Synopses & Reviews
Jennette Fulda went to bed on February 17, 2008, with a headache, and more than three years later, it still hasn’t gone away. Yes, she’s tried everything: intravenous drugs, chiropractic adjustments, acupuncture, subliminal messaging, marijuana (for medical purposes only), heavy drinking (which just made it hurt more), and lots and lots of chocolate. A pint of ice cream makes her feel better, but her insurance doesn’t cover mint chocolate chip.
In this painfully honest, smart, and funny memoir, the popular PastaQueen.com blogger who chronicled her nearly two hundred pound weight loss in Half-Assed shares her incredible journey to find relief from a chronic headache. As she visits countless doctors, indulges all manner of unsolicited advice from the Internet, and investigates every possible cause, from a brain tumor to a dead twin living in her brain, Jennette considers what it means to suffer, how to live with pain, and why the best treatment might be the simplest: laughter.
A humorous and touching memoir by a woman who has had a headache for two years.
The humorous and touching memoir of a woman who's been seeking relief from a headache for more than two years.
Jennette Fulda was riding high on the success of her first book, Half-Assed: A Weight-Loss Memoir, until one fateful day in February 2008, when she developed a headache--and it never went away. So she dealt with it the best way she knows how: by writing about it. And eating lots of chocolate.
In Chocolate and Vicodin, Jennette explores her change of identity from "the girl who lost hundreds of pounds" to "the girl who lives with constant pain," and all she's had to endure to try and make the pain stop--from a bevy of expensive, time-consuming tests, which have taught her interesting facts (for example, that an MRI does indeed cost more than a European vacation--and doesn't last nearly as long), to tons of medications prescribed by her doctors to hilarious, sometimes insane advice she's received from her blog readers. While nothing's been able to grant her relief, she has gained a new perspective. Instead of dwelling on the "invisible tiara of nails" she may very well wear for the rest of her life, she's instead learned how to live with the pain, sharing with readers not only how she's managed to get by, but to laugh--and thrive--in spite of it.