Having suffered from migraine since I was around seven years old I know my way around pain; from the mild headaches to the soul wrenching agony. Alas, this pain was a new pain. This pain was pure, refined and out to have a good time.
Now take a journey, if you will, inside my mind. The voice of doom is chiding 'Well, this is a fine way to die. Flat out on your back dressed in nothing but your pants. And you haven't even had a shave!'
It turns out that I didn't die. To own the truth, I only wished that I'd died.
The intense pain fizzled out after ten minutes to be replaced by a dull throb which lasted for a few hours. After the initial panic I figured that this new talent was merely an extension of my brains quirkier functions. A theory which was proved throughout the week as more and more incidents occurred.
Against the advice of friends and, indeed, family I didn't go to the hospital but instead made myself an appointment with the local doctor. This, thanks to NHS tardiness, brings us up to today.
I knew the drill all too well: describe what happened, expect to be prodded a bit and wait for the prescription. This was completed within five wholesome minutes. The doctor in question hadn't even told me what he suspected was wrong before he was printing out the drugs order.
To surmise. I can now add the Cluster Headache badge to my Boy Scouts uniform. I can also add a prescription of Sumatriptan Succinate to my wall of drugs.
After a bit of light reading about the drug in question it turns out that only the injected form is useful in the treatment of cluster headaches. Naturally, my doctor has prescribed me the tablet form.
Is it too late for a second opinion? Or shall I just crawl back inside my hole.