I have a headache

Yes, I have a headache, and I have had one for two weeks. So finally I broke down and went to the doctor yesterday. It is vacation time in Berlin, so without much hope of finding her there, I went to my usual doctor. Of course she was not there. So I went down the street to another doctor. Nope, you can't go to her, since you are someone else's patient. So back I pedaled to my own doctor, to write down the name of the doctor taking her patients. I called, and he was able to take me immediately.

I got on the tram and then walked the distance to the substitute doctor, noting that he was also a pathologist. "That's good," I thought. "If I have a brain tumor, they can just send the specimen to this guy."

I was ushered into a room and met Dr. Um, hmm, was it "Wassilly?" "Interesting name," I thought. "Sure doesn't sound like Schmidt or Mueller or any name I've ever heard in German. Oh, well, he must be fine if he's my doctor's substitute . . . ." Dr., um, ja, um, Wissally asked me what the problem was, so I told him how I thought perhaps my headaches had been caused by a cold, but then I felt better. So then I thought maybe the weather caused them, but the weather had changed at least a dozen times (it was cold enough yesterday for a jacket, and today it is hot again), and my headaches continued. Then I thought maybe it were stress, but as I sat on the couch at the bungalow at beautiful Helene Lake, having no responsibility except making sure Rebecca and her friend and I got food occasionally, I realized that in the middle of the night, unable to sleep for the agonizing pain, it didn't seem like stress was the reason, either. But I did have some neck stiffness . . .

Dr. Whiskle pushed on my spine where I have a knot, and said in heavily accented German, "Yes, well, you need an orthopedist because it looks like this is connected to the spine. (That much I got.) But I'll give you the mumble mumble treatment because that will mumble mumble, and after three treatments, you will mumble mumble feel much better."

I nodded, and Dr. Wodka left. I thought, "I'm in trouble. I have no idea what Dr. Wassavel just said, but he is obviously going to do something here. A massage? That would be nice." I turned to the nurse, who up until now had only typed my name in the computer, taken my magic insurance card ("Private Insurance" opens countless doors in this country of socialized medicine, where doctors don't get paid for many of their patients--if only Hillary Clinton knew the real story!) and listened sympathetically while the doctor talked, and I tried to look intelligent. The nurse was dressed in jeans, a black tee shirt and a cool shirt worn like a jacket. He looked ready to go on a date. I looked at him and realized he listened to Dr. Wasselie every day. "Can you please tell me what the doctor said?" I said. "I didn't really get it very well. And where is Herr Doktor from?" "From Bulgaria." "Ah, I thought. This is going to be interesting."

The nurse explained what we were going to do, and I was still a little puzzled. He took me into the doctor's office and I was told to lie down for the I.V. Yes, I was getting an I.V. Obviously, I still had no idea what was going on. An I.V. for a headache? A cat scan maybe, a massage, but an I.V.?

"Uh, could you explain one more time what this treatment is?" I asked the nurse, feeling really stupid.

"Yes, we're giving you two I.V. treatments. The first one is just some vitamins to help boost your body. The second is blah blah, which should relax the muscles that might be causing the headache. It helps in many cases. Shall I also take your blood, as long as I have the I.V. going?" "And why do you need my blood?" I asked. "Just to see if there is anything unusual." "And what tests would you do on my blood?" I thought I was at least showing a modicum of intelligence, having some idea of blood tests. "Well, uh, since you just ate breakfast, we can't do sugar, but we can do x, y and z." I thought about it. Nothing that smelled like checking for cancer, or even a white blood cell count, so I said, "Nah, forget it." I leaned back on the two feather pillows, which were nicely covered with a few paper towels, thinking about my upcoming nap and how on earth I was going to submit this to insurance.

Doctor Wisslevey walked in. "Does the light hurt?" "Not really," I answered. "Good, no migraine," he responded. "No, I had one last night, but it's gone now," I answered cheerfully. The nurse came back. "Uh, do you think you could turn the light out?" I asked him, thinking how annoying it was to have this big light shining in my face.

"No," he responded. "That light is supposed to relax you." I nearly laughed aloud. How can you relax with light shining in your eyes? Today I looked closer at the light. It's for people with light deprivation. Well, if nothing else, I am no longer light deprived or vitamin deficient.

When I finished the treatment, I felt like jello. I mean, whatever was supposed to relax me, did. I did a few errands and then followed the nurse's advice--go home and lie down and drink lots of liquids. My headache was gone until 4:30 p.m. Not bad! This morning it was back, but after another treatment today has kicked in again, I can write this all down. I also made an appointment with an orthopedist, my other assignment from Dr. Wocksocki, who told me cheerfully after today that we really did need to get to the bottom of this, with maybe an MRI or something, and that was the orthopedist's job. "Ah, ha," I thought. "This part I get."

Today, however, I knew the routine--hop up on the table, get stuck, drift off to sleep, walk out of the building looking a bit like a drunk, and somehow get home in time to use the bathroom. Confident, I got comfy on the table, noticing today that the feather pillows were a lovely shade of red under the paper towels. Doctor Wassewilly came in. "Let me know if you get cold," he mentioned. "We have the machine going." I suddenly realized that I was in probably the only doctor's office in town with an air conditioner. I couldn't wait to tell my coworkers. An AIR CONDITIONER? In BERLIN? This was new, indeed. Germans think air conditioners are the worst health hazard ever. All that recycled air making people sick. And in a doctor's office, no less. I was impressed. Dr. Wiskocky was gaining points. I listened to him chatting in Bulgarian over the phone, thought of the Russian magazine in the waiting room, and thought, "He really is amazing--practicing medicine in three languages. Who knows. Maybe he also speaks English . . ."

The hip nurse came back to put in the I.V., and asked, "Would you like some oxygen?"

"Oxygen?" "I must really look terrible," I thought.

"Yes, of course. The air in here is terrible because it is just being recycled through the air conditioner."

"Uh, well, I think I'll be o.k.," I answered, thinking I'd be out of there in the "fresh Berlin air" with all its lovely toxins in about 30 minutes.

"It will also help your headache," he said, trying to convince me. "Uh, well, o.k., I guess," I replied. "Anything for the headache," I thought.

He got out an oxygen mask. I imagined my picture as an 8x10 glossy on the front of "Medicine Heute" and thought about that insurance bill. "Uh, there is no way my insurance will step up for oxygen," I said, trying to imagine translating the bill: Reason for visit: Headache. Treatment: vitamins, light lamp and oxygen.

Dr. Wakkisseley piped up, "No problem. It's free."

I watched the ultra cool nurse hook up the O2, silently admiring his gold chain and left earring, thinking about all of you reading this. He put the mask on my face.

I leaned back, working hard not to laugh: mask on my face, arm stretched out with an I.V., strange light shining on me, head cushioned on two enormous feather pillows, nurse who looks ready for the night life popping in and out to check on me. Yes, I have a headache in Berlin.