By 7th-Grader Penny Andreas

When I said, “Give us a chapter from the book of your life,” PVS Blogger Penny wrote the story of her first migraine. I’ve only read one other description of a migraine so descriptive and revealing–and that was the famed Joan Didion’s.

Blog Advisor Zachik

It’s not the same as it was. 

I walked into my 1st-grade classroom to the familiar smell of rain and Lysol. The rain boots were lined up beside the cubbies, with colorful backpacks hanging among them. Sitting on the alphabet carpet, I met my friend, Lucia. We both waited patiently for our reading groups to be divided. The teacher, Marissa, walked in. Every day, I was jealous of her hair that reached all the way down her back. She walked over to us, and split up the class; me and Lucia separated. I walked over to the corner of the large classroom, excited to show Marissa my “reading skills.” 

Marissa sat me down, right next to the small window with the chicken painting I loved. I opened my book: The magic treehouse. Marissa told me I could start reading whenever I was ready. I took a sip of water from my small water bottle and slowly turned the colorful cover of the book. On the first page was a small drawing of a tree. But, there was something wrong. There was one small, singular blur blocking the people in the picture. I rubbed my eyes and started to read. The words now came harder to read by the second. I couldn’t see the words; they were blocked by that one singular, small blur. I stopped reading, and I looked up to my teacher. Half of her face was blocked; my eyes somehow refused to show her expression. I started to breathe heavily. I couldn’t see my friends’ faces. I couldn’t see the letters in the book. I couldn’t figure out what was happening. My breathing would not slow down. My heart was beating abnormally fast. I had to place my hand on my chest to try to slow it down. I started to cry, and all I could hear was my loud and heavy pulse. My teacher desperately tried to calm me down. She took me to the hallway; she said she would call my mom to pick me up. 

When she left, my head started to throb with pain, as though it was going to beat with my heart. I tried to make it stop. I held my head in my hands. I tried creating pressure from my hands. As tears created smooth pathways on my face, my legs started to tremble, uncontrollably. It was so much pain, so much confusion, so many things going wrong. Alone, I sat there in the hallway, not able to see, not able to stop trembling, not able to control my body. As I was holding my head; it felt as though my brain was traveling down my face. My head burned, and the pain made me wince and close my eyes. The world around me had stopped; then, blood rushed out my nose. I tried to stand; my legs were weak. I attempted to walk toward the bathroom, not even seeing where I was walking or where I was. Eventually, I made it and stuffed the crusty-musty paper towel up my nose. The nosebleed lasted only a couple of minutes. When I walked out of the bathroom, my mom was there. She carried me to the car. I started to cry harder, I could not even see my mom’s face. She put me in the car seat, and buckled me up. She raced to get me home. The sun shone brightly in my eyes, making them feel sore and hurt. At that moment, my stomach losing control, forced me to throw up. My mother handed me a bag, begging me to not get her car dirty. She frantically turned into our driveway, and, holding me, ran up to my bedroom where she lay me down in bed.