple pies, baseball and everything all American that would make Uncle Sam’s chest swell with pride. But July 4th aint fun when one has been diagnosed with trigeminal neuralgia. One single innocent concussion firework detonating can trigger an excruciating three day attack, even if one has earplugs in their tender ears. One of my favorite holidays turned into a night of cowering in the corner.

My bodacious wife, Brooke, maybe a rough snooty Brit at times, but she was assimilating into American culture quite well. She had her Aunt Sam patriotic top hat on. My fiery redhead added streaks of white and blue to accent her natural silky red locks. Lady Blue, my only ex that my wife will talk to, was also in the Fourth mood as she prepared her pub for the holiday. She wore a camouflaged wide brim hat. She wore a grey t-shirt that had USA across her chest. She hummed a butchered version of the Star Spangled Banner as she readied some firework mortars.

I cringed as I saw Brooke assisting Lady Blue as she set up the evening fireworks outside Lady Blue’s Tavern. The voluptuous blue haired ninja loved explosions, the bigger the better; part of her ADHD. Never ever say, “Explosion,” near her. She’s known for tilting her blue head while sporting a blank demented look on her face. Her crazy violet eyes grew to spaghetti plate size as she asked, “Nukes?” Bluey’s track record of getting into festive holiday trouble was a great as USAF Major Nelson with Jeannie around.

I nervously walked up. I watched them for a few moments, noticing that several safety protocols were being ignored on purpose. Bluey manically laughed as she put the explosions in their tubes. I cleared my throat and addressed them, “Blue-chan, why don’t you two let others do that this year?”

The ninja huffed, “I forgot how much of a party pooper you can be at times Ryan-kun.” My wife chimed in, defending her, bruising my ego, “Luv, relax. Don’t get your knickers in a wad. It’s not like we’re arming your classified fighter. It’s a little fireworks display. Have a little faith in the Company? (CIA)

Blue enthusiastically shook her head, “Yes! Yes! Now shoo Ryan-kun. Brooke and I have important work to do!”

I had unnerving visions of another multimillion dollar F/A-18 Super Hornet exploding over the pumpkin patch like it did five Halloweens ago. I nervously laughed and chugged a cola that made Atlanta famous. I turned around and marched away with fake bravado as I sang, “Glory Glory Hallelu-jah!”

I was at a safe distance so I stopped, put my feet together, and performed a flawless about face. I pulled an over the counter migraine pill bottle out of my pocket and down two of them with my soda. Ear plugs were safely secured in my ear and I was ready for the inevitable explosive miscue that was dancing in the summer wind.

Something disastrous was about to happen and I was told to mind my Ps and Qs. So I did. Loyal patrons slowly gathered outside for the grand festivities to begin as the hot sun slowly began to set in the horizon. Thankfully my sizzling wife ran to my side. However, I still had that look of impending doom.

“Ryan, it’s going to be aright luv,” she smiled wrapping a soft arm around me.

“I got a bad feeling,” I replied as the boisterous crowd began the countdown.

“6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…,” they shouted. I stepped in front of my wife, being the chivalric husband that I am.

The customers cheered as the curvy ninja threw the switch, a millisecond later the tavern detonated, exploding into a bazillion pieces; knocking the red, white, and blue partiers flat on their bums as my wife would later say. A fiery patriotic mushroom cloud shot into the air, taking Blue-chan’s new insurance rates with it.

It started to rain, but the rain tasted like a mixture of adult beverages. My stunned wife rested her chin on my shoulder as the rain continued to fall. She looked at the smoldering black crater that used to be the tavern, “Luv…how? How did you know?”

“With Bluey it’s safety second, third, fourth, or last.”

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