I've never been trendy. I was a late passenger on the capri pants bandwagon. I've never worn horn-rimmed glasses or Steve Madden shoes. I have yet to buy Pepsi Twist or try fondue. But, this spring I found myself taking part in the trendiest fad of the millennium thus far, satirized by the likes of The Onion and Saturday Night Live: I got Botox-ed.

"And what does a 22-year-old college student with no trace of crow's feet need Botox for?" many asked, right before they asked me to furrow my brow. Now, I may be vain about certain aspects of my appearance, but premature wrinkles were the last of my worries. No, my reasons for using Botox were far less trivial. For me, Botox offered another un-tapped treatment for my chronic migraines. After years of experimenting with medications and hospitalizations, as well as trying other alternative treatments like acupuncture, Botox seemed to be the next logical step. Yes, I was to become a human pincushion.

Numerous Internet searches as well as articles in the Wall Street Journal revealed the effectiveness of Botox in treating migraines. Essentially, Botox is a weak form of the poisonous botulinum toxin responsible for causing botulism. Before its cosmetic benefits were discovered, Botox was originally created to treat conditions like droopy eyelids and muscle spasms, by paralyzing the muscle in which it is injected. Headache doctors and neurologists use Botox for that reason. If some people's migraines are caused by muscle spasms in their forehead, neck, temple and scalp, then paralyzing those muscles with Botox should, in theory, prevent the headaches. The paralysis is temporary and typically lasts three to four months.

Before I made the appointment for the Botox treatments, I did a little research on Botox. It's not FDA approved for migraine treatment, causing it to not be covered by insurance companies when a typical treatment costs $900 to $1,300. At the time of my appointment, it was just a few weeks away from being FDA approved for cosmetic reasons. Also the treatments tended not to work as well for intractable, or chronic daily migraines like mine. In the end, I knew I felt that I had to give it a shot anyway. My monthly pharmacy bills were costing around that of a Botox treatment.

My doctor at the Diamond Headache Clinic in Chicago happened to be the doctor who was conducting the clinic's own Botox trials, so he warned me that I wasn't the best candidate for a success story. But, the prospect of a possible three to four months without migraines looked too appealing. With both of my parents at the doctor's appointment, we agreed to go for it. Because it's still in the trial stages and because of the expense, I was asked to sign a waiver explaining the expenses, side-effects and potential risks.

I asked the doctor how many injections the treatment included. I was expecting something around 10-12 injections. He replied that the treatment required a whopping 23 injections! My stomach instantly knotted and my jaw hit the floor. My parents' eyes bugged out. My dad excused himself from the office, choosing to do some window shopping rather than watching the procedure, while I begged my mom, a nurse, to stay with me in case I needed a hand to squeeze. I had survived acupuncture needles, IVs, and giving myself shots, but I shuddered at the thought of 23 injections to my face, neck, and shoulders. In sheer panic, I made the sign of the cross, said several quick prayers and signed the waiver with shaking hands.

The needles used for Botox injections are small, subcutaneous, insulin needles, not the long intra-muscular needles used for injecting pain medications and vaccinations. My doctor told me there would be 12 facial injections, six injections on the back of my head, and two on each shoulder. I was told to lie down on an exam table as he started the facial injections where he injected the Botox into my forehead from temple to temple, between my eyebrows, and above my eyebrows.

Now, in reading up on Botox, most of the descriptions of the procedure said that the injections hurt as much as a bug bite. This isn't a very accurate description. For me it was more of a very sharp pinch, followed by the feeling of the solution being swished through my skin. My mom, who was sitting a few feet away thought it looked far more painful than I said it did. Each injection swelled to the size of a very swollen bee sting, resulting in 12 welts on my forehead. "Don't worry, you look like the wreck of Hesperus now, but you'll look fine very soon," said my doctor before he proceeded to the injections on the back of my head, for which I then sat down and leaned my head on the table. I thought that the injections hurt the worst on my head. After six sticks on my head, he finished with two injections on the top of each shoulder. Then I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Not as bad as I expected; no screaming, swearing or crying, and I was done.

I didn't experience any adverse reactions to the treatment. My forehead could still wrinkle up when I frowned or furrowed my brows, or as my mom said, I could still shoot her a dirty look. Unfortunately, the treatments did nothing for my migraines, which progressed as usual. But I had to I try it, I still reason to myself. But more importantly, I now have something in common with Botox fanatics like Carrie Fisher, Madonna and Danny Bonaducci. Now that's something to be proud of.