Journey to the Center of the Earth

I have, since I was fairly young, been plagued by occasional migraines. About once or twice a month a vicious, head-crushing, stomach-churning migraine sweeps in and leaves me curled in a fetal position, my eyes squeezed shut, feeling like my brain is going to start leaking out my nose. On two separate occasions in the past year, I've stumbled to a mirror and checked to see if either side of my face was sagging, convinced that I was experiencing a stroke.

Things started to get better a few months ago when my doctor prescribed a migraine medication that I can administer via a syringe injection. The stuff usually works like a charm and is thus far the greatest proof I have experienced that there is a merciful God. The injection hurts a bit but, I tell myself, for someone who has spent hours over the years getting tattooed, one little needle prick is no big deal.

Well, speaking of tattoos: Last week I spent three hours sitting for the beginning of a new tattoo - a big black and gray beauty that takes up about two thirds of the left side of my back. It's healing, but it's still a bit raw.

So, tonight, when I was down with a particularly nasty migraine, I decided it was time to crawl to the medicine cabinet for a dose of my medication. There are a few funky side effects to the medication, all of which I thought I had already experienced and was used to.

Incorrect.

Months back, when I read over the potential side effect list that came with my medication, I must have missed where it said, "WARNING: May make fresh tattoos feel like angry, burning, fiery doom."

I went from feeling like this:

To feeling like this:

I now have an idea of what it might be like to recline on the earth's molten core.