Moms Are Funny

My mom is nearing her seventies, and I try to talk to her a few times every week. Usually I wind up talking to her on my commute home from work (using my hands-free cell phone, of course). The conversation usually drifts to health topics, and, a lot of the times, my migraines come up.

Her first question to me is usually, “how have you been feeling?” which is code for, “have you been having any migraines?” When I try to explain that I’ve been having a few breakthrough migraines from time to time, she indignantly states that I “shouldn’t be having any headaches!”

I try to explain that the preventatives that I take only help cut down on the frequency and severity of the headaches, but she won’t take any of that. “You need to march yourself back to that doctor and have him give you some different pills!”

Which ones, Mom? The ones that make me lazy or the ones that make me see snakes on the wall? I think this, but I never actually say this to her. Instead, I say something about there being a balance between “effect and side effect.” Unfortunately, she doesn’t agree.

“There’s got to be some pill they can give you to take away those headaches,” she tells me authoritatively. I agree with her, knowing that her certainty comes from a mother’s concern. “You shouldn’t be getting headaches like that. It’s not normal.” I agree with her again and tell her not to worry, that the headaches don’t come that often, and when they do, I have pills that take them away. She seems satisfied with that response.

We talk a bit longer and the conversation steers away from health and onto more important things like the baby, and I silently resolve that the next time she asks about the migraines I’ll say, “It’s like a miracle, Ma. No headaches this week. I feel great.” But I know that this is my Mom, and I won’t be able to lie to her and the groundhog’s day conversation will repeat again.

Some day, though, maybe I’ll find the right mixture of meds and when she asks, I’ll be able to say, “I feel great” and mean it.