Another Spectrum

Personal ramblings and rants of a somewhat twisted mind


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Why it’s curmudgeon day

Why the grumps? I have had two nights of fitful sleep, among other things. A little over three months ago I decided to try another regime of Migraine medication as I was finding I was down to less than 10 migraine free days each month. And even on those days I usually woke with migraine-like symptoms that would take two to three hours to pass.

My GP suggested we try Propranolol again as it has been more than 10 years since I last tried it. Unfortunately neither the doctor’s notes nor my own record why I stopped taking Propranolol all those years ago except that the side effects were unacceptable.

As many people on the autism spectrum will tell you, the effectiveness and side effects of many medications can be significantly different than would be the expected outcome for neurotypical people. In the case of migraine medication, I have found the effectiveness of most treatments have been negligible, and in every case, the negative side effects considerably outweigh any benefits gained.

This is proving to be true with Propranolol. I’m having up to 20 migraine free days each month, but the side effects are getting to me. I can put up with such minor inconveniences as feeling my body has aged 10 years in the last three months, or the return of Raynaud syndrome if it means I can halve the number of days where I can achieve little or nothing. I can even put up with the itching skin and distorted night vision at a pinch, but there are other symptoms that I’m unwilling to live with long term.

Perhaps the most unsettling side effect is a constant feeling of unease, but about what, I’m not sure. I’m also aware of having vague “memories” of events that I doubt very much happened, and I’m unable to tell if they’re recent dreams, distant dreams, hallucinations, or real events sometime in my recent or distant past. They are so fragmented and vague that they make no sense. However my “recollection” of them feels recent. When or if they happened, they don’t seem to be upsetting at the time. In fact I think some might be the opposite. But in the cold light of day, when I’m fully lucid, they make me uncomfortable, but I don’t know why.

Since starting Propranolol, I’ve found my concentration and short term memory has left me. This is a normal symptom for me during a migraine attack, but it’s worse with medication than without it, so what’s the point of taking it?

One of the less common symptoms associated with my migraines is that I sometimes suffer from depersonalisation or derealisation just before or during an attack. Sometime it can extend to dissociative amnesia. In hindsight I’m convinced that this is a much more frequent symptom during those times I have been taking preventative migraine medication.

That experience of sometimes watching myself from a distance and feeling I’m an observer and not an actor is something I seem to have more frequently since starting the medication, even when I’m not experiencing any other migraine symptom. I seem to be achieving less in my 20 migraine free days now than I was in my 10 migraine free days less than four months ago.

Propranolol is not a medication one can safely stop cold turkey. It’s time to arrange with my doctor a plan to wean myself off them.

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Safe landing

When I was about ten or eleven years old, I joined into the tail end of a conversation about what humans can and cannot do. One of the older boys in the group claimed that it is impossible for humans to land on two feet and not bend the knees. He said that even if you try to keep your legs straight, you can’t as bending the knees is instinctive and you cannot override it.

A few of the kids decided to test this theory by jumping off a chair. Not one of them managed to land and keep the legs completely straight. Their knees bent to some degree, and the group decided that indeed it was impossible to land without bending the knees. I wasn’t convinced, as I observed that none of the children locked their legs straight during the descent. So I decided to demonstrate that it was possible to land without bending the knees.

There was a reason I had been dubbed the little professor. A well as being a mine of (mostly irrelevant) knowledge, I liked to experiment. I clambered onto the chair, launched myself into the air and locked my knees absolutely straight, and held that pose during the descent. And I proved it is possible to land without bending the knees.

What I didn’t prove is that you can do it safely.

I saw stars and flashing lights. I heard a roaring sound like a freight train rushing past. I felt and heard a grinding sensation in my neck. Then there was blackness. I don’t know if I actually passed out, but moments latter when the roaring, lights and darkness abated, I found myself standing upright with flashes of pain going off along my neck and spine. The boy who had made the claim, shrugged his shoulders, said “Oops I was wrong”, then turned his back on me and walked off.

It never occurred to me at the time that I might have been set up. That possibility didn’t occur to me until a decade later, by which time I had lost all contact with the group. If it was a set up, I’m grateful that they chose a chair to jump from and not the garage roof.

The first migraine attack that I remember having was  when I was around ten or eleven, although they didn’t become a regular feature of my life until I was twelve of thirteen. I wonder if there’s a connection…


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What’s happening?


Before reading any further, what was your first impression of Serene Branson’s performance? High on drugs? Intoxicated? Brain damage due to previous abuse of drugs? Being possessed? Having a stroke? How would you have reacted if you had been there in person?

I ask, because it’s something I encounter regularly in my everyday life. It happens to me. While, in the case of Serene and myself, it’s none of the above circumstances, the symptoms displayed could potentially be life threatening. Most people with any medical training will tell you the likelihood that the victim is having a stroke is high and no time should be wasted in getting the victim to an emergency medical facility.

So what happened to Serene? She was experiencing a migraine aura – in this case one that affected the area of the brain that controls speech. Auras typically occur shortly before the headache phase of a migraine attack. The most common forms of aura are related to vision – blind spots, zigzag patterns, flashing lights, vision loss, seeing things that aren’t really there, but all the senses can be affected. I frequently think I hear the telephone ring or my wife calling me.

I sometimes fail to accurately estimate distance and tend to crash into objects, or miss door openings, both of which can be very painful. My senses can become heightened so that light, sound, taste, smell and touch become unpleasant or even painful. My sense of balance can fail, giving me the appearance of being drunk, and the right side of my body becomes weak or partially paralysed. In the worst cases I loose all sense of self, and have no clue of where I am and no understanding of time.

Any symptom that can present during a stroke can also present during a migraine attack. I wear a MedicAlert bracelet 24/7, as during a severe attack I am unable to communicate at all. On my doctor’s advice it does not include any of the symptoms I might present except for that fact that I can become confused and disorientated during an attack. At first I was against this, as invariably I’d end up in the emergency department at a hospital if I happened to have an attack while away from family.

I can assure you that the noise, bustle and bright lights in the emergency section of a hospital make it the last place I want to be at such a time. My thinking was that if the symptoms were listed, then I’d more likely be delivered home where I can be left in peace and quiet to recover. However, as the doctor explained, the symptoms of a stroke and severe migraine are similar, so there’s always the chance that I might be sent home when in fact I’m having a stroke. And the odds of it being a stroke increase as I get older.

Unlike a migraine, where even the worst of the symptoms are transient, strokes tend to cause permanent damage, and the sooner one receives appropriate treatment, the better the chances of recovery. So if you happen to come across an elderly, bearded, grey haired gentleman, staggering about colliding with all and sundry, and uttering pure nonsense, don’t write him off as an intoxicated social outcast, It might be me in the throws of a migraine attack. But in the off chance of it being a stroke, I would appreciate some assistance in getting to the nearest medical emergency centre. Thank you.


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Trump “endorses” asbestos

Too good an opportunity for Trump to pass up? A Russian asbestos manufacturer uses a fake Trump endorsement in their product. And while it’s unlikely that Trump gave permission for his “official” endorsement to be emblazoned on pallets of asbestos, his attitude towards the carcinogen, and the prospect of his face being visible on every building site in America, might be reasons why he would like restrictions on asbestos to be relaxed.


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It sooths me

At times when I sense a migraine is on its way, I often find comfort in music. I’m not sure if it has any effect on the course of an attack, but it keeps me in the presence. By this I mean that my awareness of self does not disappear.

While migraine pain can be debilitating, other effects of an attack can create a surreal sensation where I feel I am no longer within my body, have no conscious control over it, and can only observe a shell which may or may not be able act human-like. It’s being aware of no feelings or emotions. No pain, although I am aware that the shell trembles with pain. No happiness nor sadness nor fear nor joy. Nothing. I’m not even aware of of sensations of light, sound or touch, although the shell reacts in fear or pain to them. The shell even responds to words spoken to it by others. But I, the observer, do not hear the words, only know that the shell is being spoken to, and it slowly, reluctantly tries to make an effort to respond. I’m aware that the shell is confused and disorientated. I feel no pity or compassion, no empathy at all towards the shell. I’m merely a detached and numb observer compelled by some force to hover nearby and observe, while mists of darkness come and go.

In all my 68 years I have never experienced a bad or frightening dream nor a nightmare. Apparently everyone gets them occasionally, or so I’m told. But then, I have no memory of any dreams since my mid teens, certainly not since I finished secondary school. I mentioned this fact when I was undergoing counselling for pain management, and after I had attempted to describe how I sometimes experience the “out of body” described above. The counsellor made the comment that those experiences must be more terrifying than any nightmare.

That puzzled me then as it still does today, as I’m not aware of any emotion at all during these episodes, and at lucid moments like now, I am, at best, ambivalent. I have no feeling or emotion about what happens to me during an attack. I feel no more about the attacks than I do about the fact that some ponds are deeper than others. I’m certainly not conscious of any fear or trepidation about an inevitable attack. Migraines come and go, just as night-times come and go.

While I don’t have dreams I have momentary glimpses that are very dreamlike (from what I remember of dreams), but they have turned out to be actual moments during a severe migraine attack, where the darkness momentarily lifts. For example I remember one dream-like set of scenes where there’s a moment of watching a person walking down a street knowing it’s important for them to be somewhere but not knowing where that is. There’s a flash where a person is sitting on a flower bed with people milling around, and another very short scene where bright lights come and go and a person is wanting to escape. There’s also a picture of a smart phone login screen, and a visually blank scene where somebody or somebodies are asking a person for a name (possibly that person’s name) but the questioning is relentless, not giving the person an opportunity to formulate an answer, let alone give it. There’s a recollection of a breeze and of bells ringing. There’s an awareness of something pressing all around an arm and another where wires are being attached to a torso. These were all actual events during one attack where apparently I was picked up by the police in a somewhat disorientated and confused state and taken to the hospital in a nearby city.

I’m not sure if music really keeps me in the present and out of the fugue-like state, but I can say that as long as I can hear the music, I am aware of the emotions that music can evoke. No, that’s not quite right. I feel the emotions. And I want to hold onto them. Here’s two very different pieces of music that are typical of what keeps the surrealism at bay during the early stages of a migraine attack. They might surprise you.



I find gentle soothing music, tends to draw me into that surreal state, but if I get past the window where that state might take hold, and a more typical migraine evolves, then such music played very softly does help provide some relief from the incessantly throbbing headache.


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To speak or not to speak, that is the question

That dear readers, is a question I’m unable to answer. At (almost) 68 years of age, I still don’t have a clue when it’s my turn to speak. And it’s not for the want of trying.

I often get it wrong even in one on one conversations, but if I’m in a group of two or more other people I’m like a fish out of water when it come to practising  conversational turn taking.

It appears to me that conversations consist of one person leading and others following, adding variable length interjections from time to time  (the nature and frequency of which varies from culture to culture), and then by some mysterious mechanism the lead is transferred to another member of the group.

To a person like me, the ability of others to smoothly navigate a conversation is more than an art or skill. It has the appearance of the participants having some sort of ESP or supernatural ability that is used to negotiate who says what, and when. In fact there was a period in my childhood when I was convinced this was true, which goes a long way to explain my brief fascination of the paranormal at that time.

I’m sure there’s a discipline of science that studies the mechanism by which people negotiate  conversations, but the average person seems to have no idea how they do it. Believe me, I’ve asked. Typical responses are “I’ve never thought about it” (so I gather), “It comes naturally” (no it doesn’t), “It’s instinctive” (no it’s not), “what a stupid question!” (why?), “everyone can do it” (really? I can’t)), “just take your turn” (when is it my turn?), “just observe and you’ll learn” (I’ve been observing for more than 60 years, so how about a hint or clue?).

It was only eight years ago that I learnt there is an explanation for the reason I find conversation so difficult: I discovered I am on the autism spectrum. However being armed with the knowledge why I fail to recognise non-verbal clues (a skill most people don’t realise they possess), does little to help me. If I concentrate exclusively on another’s body movements or tone of voice, I can maybe recognise something that possibly might be non-verbal clues. However, it’s a moot point as the concentration required means the words spoken have gone in one ear and out the other and I’m unable to relate what might have been expressed non-verbally with what the person has said.

When I first learnt I was on the spectrum, my only “knowledge” of autism was through the film Rain Man. I wanted to prove I wasn’t autistic, and tried many online tests in an attempt to prove the experts wrong. I failed totally. One test I tried (on many occasions) is the Reading the Mind in the Eyes test. This test measures one’s ability to identify emotions in others by looking at an area around the eyes and without any other input.

The test consists of looking at a total of 36 pairs of eyes and choosing one of four emotions to match the image. The mean score is roughly 27/36 for women, 25/36 for men and 22/36 for people who have been identified as having Asperger Syndrome or “High Functioning” Autism. I’ve tried this test on numerous occasions, and the very best I have achieved is 16/36. However most of my results have been close been between 10 and 13, which is only marginally better than one would expect from a tossing a dice to choose an emotion.

So the next time someone appears to be rude by interrupting inappropriately, just consider the possibility that they might struggling, almost to the point of exhaustion, of trying to fit in and having no idea why they don’t. They struggle to fit into your world almost every moment they are awake. It won’t hurt you to try to fit into their world sometimes.

For those who would like to try the test for themselves, there are online versions at http://socialintelligence.labinthewild.org/mite/ and https://www.questionwritertracker.com/quiz/61/Z4MK3TKB.html. The latter requires Adobe Flash, and provides the answers, both of which are good reasons for me to avoid it.


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I am atheism

I am atheism.
I’m visible in your children, but if I can help it, I am invisible to you until it’s too late.
I know where you live.
And guess what? I live there too.
I hover around all of you.
I know no colour barrier, no religion, no morality, no currency.
I speak your language fluently.
And with every voice I take away, I acquire yet another language.
I work very quickly.
I work faster than paediatric aids, cancer, and diabetes combined
And if you’re happily married, I will make sure that your marriage fails.
Your money will fall into my hands, and I will bankrupt you for my own self-gain.
I don’t sleep, so I make sure you don’t either.
I will make it virtually impossible for your family to easily attend a temple, birthday party, or public park without a struggle, without embarrassment, without pain.
You have no cure for me.
Your scientists don’t have the resources, and I relish their desperation. Your neighbours are happier to pretend that I don’t exist—of course, until it’s their child.
I am atheism. I have no interest in right or wrong. I derive great pleasure out of your loneliness.
I will fight to take away your hope. I will plot to rob you of your children and your dreams. I will make sure that every day you wake up you will cry, wondering who will take care of my child after I die?
And the truth is, I am still winning, and you are scared. And you should be.
I am atheism. You ignored me. That was a mistake.
And to atheism I say:
I am a father, a mother, a grandparent, a brother, a sister.
We will spend every waking hour trying to weaken you.
We don’t need sleep because we will not rest until you do.
Family can be much stronger than atheism ever anticipated, and we will not be intimidated by you, nor will the love and strength of my community.
I am a parent riding toward you, and you can push me off this horse time and time again, but I will get up, climb back on, and ride on with the message.
Atheism, you forget who we are. You forget who you are dealing with. You forget the spirit of mothers, and daughters, and fathers and sons.
We are Qatar. We are the United Kingdom. We are the United States. We are China. We are Argentina. We are Russia. We are the Eurpoean Union. We are the United Nations.
We are coming together in all climates. We call on all faiths. We search with technology and voodoo and prayer and herbs and genetic studies and a growing awareness you never anticipated.
We have had challenges, but we are the best when overcoming them. We speak the only language that matters: love for our children.
Our capacity to love is greater than your capacity to overwhelm.
Atheism is naïve. You are alone. We are a community of warriors. We have a voice.
You think because some of our children cannot speak, we cannot hear them? That is atheism’s weakness.
You think that because my child lives behind a wall, I am afraid to knock it down with my bare hands?
You have not properly been introduced to this community of parents and grandparents, of siblings and friends and schoolteachers and therapists and pediatricians and scientists.
Atheism, if you are not scared, you should be.
When you came for my child, you forgot: you came for me.
Atheism, are you listening?


Are you an atheist? Did the message above appal you? I hope it did.

Are you religious? Did the message above appal you? I hope it did.

In some regions of the world, atheists are victims of the attitudes displayed in the transcript above, and many of the religious in those regions would support the sentiments it contains, even if they would be reluctant to voice them openly. Fortunately I live in a region where all forms of religion and non-religion are accepted and valued. Atheism along with the world’s major religions are regarded in a positive light by around 90% of the population.

That’s about all I’m going to say about atheism and religion in this post as it is not really about religion (or lack of it) at all.

Huh? I hear you say? Truly it’s not. The transcript above has been very slightly modified from the original by replacing one word with the word atheism. I could have changed a few additional words the make it more consistent, but I think the message is very clear as it is, and that is that atheism is a very bad thing indeed.

While I concede that the harm manifest in the transcript will not be recognised by some fundamentalists of any religious flavour, I think the rest of us, religious or not, can see it. In some parts of the world, the transcript might be considered hate speech and the speakers sanctioned accordingly.

Most people like me will recognise the transcript, and know what word originally stood in place of atheism. We know it is hateful and harmful. People like me experience the result of the demonising of our person-hood that voices such as the ones in the original transcript cause – every day.

Can you imagine what it would be like to be subjected to not just disapproval or hatred, but intense compliance-based training to ensure every action, every deed, every word that you utter or write makes you indistinguishable from others in a devout religious community? Many like me don’t need to imagine. We’ve lived it.

Although the analogy of atheism is not perfect, if it’s made you uncomfortable or angry,  or given you food for thought, then I’ve succeeded. If you don’t know what the original word is in the transcript that I replaced with atheism, I’ll help you out. It’s another word starting with “A“. The transcript is of an advertisement put out by an organisation that supposedly has our best interests at heart, but fails to consult us or allow us to take a part in its activities, and makes others fear and hate what we are. No matter where we are in the world, we cannot escape the attitudes expressed in the transcript.

The original word in the transcript that I replaced with atheism is autism, and the advertisement is I Am Autism put out by Autism Speaks. I’m not going to put a link to the video, but if you want to see it in all its horror, search YouTube for “I Am Autism commercial by Autism Speaks”.

It does not speak for me!


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30th anniversary of Needle exchange program

One of the country’s most successful public health initiatives, the needle exchange program has become a network of hundreds of outlets. The first exchange outlets began operating in 1987 following legislation earlier that year that legalised the practice. The early adoption of the exchange program is one reason why AIDS/HIV is low within the intravenous drug using community in Aotearoa New Zealand compared to similar countries elsewhere. Thousands of lives have been saved by the program.
//players.brightcove.net/963482464001/HJiGOMree_default/index.html?videoId=5682891395001


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Stupidity knows no bounds

No, I’m not referring to Trump, although he could be used as another example. I’m referring to myself. I’m kicking myself in hindsight and calling myself a bloody idiot.

So what did I do that was stupid? I drove to a local fast food outlet to pick up dinner for the wife and myself on Friday evening. No, I’m not referring to the consumption of fast food occasionally as stupid, nor to the fact that I drove instead of walking. I chose to leave home when it was potentially unsafe for me to do so, and I chose to drive at a time when I posed a danger to myself and others.

We all know that alcohol impairs one’s ability to drive safely, and most of us won’t drive after drinking, either because we don’t want to put ourselves and others in harm’s way, or because of the repercussions that will be heaped on us if we get caught.

(Drink Dive ad from 2007)

What many people aren’t aware of is that a migraine can seriously affect one’s ability to drive safely. Even fewer people realise that driving can be impaired up to three days before a migraine headache occurs.

Not every migraineur is impaired this way, but for some, cognition is impaired before the headache stage: during the prodrome and aura stages. I fall into that category.

Migraine goes through four possible stages: prodrome; aura; attack/headache; postdrome. Not every stage occurs in every migraine attack. For those unfamiliar with the stages, a very brief description follows:

Prodrome: Begins hours to days before the attack stage. Experienced by about 60% of sufferers. Symptoms can include: mood changes such as depression, irritability or euphoria; food cravings; sensitivity to light , sounds and smells; fatigue and yawning; frequent urination; muscle tightness.

Aura: Typically lasts for up to an hour, but in rare case can last considerably longer. Experienced by one in 5 migraineurs. Symptoms can include: visual disturbances such as zigzag lines, stars/strips/spots, scintillation, blind spots, and tunnel vision; Numbness; loss of motor skills; confusion; Alice in Wonderland syndrome; loss of spacial perception; vertigo; memory loss; visual and auditory illusions; aphaia; disorientation.

Headache: Typically lasts hours to days. Occasionally migraines can occur without this stage. Symptoms include: severe throbbing headache, sensitivity to light, sound and smells; nausea; vomiting.

Postdrome: Typically lasts hours to days. Symptoms include a “hungover” feeling; symptoms similar to the prodrome stage.

They may appear to be 4 distinct stages, but in my case, the transitions can take hours and there’s considerable overlap of symptoms. I’m unable to distinguish between the prodrome and aura stages unless the visual clues kick in, and sometimes I recognise the prodrome and aura stages only in hindsight. And that is where my stupidity arose. The clues that I was in the prodrome stage of a migraine were staring me in the face, but I failed to notice them.

I am very mindful of the potential hazards that I might be confronted with during a migraine, and I tend to err on the side of caution. While I can accept a higher level of risk for myself that results from my migraine symptoms, I’m not prepared to place that risk on others. Before I undertake any activity I normally take some time to consider the possibility that a migraine might be just around the corner, or even if a silent migraine has already arrived. Except Friday.

I drove while visually impaired and initially didn’t realise that I was. To make matters worse, when I realised that my vision was impaired, I drove home – an executive decision I should not have made.

So how did all this play out? The first clue surfaced on Wednesday. We decided to have sausages for lunch and I offered to drive to the supermarket to pick some up. That was the first clue. “How so?” you may ask. Well, I’ll tell you.

We have no idea what are the triggers for my migraines are, except for one: the red tone lighting frequently found over the meat section in supermarkets. It takes less than a minute under those lights before I start to feel light headed and within a few minutes I am completely disoriented to the point where I can’t find my way to the checkouts or exit. In fact I exhibit symptoms that can be confused with a stroke. When we first discovered this phenomenon, I first I thought it might have been a psychological reaction to seeing all the meat, but when we realised that it was related to specific shops, but not others, we eventually were able to pin it down to the lighting.

These days I avoid supermarket meat sections like the plague, and in stores where the meat section runs along the side of the shop at right angles to the isles, I avoid going to the ends of the isles, and keep my eyes diverted away from the meat. So what possessed me to even offer to pick up the sausages? And why didn’t the wife pick up on it? She knows what happens  when the lighting triggers an attack even better than I do. She has to manage me while I’m kind of spaced out and not totally aware of the situation. Clue missed.

At the supermarket I had already picked up the sausages before it dawned on me what I done. To say that I was concerned is an understatement. I was by myself and if the lighting triggered an attack, I could be in an ambulance and on the way to hospital with no choice in the matter. It’s happened before. Several times.

What I should have done when I realised my mistake was phone the wife or another nearby family member about what had happened and for them to come and get me. I didn’t. I hastily paid for my purchases and sat in the car waiting for the worst to happen. That was a stupid thing to do. If an attack had come on, I might have decided to drive, but I would not have had a clue where I was going. I wouldn’t have known where home was. Clue missed

I waited for nearly ten minutes before concluding I was lucky on this occasion, so I drove home. It was there that I realised that I had made a poor choice of sausages. One pack was Angus beef. No problem there, but the other pack was venison and herbs. To the wife, venison equals Bambi. Because of her sensitivity over this, I never bring home food containing venison. Clue missed.

At 2 am on Thursday morning I got up and made myself a couple of sandwiches. I haven’t done that since my twenties. I felt really hungry. I never feel hungry except before the onset of a migraine. It never occurred to me that this might be one of those occasions. Clue missed.

Later on Thursday I drove into town on some errands. I drove for the fun of it. Heavy acceleration and braking. Feeling the tyres grip under fast cornering. It was exhilarating. I don’t drive like that. Well not for the last 45 years. Clue missed.

I chatted with every one I met and enjoyed it. I have no idea if it was reciprocated. I didn’t care. Normally I converse as little as possible with persons I’m unfamiliar with. Experience has taught me to be cautious as I’m completely unable to read body language and only the most basic of facial expressions. I usually can’t read between the lines. I’ve learnt the hard way to carefully measure what I say and how I say it. But not on Thursday. Clue missed.

I went to bed four hours earlier than usual. I was unable to stay awake. Clue missed

In the very early hours of Friday morning I got up and made myself some sandwiches. Second night in a row. Clue missed again.

On Friday I worked on a number of Websites, but I frequently forgot HTML and CSS coding I use regularly and had to resort to cheat-sheets. I frequently found myself editing the wrong files. Clues missed.

Late Friday afternoon, I found that words were disappearing off the screen, or lines of code started undulating in front of my eyes. I knew I had to stop. I put it down to eye strain. Clue missed.

I this point I should have been fully aware that I was well into the aura stage. The sunlight was very bright, the shadows very dark. The face of the wall clock was blank. We discussed what to have for dinner. I kept tripping over words. I Couldn’t think of the words Turkish kebabs. We “agreed” on KFC. Clues missed.

There’s a deep dip where our driveway meets the street and I normally cross it at an angle to avoid the front air dam scraping the road. Except then. Oops. Clue missed.

I drove to the kebab shop. Wrong place. Headed for KFC. Clue missed.

At KFC the illuminated menu above the counter had pictures but most of the words kept shimmering in and out of view. And I couldn’t remember what we had “agreed” to purchase. It was then that it finally dawned on me that I was in the aura stage of a migraine and that I should get home as soon as possible. Decided to telephone the wife to confirm what I was supposed to order. No phone. I never go out without my phone. Decided to order what the wife probably wanted, No problem ordering the Hot Wings, but I could not think of the name for a Zinger Burger. Finally I resorted to describing what it was.

By the time the order was ready, everything before my eyes was shimmering, and my peripheral vision was all but gone. I should not have driven home. I could no longer see the speedo and other dashboard instruments and still it didn’t occur to me that I should not drive. I can remember thinking I must hurry home before it got worse. So I did hurry. How stupid can one get?

If someone had stepped out into the road in front of me, (a) I probably wouldn’t have seen them, (b) I would probably not have known how to avoid them if I did see them, and (c) even if I did, my reaction time would have been too slow. As it was I didn’t see a vehicle approaching from my right at one intersection until I started to move into it. In fact I’m very lucky to have made it back home in one piece.

Today I’ve been re-evaluating all the procedures the wife and I have developed over the last decade or so to prevent exactly what happened yesterday. It had been working very well up until now. I still don’t understand why so many clues were missed. I am very angry at myself and to a lesser extent my wife. Was it a one off slip of our guard, or have we become complacent because it has been working so well? Or are we both are loosing the ability to recognise the signs.

I really don’t want to hand in the keys for driving just yet. My mother drove until she was ninety and I’d like to think I can do the same. But yesterday has given me a scare.