So, the good news of this "U2 Good News; Bad News" post is that I went to the opening Chicago show of U2's new tour. The bad news, I didn't see any of it.
Now before your minds start awandering, NO, I was not drunk and passed out. I got a migraine. A stupid migraine prevented me from seeing ANY BIT OF BONO. I spent the evening in the last bathroom stall fighting a migraine and puking.
Who manages to go to a U2 concert and ends up in the bathroom the whole night? Me, that's who.
We had the whole day planned, 30 of us were tailgating and there were to be margaritas and awesome food, and music in preparation for the big show. Mr. Manic and I took the train downtown. On the train I said, "I'm scared I'm going to get a migraine."
"Don't psyche yourself up. You're going to jinx it into happening."
I don't know what triggered it, but now this is the third migraine in a month, the second of which there was vomiting. I wondered if it was because I hadn't had any caffeine the whole morning/day, but I've gone without many days. I wonder if I have a reaction to popcorn, cuz I had popcorn that morning (Don't ask. OK, ask: we went to the Farmer's Market and they had awesome kettle corn there.) I recall getting migraines sometimes after eating movie popcorn and wonder if I have a reaction to certain oils? I have no idea.
But, the headache starts creeping up, and that's when I should take my preventative meds, but did I have any with me? Of course not! That would have been too sensible for Manic to actually pack her migraine medicine. (For the record, I didn't pack a comb, brush, toothbrush for that matter - I was going waaaay casual obviously.)
I power through, and keep saying, "I'll feel better, I can do this. It's Bono for crying out loud." Now, I'm not a huge U2 fan, but I like the band a lot, and to be in the vicinity of the band but not see the performance, well, that just sucked.
At tailgating, I tried to push through, tried to drink a 1/2 margarita, did eat some food thinking that would help, but kept cringing at the noise levels and the smells of the grills and sausages and people smoking, and that was really getting to me. I asked my friend if I could lie down in her van. I should have stayed there the whole time. But did I? Nooooo. Because I don't know my limitations. Had my limitations been with me that morning, I would have given my ticket to another neighbor so someone could have enjoyed the show.
Finally, we go in to the venue, which is Soldier Field, huge venue, the Bears play there, I've NEVER been inside Soldier Field. Let me tell you, they do a real nice job keeping those bathrooms clean. And I would know. Because I spent from 8:00 to 10:00 p.m IN THE BATHROOM!
Previous to camping out in the bathroom, I did go to First Aid at one point because I thought there would be a gurney I could lie on but the guy said I could sit there for a while but then they'd have to transfer me. Transfer me? Where to? The stage? Maybe then I'd feel better. I did manage to see 3 songs by Snow Patrol, one of them Open Your Eyes and it was great, but I knew, I just knew that with a light show and all the drums, I would never make it through the night.
The worst part, I could hear the band, could hear every single note from every song they were playing, but just enough to kill my ears and make me wish I wasn't sick so I could be out there with the whole crowd singing Sunday BLoody Sunday, and Streets Have No Name, and Vertigo ... and, and yeah, missed it. But I didn't miss the shaking of the buidling while locked in my bathroom stall. Nope, I felt all that motion, and felt it even more every time people would come in to pee. I got relief when there was a really good song playing because then the bathroom door wouldn't keep opening and closing and I wouldn't have to listen to all the drunk girls talk about how much they loved Bono and how great the show was, and and and ...
And while I sat there, I puked and then tried to clean up the mess, and it was one of those toilet paper holders where it takes FREAKING FOREVER to get a square out, and the whole time I'm telling myself, "Just get me through the night. At least I'm alive. It's only music. I can get through this."
And I could have gotten Mr. and begged him to take me home and he would have in a heartbeat, but I wanted him to at least experience the show. We paid a shitload of money to go, and he should have seen the show. I am such a martyr, aren't I? For the record, he did come out and look for me, and tried to call my cell, but there wasn't coverage, and I was in the bathroom on the level above us because that's where I landed after visiting First Aid.
Finally, when I felt like I could stand and walk and function (which I had tried two or three times before and failed), I got out of the bathroom and ran to get him, and said, "We have to go."
And he followed. Hey! I WILL FOLLOW! That's a U2 song, and yep, they played that one too, and yep, I missed that one too.
We left ...
MAJOR SIDENOTE HERE: We got into the first cab we found and when he was about to pull away, we see police lights. The cab was parked in a no park zone and the cop was letting him have it. This poor cabbie was just trying to make a measley buck. I even rolled down the window and said, "Officer, I'm really sick, can we please just leave?" But the cop was an ass and told the cabbie to wait there because he was getting a $150 ticket. I felt so bad for the guy but we got out of the cab to find another. The next cab we found was the SWEETEST cab driver. I told him I was sick and he said, "Do you want me to go slow or fast?" I said fast. I had the window rolled all the way down and I know he was going SHITLOAD FAST, but I didn't care if I died or not I felt so horrible, but at the same time, that was the best I felt, feeling that cool air whip through me. He even asked if I wanted a Tylenol! I hope Mr. Manic tipped that guy good, cuz he got me back to our friends's place, and I crashed hard, not even peeing or brushing my teeth (I know, ewwww. Believe me, I had been puking ... definite EWWWW). But all I wanted was to be in that bed with a cool pillow over my head and be unconscious. That was relief.
Got up the next morning feeling like only a huge boulder was on my head instead of all of Mount Rushmore, and we got home via the train and I slept some more. The thing about migraines this bad is that it takes another day and a half to recover. They're violent and they suck. And when they start preventing you from doing things in your life that you enjoy, well, that becomes a big problem.
I had a follow-up ENT appointment today from when I busted my eardrum about six weeks ago and mentioned the migraines to my doc. He did a nose-scope all the way down through my nostrils into my throat and vocal chords, and yeah, I watched that on the monitor and GROOOOOSSSSSSSS! But cool. It was gross in a cool way. I could see my nose hairs and he showed me my vocal chords and throat (which very oddly look practically just like a vagina!) Everything was good in that department, and next we're going to do an MRI, which I'm not worried about because I've had a couple before on my head for headaches, and we're also going to do allergy testing. He thinks they're allergy-related. So do I. That or hormonal, or food triggers. We'll figure it out.
When the doc removed the tube from my nose, I made a comment about it and he said, "Up your nose with a rubber hose."
My reply: "Twice as far with a chocolate bar."
He and his assistant cracked up and I was laughing feeling like a complete idiot, like this ENT must think I'm a total nutcase, and that I should really get out more if I'm having THIS much fun going to see the ENT.
So, bottom line, no Bono for moi. And my friends we went to the concert with have sworn to me that I didn't miss much. I told them they can tell me how great the show was in a week or two.
And I keep telling myself things could have been much worse there, and that it's just music. It's only music ...