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A bit of a head case

May 30, 2011

So here’s the thing. My head hurts. I have had a sore head since April 13th, 2010, and I am fed up with it.

It’s not a headache in the ordinary sense. It’s a pain that spreads across the back of my head, a ‘raw’, tender feeling, like a graze on the inside of my skull. Some days it almost disappears completely. Other days I wake up with it and muddle through the day with it and go to bed with it. Sometimes it’s a mild ache that I can ignore, sometimes it’s a sudden smarting pain that makes me clutch at my head with both hands. It is worse if I am tired or under any kind of mental or emotional stress, when it can stab at me without warning. It affects my daily life, which means it affects my family’s daily life too. It’s demoralising and tiring and just bloody boring.

As regular readers will realise, this head pain is a symptom of the brain injury which I sustained in a snowboarding accident last April. Whether or not to write about it on Dancing Beastie is a frequent dilemma. On the one hand, I don’t want to mention it because of the danger of writing a tedious ‘poor me’ piece; and because, as I say, I am just fed up of the whole subject. On the other hand, I do want to for two reasons: firstly, because I’m living with it all the time and to avoid any mention of it seems slightly artificial. And secondly, because I think it’s helpful to log these experiences on the web as a support for others facing similar situations. Anyway, I’m writing about it today for selfish reasons. I’ve had a bad week with the symptoms and I just need to let off some steam. If it’s useful for anyone else dealing with a brain injury, all to the good.

An unrelated picture of cheerful freesias at a friend's house: flowers always help

When I finally saw a neurologist last December, he said that I would probably be more or less recovered by about a year after the accident. I know it’s silly but, as the anniversary approached this April, I became more and more obsessed with the fact that I was still feeling far from my old self. Against my common sense I got it into my head that I had to be better by April 13th or I would somehow have failed. It was a meeting with someone from Headway, the brain injury association, that put things into perspective.

‘A year,’ she said. ‘After a brain injury, that’s nothing. You’ve hardly begun.’

This could sound negative, I suppose, but for me it was very reassuring. I can just keep on recovering at my own pace, and it will take as long as it takes.

And I am recovering. The physical and mental after-effects of the accident were, frankly, horrible; but they have mostly worn off. So I am incredibly lucky. You can hear the but coming, can’t you? Well, some of the after-effects are still with me, and I didn’t expect them to be, and they are a pain in the neck. Literally, ho ho. There’s the headache, but there’s also discomfort in my neck and shoulders caused by the whiplash (and by its not being treated until nine months later). And tiredness is still a problem, although nothing like it used to be.

What I find harder to deal with than the physical problems – which are generally inconvenient rather than debilitating – is the damage to my thought processes. This is what makes me feel ‘brain damaged’, although to meet me you wouldn’t know anything was wrong, unless you knew me very well. You might think I was mentally a bit slow sometimes; you might get a bit irritated by the way I sometimes grind to a halt in the middle of a sentence, groping for a word that escapes me. You might notice that I stammer occasionally (always when I’m tired or stressed, both of which happen more easily since the injury). That’s about it but, to me, it’s so frustrating. I have always loved language. Poetry, academic discussions, the exchange of ideas: these have always lit me up with delight. My eight years at university, studying for an MA and then a D.Phil., were the most intellectually stimulating and satisfying of my life to date. Ever since, having a doctorate was something of a talisman to me: other inadequacies notwithstanding, I was always confident about having a quick brain. It was something essential to my sense of self-esteem, my sense of identity in fact. (God, my head is smarting as I try to explain this.) So finding that I had become ‘a bit slow’ made me feel…fragile. Transparent. Useless.

Washed up at Stein, Skye

Looking back over notes that I made at intervals last year, though, I do see that there has been improvement. It’s good to have made notes, as progress day-to-day often seems negligible: it’s like watching a clock, or trying to see a flower growing. This time last year, I couldn’t read through a newspaper article: I’d lose concentration half-way through, lacking the mental energy to finish. Being expected to organise something, or process information as someone spoke to me, or even to decide whether I wanted tea or coffee, felt overwhelming: my heart-rate would go up and I would feel tearful and panicky. All mental effort felt baffling in its complexity. A lot of the time I just felt stupid, with a brain full of fog and shadows. I couldn’t even type properly: having been a touch-typist since my teens, I was suddenly spattering mistakes all over the screen and having to go back, laboriously, and correct myself all the time. I felt angry with myself a good deal of the time, and low.

Discovering Headway was a breakthrough. For one thing, I discovered that all of these difficulties were normal symptoms of brain injury, so I learned to be a little more forgiving of myself. Even the tearfulness, the depression, the irritability were recognised symptoms in themselves: ’emotional lability’ is how the medics classify it. For another, I have learned to be a little – a very little – more patient about recovery, now that I understand that it is measured in months and years rather than days. Even my fourteen months of head pain is nothing out of the ordinary, apparently. ‘Around a quarter of people with severe head injuries are still suffering from headaches two years after the accident’, says the Headway website. ‘These headaches are generally aggravated by stress, or by trying to “do too much”.’ (The thing is, you can’t just take to your bed for a couple of days when there are little children to look after.)

Another breakthrough was some sessions of cranio-sacral therapy last June, which relieved the unbearable pain and pressure in my skull. One day, very close to despair, I blurted out to the therapist, ‘I need to be trepanned.’ That’s the stone-age technique of bashing a hole in the top of someone’s skull to relieve head pain. (Evidence of later bone growth on trepanned skulls shows that sometimes people even survived it.) Well, I can’t explain how she did it, but somehow this gifted healer succeeded in effecting a trepanning, by nothing more violent than holding her palms over the top of my head. After ten minutes or so I felt a sensation like a window opening in the top of my skull, and all the heat and pressure escaping, letting in light and cool air. It was extraordinary, and it made life bearable again. Since this time last year, then, both the mental and the physical symptoms of the injury are greatly lessened.

sunbeams breaking through cloud, Birsay, Orkney

I’m reasoning myself out of my tantrum, aren’t I? Positive thinking is essential to recovery, as we all know. The internet and print media are full of inspiring stories of illnesses overcome, injuries surmounted. Headway itself has a section where people tell their own stories of living with traumatic brain injury: their upbeat messages are both humbling and cheering. You know what, though? Just sometimes, I bet even the most Pollyanna-ish survivor needs a jolly good moan. I firmly believe that it’s unrealistic, even unhelpful, to pretend that everything is rosy all the time, and that it can be as therapeutic to share a good honest grumble as to encourage each other to think positive. So here’s my contribution. I have had a sore head since April 13th, 2010, and I am fed up with it.

 

 

[In addition to my other posts about brain injury, which you can find under ‘head injury’ in the tag cloud at top right, there are a number of other blogs which address experiences of brain injury. For example, needled, broken brilliant and  traumamorphism.]

 

 

 

 

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43 Comments leave one →
  1. May 30, 2011 1:54 pm

    Hey there,
    Can’t say much about headaches…since my accident 2.5 years ago I have not experienced a single episode…not one! Weird in itself but at least one good thing that came out of my TBI!?
    But somehwere along your above blog you mention a key notion: fragile. We all come out of our TBI more fragile, and are forced to learn to live with it. Because if you don’t, you hit the brickwall. And the brickwall doesn’t negotiate.

    • dancingbeastie permalink*
      May 30, 2011 6:15 pm

      I can’t believe you had a brain haemorrhage and it cured you of headaches! Quite a radical cure I’d say!

      You are so right about coming out fragile, and about having to learn to live with it. I’m not very good at that bit, but I am learning. Thanks for your comments.

  2. May 30, 2011 2:28 pm

    I understand! I’m not happy you had a head injury, but I’m happy that someone else experienced what I did after my auto-accident in 2008. The feeling of slowness of thought and speech, as if 100 points of IQ were suddenly wiped away. The stuttering. Tears, depression. I thought I was developing dementia. Inability to read and comprehend. I am a writer, and I was devastated. Yet I looked normal. It was hard for people to believe there was anything wrong, but I knew inside there was something terribly wrong.
    It does get better, but slowly.
    In another life, I was a massage therapist, and studied cranio-sacral work under Hugh Milne, D.O., and I so envy you your session. It can work magic when you just sit and listen and let the bones tell their story. Go back to the therapist, because your bones and body need to talk!
    Okay, that sounds weird, but it’s true.

    • dancingbeastie permalink*
      May 30, 2011 6:29 pm

      Likewise, Gerri: wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, but it’s a strange kind of relief to hear that your symptoms were so similar to mine. Yes, you do understand! I do hope that you are recovered now.

      I was lucky to find such a good c-s therapist. She really did work magic. In consultation with her, I’m seeing an acupuncturist at the moment; but I certainly wouldn’t rule out going back for some more c-s sessions in the future.

  3. May 30, 2011 2:41 pm

    My first point is that, if you are this eloquent with an addled brain, your pre-injury word-smithing skills must have been really impressive! Well done you for bashing on, looking for the right words and the correct keys. Typos are so much easier to deal with in this computer age, n’est-ce pas?

    My second point is that, call it karma, God’s practical jokes or Murphy’s Law, but certain types of shit always seems to happen to the people who will suffer the most. You, the intellectual suffered a brain injury; me the fiddler broke my wrist; my father the mathematician and all around genius is now so debilitated he can no longer do his own taxes, or anything else for himself. S*#t happens.

    My third point is that your description of loss of words, inability to read a newspaper, lack of concentration, etc. sounds like me without a brain injury. I’ve just attributed it to 10 years or so without a full night’s sleep (interrupted yet again last night by my nearly 10 year old child). I, too, miss my time as a semi-intellectual and coherent human being. You have my full sympathy!

    Hang in there, keep the positive thought, but don’t hold in the kvetch, and keep up the good recovery progress!

    • dancingbeastie permalink*
      May 30, 2011 6:37 pm

      Hi, Jessica, thanks for your generous comments. I’ll take ’em! Though reflecting on what you say, I realise that perhaps some of my general woolly-headedness is just down to motherhood! As they say, the brain comes out with the afterbirth…

      It does seem like a bad joke, doesn’t it, the misfortunes that have befallen us. Guess we just have to shrug, really. Meh. Good to hear from you, and more power to your elbow, I mean wrist!

  4. May 30, 2011 2:53 pm

    Dear Dancer

    I beg to differ – you are not having a tantrum – you are writing openly, courageously and with great clarity of your present experience – and before anything else, I thank you for giving me an insight into what the reality of head injury can be for an individual.
    I echo your comment ‘It’s good to have made notes, as progress day-to-day often seems negligible’ wholeheartedly! I think you might know that I am a counsellor/psychotherapist who uses writing in my work, and also runs therapeutic writing groups, and one of the comments I hear very frequently is exactly that. When someone has been in a dark place for a long time, (I often work with mothers who have children with life threatening illnesses) – it is sometimes difficult for them to see progress made only in tiny stages – but if they have been able to regularly write – keep notes – journal (call it what ever sounds right) it is gratifying to see them read back over those notes, however brief, and see the realisation that progress is being made – if only progress in an ability to cope with that which has previously seemed overwhelming.
    Regarding the cranio-sacral therapy – my brother in law has Down’s Syndrome, and twenty years ago, we thought he was entering the early Alzheimer’s which is a feature of this condition. My Mother in Law, (who has always been known for her barmy/ crackpot ideas :-)) took him off to a cranial therapist – a subject which was, at the time, seen as a *very* alternative form of healing.
    The results were close to miraculous – he was given back his personality, his mental and physical function was renewed, and he has since lived a life full of fulfillment and value, though now somewhat declining. (He is now 51 years old).
    Finally, I give thanks for an organisation like Headway, where you can benefit from the real experiences of those who have walked a similar path to you. I am sure that, in turn, you will plough your own experience back to enable others to benefit from your own knowledge.
    Now if you have read all that, you probably have even more of a headache than when you started, so I’ll leave now – but not before wishing you relief – SOON – from the present overbearing effects of the pain, thanks for what you have shared and warmest wishes from this Softie Southerner cheering you on from the sidelines. (Feet up, a sit down and a nice cup of tea might well help as well – can you let someone else hold the fort – er – castle – for an hour or two??).

    Sending love,
    Roz x

    • dancingbeastie permalink*
      May 30, 2011 6:54 pm

      Hello Roz, how very nice to hear from you again! Thank you for your thoughtful and encouraging words. It’s very interesting to hear of your own professional experience in therapeutic writing. (Actually it makes me wish I lived nearer to Hampshire! 🙂 )

      I knew almost nothing at all about cranio-sacral therapy before instinct led me to seek it out, and I still don’t understand it. But its effects do seem to be miraculous in some cases. Your mother-in-law must be a very enlightened soul!

      My lovely husband is making pasta for the boys’ supper while I sit here with, yes, my feet up and a nice cup of tea. So I am very lucky. Thank you so much for your continuing support, which I very much appreciate.

  5. Margaret Lambert permalink
    May 30, 2011 3:20 pm

    I can appreciate all that you have said from several viewpoints: as a witness to TBI, and many other invisible disorders which may or may not be curable, as the descendant of 3 prior generations who developed incurable brain disease, as a woman who has also placed too much of her identity in her intellectual capacity. It absolutely makes sense to me that writing about it is a vital part of the process of recovery. For me it is a vital part of coming to terms with high probability. In either case, we are NOT our brains, we are far more than that, and that belief, and trust in those who care for us, is vital.

    • dancingbeastie permalink*
      May 30, 2011 7:06 pm

      Your comments make for sobering reading, Margaret. I think I know what you mean about being more than our intellectual capacity. When my father-in-law slid suddenly into Alzheimer’s we felt that we had lost him. As the condition has stabilised, we have learned that he is still ‘there’, hidden often by the illness but occasionally we see a spark of his humour and character, and it reminds us that we love him for all sorts of reasons, not just for his brain power.

  6. May 30, 2011 8:05 pm

    So much of what you say very eloquently here chimes with some of the most annoying – because elusive and difficult to pin down – aspects of my post-stroke experience. I am right there with you with the weird, stabbing, location-specific headaches; the emotional lability; the slow thoughts; the sensation that one is experiencing the once-sharp world through an obfuscating fog. I also sympathise as someone for whom intellectual and verbal acuity is incredibly important (indeed, it was how I earned my living in the university position to which I am still too ill to return). As such, it may seem that ‘fate’, or whatever, has dealt us both a particularly harsh blow – but I really have to disagree with part of what Jessica says above regarding karma &c – the logic of which would suggest that some people potentially ‘deserve’ to suffer certain kinds of injury more than others. No one deserves a brain injury. Shit does indeed happen, but it is just that – shit.

    • dancingbeastie permalink*
      May 30, 2011 11:36 pm

      With all your research and creativity in the world of knitwear design, not to mention the odd bit of munro-bagging, I didn’t realise that you were still unable to return to university work. It must be beyond frustrating sometimes, your long road to recovery. I certainly know a little about the difficulty of finding that fragile balance between pushing for improvement – constructive – and trying to do too much too soon – destructive.

      I don’t think there are many of us who think that injuries like these are somehow deserved. ‘Karma’ is not a concept I choose to apply in these circumstances and I’m sure Jessica wouldn’t either. ‘Shit happens’ is probably the most apposite theory to work on!

  7. May 30, 2011 10:47 pm

    A beautifully-expressed and very poignant and informative post. I’m so very sorry that you are still feeling so many after-effects of your accident, but glad that you are aware of making progress towards recovery. I can appreciate to some limited extent how very fed up you are with the constant discomfort/pain in your head. I have pulsar tinnitus, which is getting worse, and the constant hissing in my ears can be very frustrating and even demoralising at times. The faulty memory and missing words also chime with me, but mine are due simply to age and the effects of the cancer treatment I had. Hopefully yours will improve as you move gradually closer to full recovery.

    • dancingbeastie permalink*
      May 30, 2011 11:57 pm

      Thank you for your kind thoughts. Being a fairly private person, I am always amazed at how generous and supportive people are if one only opens up a little. A problem shared and all that.

      Tinnitus must be no fun at all to live with, and I am sorry that you have to do so. I have occasional mild bouts of it, enough to pray fervently that it never gets any worse. I didn’t know that cancer treatment could affect the brain, but I suppose one shouldn’t be surprised: chemo is a blunderbuss approach, after all, and brain cells must suffer. Pretty horrifying nonetheless. You mention age-related degeneration too, and that’s a parallel that has occurred to me: I often feel that my memory and speech gaps echo those of my parents’ generation. I do hope and pray that I get better before I get wuss again!

      Your matter-of-factness about the challenges you face remind me of that saying, ‘Old age is not for sissies’. As friends and family move up the ladder of life, I respect the truth of that saying more and more.

      • May 31, 2011 11:22 am

        I was lucky enough not to need chemo either time, DB, but the anti-oestrogen tablets don’t half mess with your mental function while you’re taking them. I’ve finished my 5 years now, so am hoping things may improve slightly.

  8. May 30, 2011 11:08 pm

    Well I’m glad you felt able to come here and tell us about your experiences. It IS important to share – not just to inform others, but to help yourself too. We all need an outlet for our frustrations. It’s hard (and inhuman) to be positive all the time and I can so relate to the “date setting”. I do that too when I get various flare ups. I set some random date and tell myself if I’m not better by then then I’m not going to get better. Totally irrational and unhelpful but there you go. One thing I have learned is that we all take our own time to heal and that we each have our own experiences after injury or illness. I am so glad you have found a supportive group – it really does make such a difference to be able to read of other experiences and feel that your path to recovery, although it feels painfully slow, is quite “normal” and that you ARE making progress. I’m so glad your husband is so supportive (having met him I’m not surprised!). Take care of yourself and do what you need to do to do that! Incidentally some years ago when I was trying to deal with various health issues I read something about “being in tune with your body” – I harumphed loudly at that – I’m barely on speaking terms with mine sometimes 😉

    • dancingbeastie permalink*
      May 31, 2011 12:00 am

      Thank you very much for such supportive comments, Sian. And thanks for making me snort with laughter at your last sentence! A healthy dose of the ridiculous is excellent medicine in any circumstances!

  9. Jean S permalink
    May 31, 2011 12:43 am

    My goodness, that stinks! I’m sorry to hear this. From what I’ve heard, it’s not at all uncommon for the TBI process to take some time. (We hear a fair amount about TBI here in the US these days, because of our soldiers’ experiences.)

    I know nothing about cranial therapy, but if it helped you, I’d say go for it…again and again and again…

    take good care ~

    • dancingbeastie permalink*
      May 31, 2011 10:49 am

      Thank you, Jean. The US seems to much more aware of the issue of TBI, in relation to both combat and sports injuries. Sometimes I think we are still in the Dark Ages in Britain as far as this area is concerned. Thank goodness for enlightened ‘alternative’ therapists, is all I can say.

  10. May 31, 2011 8:17 am

    Now it’ s my brain that feels inadequate to find the words of encouragement and support that I mean, but which you’ve already reasoned through for yourself. But apart from that – good for you having a jolly good moan. ‘What Katy Did’ is all very well, but sometimes I just wanted to slap her when she got to the holier than thou stage of her illness. And it’s your blog, so you can moan if you want to. I had a swither recently about whether to declare that although I’m a proud Scot, I don’t support independence for Scotland. And then I reminded myself that it was indeed my blog. I picked up a negative comment, but hey, I’m not in thrall to the Facebook mentality (see http://slowgrowinginscotland.blogspot.com/2011/05/social-life.html).

    And, if I can comment from the lofty heights of having a 20 year old and a 17 year old, you’re still in the thick of the most demanding time of bringing up a family, and that will ease. Just a suggestion – try taking to your bed. Children are more resilient than we think. A day or two of doing more for themselves is no bad thing, and toiling up and down stairs with meal trays tires them out nicely! Some of that I did, but I also remember those years as something of a fog, as I worked full time, concentrated on my children (poor husband!), and struggled with the pain of constant fibromyalgia. That last has gone now, exchanged for Meniere’s Disease with its periodic descent of brain fog. But it’s not constant, and I can feel how the constancy of your head pain is wearing and scary.

    Sometimes I think that this doctorate business can be a bit of a curse as well as a badge of honour. It’s what’s making me want to write an elegant conclusion to this ramble and I can’t find one. The only advice I have is go and sit with a tree, and listen to a blackbird. And hug your family.

    • dancingbeastie permalink*
      May 31, 2011 11:07 am

      What wise words. I think I needed them. Your comments about ‘What Katy Did’ made me laugh: she was my heroine when I was a girl, and probably a very bad influence! I used to imagine myself reclining (in a pretty muslin dress) on a chaise longue, being patient and saintly in the face of unspoken suffering. Hah. Turns out that patient and saintly are absent from my makeup!

      Clearly you have had more than your fair share of nasty illness to deal with. I’d never have guessed it, though, from your busy and eclectic and thought-provoking blogs. You inspire me to get off the chaise longue and get out into the garden in search of blackbirds. 🙂

  11. Deb permalink
    May 31, 2011 9:47 pm

    I’m thinking the saying, “better out than in” applies to your situation as well. Sometimes sorting our emotions out and putting them into words is a crucial step in understanding and healing. Your writing is so honest and insightful, and you never know how or when it may help someone else just to read it – even if it reminds us to count our blessings when we feel well or to have patience and courage when we don’t.
    Sending you good thoughts and much appreciation,
    Deb

    • dancingbeastie permalink*
      May 31, 2011 10:21 pm

      You are so right about ‘sorting our emotions out’ being crucial to healing. It does help to write about it. Thank you very much for your kind words.

  12. May 31, 2011 10:26 pm

    Hi Beastie,
    Not sure if this will be interesting or appropriate for you but there are a class of herbs known as noortropics that include things like Brahmi, Ginkgo and Rosemary that can really help with improving brain function. It might be worth a bit of research or seeing a herbalist who can help you choose suitable ones.
    Well done for your bravery and all the best for your continued recovery.

    • dancingbeastie permalink*
      June 1, 2011 9:45 am

      Gosh, thank you, Lucinda. I am indeed interested and will follow this up. I appreciate your input.

  13. June 2, 2011 12:25 pm

    I remember reading your other post about the after-effects of your injury back around the time I first started reading your blog. I thought then, as I do now, that posts on this topic were extremely important. Though I wish you didn’t have to suffer through this, I am glad that you have taken the opportunity to inform people about it, and to challenge an unrealistic stance taken by the medical community. I am sure a post like this is no small comfort for other people recovering from similar injuries and also for those around them, who may have trouble understanding what their friend or family member is experiencing. Anyway, I feel like I really learned a lot.

    • dancingbeastie permalink*
      June 2, 2011 4:27 pm

      It really means a lot to me to have such positive feedback and support, Jodi. Thank you very much.
      I certainly take comfort from reading about others who’ve experienced similar, so I am pleased if this post adds at all to the useful pool of information.

  14. hmunro permalink
    June 2, 2011 3:29 pm

    I am very glad you wrote this post, dancingbeastie! I know exactly what you mean about hesitating to write a “poor me” piece, but this is far from it. It’s an honest, insightful, inspiring record of where you find yourself today. And I hope that — a year from now — it will be a reminder of just how much better you feel, and of how far you’ve come. I’m sending you healing thoughts and wish you all the best.

    • dancingbeastie permalink*
      June 2, 2011 4:28 pm

      Oh, Heather, thank you! I know you understand. And what a comforting idea, that I’ll be able to look back on this a year from now to chart my progress. You always cheer me up! 🙂

  15. June 4, 2011 3:16 am

    Sometimes being grumpy is brave,too.
    Hope you feel better
    Do you realize you kinda ARE the “sunshine breaking through the clouds” picture? some how that is you? A metaphor? Did you subconsciously think that when you took it? Oh, well, silly thought…delete OK 🙂

    • dancingbeastie permalink*
      June 5, 2011 12:05 am

      Aww, that’s a lovely thing to say! And no I’m not going to delete it, so there! 🙂 Thank you for making me feel warm and fuzzy.

  16. Erika W. permalink
    June 4, 2011 1:54 pm

    Your very thoughtful and honest analysis of your TBI with the pain and its effects upon your life is certainly not a “poor me” wail. It is so helpful for others to read who are in more or less the same boat. As a sufferer for many years now of idiopathic trigeminal neuralgia I find myself wondering if your doctors or neurologists have considered the drugs which are found useful in treating chronic nerve pain, notably, Tegretol and Trileptal. These have saved my sanity over the years.

    I get real pleasure from your blog with its emphasis on the Scottish seasons. All my best wishes to you, Erika W.

    • dancingbeastie permalink*
      June 5, 2011 12:18 am

      In writing occasionally about this injury, I have discovered just how lucky I am. So many correspondents are quietly living with truly grim long-term medical conditions, of which yours sounds like one of the hardest to bear. Whether or not drugs for chronic nerve pain would be appropriate in my case I don’t know, though I suspect not. I’m off to see another neurologist in a couple of weeks, so perhaps he might be able to suggest what causes the skull pain.

      Thank you for your kind words, and for continuing to follow Dancing Beastie. My best wishes to you too.

  17. September 28, 2011 5:35 pm

    You write beautifully. Really, you have a gift. I can understand a little of your pain and frustration and I just want to reassure you. Thank you for writing this.

    • dancingbeastie permalink*
      September 28, 2011 7:43 pm

      How very kind of you, thank you. It’s very touching that you should take the time to read my ramblings and to send some comfort and encouragement my way. 🙂

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