I went to the doctor only when I absolutely couldnt bear the pain anymore. Three days straightenough was enough. This relentless headache simply shrugged off every medicine I threw at it. That night, I couldnt even close my eyes to rest. The worst idea was scrolling through the internet, searching what persistent headaches could mean.
Immediately, my browser filled with terrifying possibilities: How to tell the difference between a migraine and a brain tumour, and similar nightmares. Frankly, after reading them all and ticking off my symptoms, I was nearly ready to go straight to the undertaker, skipping the surgery altogether.
I recalled the story of Jerome K. Jeromes hero who once opened a medical encyclopedia, only to discover he suffered from every single ailment except milk feverhe had cholera, anaemia, St. Vituss Dance, even foot-and-mouth (where the book ended). He was almost offended he didnt have milk fever, just typhoid.
I felt the same way. After scouring the internet into the small hours, convinced I was dying from every fatal illness at once, I concluded: Thats it. Tomorrow, Im dragging myself to the GP!
The waiting room brought a rather delightful exchange with a woman.
She asked, Been on the booze?
I blinked, confused. Sorry?
Did you drink last night?
I didnt! I protested, feeling slightly insulted.
Its just… Your eyes are awfully red, you know, like after a heavy night…
Honestly. Sometimes I wonder if I seek therapy just to practise talking to the very people who need therapy more than I do.
Thank you, I muttered through gritted teeth. How thoughtful.
When I made it into the doctors office, I listed my symptoms as grandly as a compère announcing an act. The grand finale? My pair of bright red, cherry-like eyes.
Its odd I look like Ive been out drinking, but I swear I havent, I grumbled.
The doctor glanced at my eyes and shrugged. They look perfectly fine. Youre imagining it.
See? Wrong people go to the therapist.
She checked my blood pressure, pulse, oxygen. Asked questions. Judging by the answers, things werent looking too rosy: not simply a migraine, but something much more sinister.
Wouldn’t it be best to arrange a head scan? An MRI? I can pay for one, I suggested. The internet told me so, after all. By midnight Id gained degrees in GP practice, neurology and vascular medicine all at once.
Lets not get ahead of ourselves, she said calmly. Well start with your blood vessels. Run some tests. If things get worse, well do more.
In the dark of that online night, I thought things couldnt possibly get any worse. I wept, thinking in forty years, all Id managed were two children and ten books. Was that enough? Or far too little?
The children were small, unfinished projects The books toonot perfect, a typo shamelessly stuck on page 16 of the latest one… Still so much raising to doboth children and editors alike.
At home, I collected the kids on my way back, grabbed the prescribed tablets, and collapsed into bed.
The kids found me:
Mum, is there anything to eat?
There is, but someone needs to cook
My head no longer pounded but, honestly, I had no energy left after three days flat out.
Daniel went and sorted dinner himself. He fried eggs, reheated pasta. Ive fed Sophie, he said, Do you want me to bring your food to bed?
My heart melted. My boya grown boy! Practically finished, hes not going to get lost in the world.
No, thank you. Im not hungry. Ill eat later. Youre a star.
Alright, he grinned, coming back with a plate of sliced fruit. Here, Mum, theres kiwimore vitamin C than oranges, you know. Apples for iron. And a satsuma, for colourit was about to go off
I glowed with pride. My ownthat caring young man! I felt better with every second.
Then Daniel got up to leave.
Where are you off to?
Cat foods run out, he said matter-of-factly.
And buy ice cream! Sophie called. Ive run out of dinner myself
Then Sophie swept into my room, glasses on, a dressing gown flowing behind her, clutching a little doctors kit. Katherine May, play-therapist.
Right then, patient, lets cure you. Need a jab?
Call me Mum, not patient
Youll be Mum when youre better, patient! Open wide.
I opened my mouth.
Have you been eating kiwi without me? Havent you? Kiwi?
Theres plenty, help yourself, I replied, sliding the fruit plate to her.
Oh, forget it Ive already had eggs. Waiting for ice cream now. Time to listen in on you She looped a pink toy stethoscope around her neck.
I chase you every night with a book, hoping youll listen to me, and you never do.
Ooo, dear. Its not good, Sophie listened to my neck. You talk far too much. And chase after children. Remedy: Injection and ice cream. If Dan brings enough, that is. And if he doesntwell, you should have asked sooner!
So I wont even get a taste of the therapeutic vanilla?
Sophie jabbed my leg with the toy syringe.
Ow! I laughed.
It has to sting! Thats how you get better.
Truthfully, I was already well on my way. After the ice cream (Dan bought enough for all), my headache vanished, strength crept back, eyes were blue rather than red.
But I played the invalid a bit longer, and Dan read Sophie her bedtime story. As a story, she chose The Cyclopaedia.
Its an encyclopedia for cyclopes, Dan joked.
They read about Saturn, then dinosaurs, then milk teeth. A debate erupted on whether baby dinosaurs ever had milk teeth.
I lay, listening to their chatter, feeling completely melted with happiness, love, and that deep, purposeful meaning thats the most precious thing in life.
Afterwards, I changed the sheets because, while I was busy melting, theyd managed to upend a fruit plate, trailing all the kiwi across the duvet.
Then, the three of us fell asleep in one big cuddle.
So, did the tablets help? the doctor asked at my follow-up.
I nodded. But truly, it was a different medicine that workedmy two sweeties.
The ones who fill you with energy instead of pain, joy instead of gloom, happiness instead of anger. Hug your children tight, even if theyre already taller than you. Theres nothing more healing than that. Well, perhaps a touch of kiwi bursting with vitamin C!
