All in the mind? The story of my headaches
Hearing about my friend Eamonn Holmes and the mystery chronic pain that sent him to A & E last week, I thought I’d share the story of my headaches . . . I have already shared it with people who read my diary in The Oldie magazine, but there is a bit of an update to give as well.
Do you have headaches?
Mine started last July, in the first break between lockdowns. I had had them before, in the 1990s when I was an MP, but those were simply mild migraines – a bit of double vision and a light throbbing on the right side of the head. And they were quick to cure: twenty minutes with my eyes shut in one of the leather armchairs in the Quiet Room of the House of Commons Library and I’d be as right as rain again. These new headaches wouldn’t go away.
And they got worse. As summer turned to autumn, the occasional thumping head turned into a daily horror story. I would wake with pulsing pains in my temples. Every time I coughed or sneezed or strained, there were sharp, lancing pains on either side of my skull. They had me yelping out loud. Standing up wasn’t too bad, but bending over, even slightly, brought on a dull, foggy pain all over my head. At night, I lay in bed as still as I could, willing the throbbing to go away. It didn’t.
I saw the GP three times. Was it my posture? It’s never been good. Was it my diet? I do overdo the chocolates and cheese. Was it the way I sit at the computer screen, head pushed forward, eyes straining at the print? I have been writing a book and sitting at the desk eight hours a day.
I varied my diet, I got my eyes tested, I took more exercise. Still, the headaches persisted: bad in the morning, worse in the evening, worst of all, off and on, in the night. Eventually, the GP sent me to see a consultant neurologist and the great man – a world authority on dementia, Parkinson's disease and strokes – questioned, prodded and poked me for an hour before sending me off for an MRI scan.
Have you had an MRI scan? They are not for the fainthearted or the claustrophobic: forty minutes strapped inside a cylindrical coffin with hideous banging, buzzing and clanking sounds as the magnetic resonance imaging machine does its stuff. I did not like it, but I knew it had to be done, because, frankly, the headaches had become unendurable and I needed to know the worst.
Twenty-four hours later I was back at the hospital, sitting face to face with the consultant. He lit up his screen and showed me the image of my skull and spine. He took me on a guided tour of the workings of my cranium and said, quite simply, ‘I’m liking what I’m seeing. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.’
That was three weeks ago. I haven’t had a headache since. After six months in hell, I’m in heaven. It turns out that Hamlet was right: ‘there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.’
PS post-Easter: the headaches haven’t completely gone away. They vanished for three weeks - the relief, I imagine, from knowing there was nothing seriously amiss . . . but they have come back in odd bursts (especially if I cough), though they don’t worry me as they did, of course. I am making a few life-style changes: principally STANDING while working at my laptop and wearing GLASSES while watching TV. I suspect the cause is a lifetime of poor posture, but who knows?
‘Who cares?’ murmurs my wife, not unkindly, in the background. ‘No one is interested in your headaches. They’ve all got problems of their own.’
She’s right. She always is. Time to shut up. (But if you ARE interested, watch this space. I will keep you posted with any interesting developments.)