T is for Tylenol (Ep. 5)

Two years passed and my kidney function remained stable.

I continued to see Dr. B. monthly at Sick Kids’. There was a small amount of protein in my urine, which meant my kidneys were not filtering as well as they could. And I started getting headaches. But mostly, I felt fine.

Kidneys are weird. They conk out the way a marathoner does. They chug along, nice and steady, with an undetectable decline in energy, until one day they are all wiggly legs collapsing to the ground. When I was 17, they were still running at Mile 19. I didn’t feel their fatigue, so I lived my high school life like any other teen.

In Grade 10, the Boy with Dark Hair kissed me, my knees buckling every time I replayed it in my head. In Grade 11, I went for Math help every morning, and couldn’t wait for the day I could drop it. (No, I have never needed it!) And in Grade 12, Emma Waterman told me I couldn’t run for student council’s “social convener” because I had no social life. Yup. Mean girls before the movie.

                                                            *

When I was 17, I got my first migraine.

I was in my bedroom, writing a paper for English, the only sound the scratching of my pen. Suddenly, a tightness gripped my neck. Howling tore through my brain. I dropped my pen and dug my fingers into my temples. What was happening? This was no headache. This assault was next level. My stomach roiled with nausea. I thought I might throw up.

Grabbing the Extra-Strength Tylenol, I squinted at the label: Take 1 to 2 capsules once every 4 hours for pain. I snorted. They couldn’t have meant for my pain! I tossed back 4 with a gulp of water from the bathroom tap.

Holding my head, I knew I couldn’t write. I couldn’t think! I wanted to cry out for Mum, but flinched at the thought of making a sound. Curling onto my bed, I lay a pillow over my face, waiting for the pills to work. They had to work. I fell asleep waiting.

The next morning, the acute pain was gone, but a dull ache weighted my neck. My fingers shook as I gathered the incomplete assignment, wondering what wild brute force had just taken me down.

As I handed in my rough pages, I whispered to a friend,

“God, I had the craziest headache last night. I took 4 Tylenol.”

“Wow,” she said, alarmed. “That’s a lot.”

My hackles went up. Was it? She hadn’t experienced my pain! Who was she to judge?

The pain had been mean, meaner than Emma Waterman, and my instinct had been to fight back. It hadn’t occurred to me to try 1 or 2 capsules. 4 had made total sense. More is more when being attacked. Why wouldn’t 4 be better than 1?

And since the headache had gone away, I’d been right after all.

                                                                        *

I started Grade 13. (Yes, in 1987, in Toronto we had five years of secondary school. Insert snark here.) The Boy with Dark Hair and I were on again-off again. When we were off, I moped through High Park, as my beagle, Ralph, gleefully tore up the land. But when we were on, Boy oh, boy. I rocked a knock-off of Madonna’s sparkling jacket from Desperately Seeking Susan. And despite Emma Waterman’s prediction, I won “social convener” by a landslide on the platform of school dances including a wider variety of music like hair rock and heavy metal, to which Nicky, now Nick, whooped his assent from the back of the auditorium.

I turned 18 and my headaches got worse. I got glasses. They didn’t help.

Dr. B. said my blood pressure was going up and prescribed me an experimental medication. I don’t remember the name, but I remember it was safe for my kidneys and free.

“It’s a new trial medication. In 3% of cases, patients lose their sense of taste.”

Those were pretty low odds, so I wasn’t worried. I felt kind of fancy, getting this free medication, reminding me of American cancer trials you had to be selected for that I had only heard about on 60 Minutes.

Within days, the only things I could taste were hard-boiled eggs and French fries with tons of gravy and pepper. Random! It was mind-bending to bite into a piece of rye bread expecting the lovely malted flavor to flood my senses only to taste…nothing. After feeling like I’d been chewing an old piece of gum for a month, I complained.

I’m already losing my kidneys. Can I at least enjoy lunch?

Dr. B. switched up my medication and my blood pressure came down.

Until one day, it went back up.