I remember the time, many years ago now, when I finally went to see the doctor, having lost all hope of enduring the pain. Three days of relentless suffering was far too much. I was plagued by a dreadful headache, the sort nothing would easenot even a single tablet brought relief. I was so unwell I couldnt sleep a wink at night. The worst thing I did was, in my sleeplessness, rummage through the depths of the internet, searching for what my headache might mean.
At once, my browser provided all manner of horrors: How to distinguish migraine from a brain tumour, and similar terribly alarming articles. By the end of that trawl, I was half convinced I ought to skip the surgery entirely and head straight to the undertakers chapel.
I couldnt help but recall Jerome K. Jeromes chap who accidentally opened a medical encyclopaedia, only to discover he had every illness in existence save for childbed fever. Cholera? Yes. Anaemia? Of course. St. Vituss dance? Why not. Even foot-and-mouth disease, with which the book ended. He was genuinely put out not to have childbed fever, just the old familiar typhus.
I felt just as he did. Scouring articles deep into the night, I found signs of every mortal malady lurking within me, and determined: Enough is enough. Tomorrow, I shall drag myself to the doctor.
In the waiting room, I fell into rather a curious conversation with a lady in the queue.
She asked, Been out on the town?
I blinked, puzzled. Been out where?
Yesterday, did you drink?
No, certainly not! I retorted, wounded.
Well, your eyes are as red as a glassblowers furnace the morning after.
Blame it all. Sometimes, I feel I visit my therapist to learn to communicate with folk who ought to attend one far more than I.
Thank you, I said, as politely as I could manage. For your concern.
I entered the doctors office and, in the ceremonious way an emcee introduces performers, I listed every one of my ailments. For the grande finale, I described my crimson eyes.
I look as though Ive been out drinking, though I havent, I grumbled.
The doctor looked at my eyes and shrugged, unconvinced. Your eyes are perfectly normaldont be imagining things, she said.
You see what I mean? Some people truly arent seeking the help they need.
The doctor checked my blood pressure, my pulse, my oxygenran through a list of questions. To my mind, the picture forming wasnt that cheerful. Honestly, I feared it was worse than migraine.
Would you like to do a scan? An MRI? Im happy to pay, of course, I offered. The internet had insisted this was proper. Overnight, Id given myself an education in general practice, neurology, vascular anything you please.
Lets not panic just yet, the doctor said kindly. Well work on your circulation, do some blood tests, and see how you go. If you worsen, then well reconsider.
That night, reading about every possible doom, I thought things truly could not be any worse. I cried, reflecting that in forty years, Id only managed two children, and a modest collection of ten books. I couldnt tell if that was much, or little.
My children were still so young, unfinished… The books, too, were imperfect. There was a typo on page 16 of the new onea whole list of things still to nurture and correct, both children and editors alike.
I came home after seeing the doctor, collected the children on the way, stopped for the prescriptions, then collapsed into bed.
The children rushed to me. Mum, is there anything to eat?
There is but it needs preparing. Ill get up soon My headache had ebbed a bit, but I had no energy leftthree days spent flat out will do that.
Dan wandered off and, without fuss, sorted supper. Fried eggs, reheated pasta. I’ve fed Katie. Would you like your supper brought to bed? he asked.
I was filled with warmth. Goodness, my son is so grown! Hell be just fine.
No need, Im not hungry. Later, perhaps. Youre a star.
Alright, he nodded, then returned with a plate of sliced fruit. Mum, theres kiwi. Kiwi has more vitamin C than oranges. And applesfor iron. And a tangerineits pretty, and it was going to go off otherwise
My heart swelled with pride. Minethe caring one. My health improved by the hour.
Dan then announced he was nipping to the corner shop.
Where are you off to?
Were out of cat food, he explained.
And get ice cream! Katie hollered. Im low on cat food too
Katie swept into my room like a little queendressed in spectacles, dressing gown, and wielding her toy doctors bag. Catherine, the toy physician.
Well now, poorly patient, shall we treat you? Injection time? she said.
Call me Mum, not patient…
You can be Mum again once youre well. Open wide, please.
I obliged.
Hang on, have you been eating kiwi without me? Kiwi!
Help yourself, darling, I offered her the fruit.
Ive already had eggs. Now Im just waiting for ice cream. Now, lets have a listen to you She donned her tiny pink stethoscope.
Every evening I chase after you with a book, wanting you to listen, and you never do, I teased.
Oh dear, this sounds serious, Katie exclaimed, listening to my chest. You talk too much and run after children. Im prescribing an injection and some ice creambut only if Dan gets enough for everyone. If he buys it just for those who asked, well you should have asked.
Not going to share your therapeutic ice cream with your poorly mother?
Katie, instead, jabbed my leg with her toy syringe.
Ow! I laughed.
Thats good. Pain means youll get better.
Truthfully, I was feeling better already. And when Dan came home with ice cream for everyone, I was completely cured. No more headache, strength returning, eyes bright blue instead of red.
But I continued playing at being the poorly mum, and Dan read Katie her bedtime story. For tonight, she chose the Encyclopecia.
Thats the cyclopedia about cyclops, Dan joked.
They drifted from Saturn to dinosaurs to milk teeth. Then they nearly quarrelled over whether baby dinosaurs had milk teeth.
Listening to their chatter, I felt overcome with joy and contentmenta kind of deep purpose, the truest thing in the world.
Later, I changed the bedsheets after theyd spilled most of the kiwi across them.
Then we all fell asleep together in a hugged-up heap.
Did the tablets help? the doctor asked the next morning.
I nodded. But I think it was very different medicine that mended memy sweet little children.
They fill you with energy instead of aches, joy instead of sadness, happiness instead of anger. Embrace your little oneseven if theyre already taller than you. Theres nothing more healing than their hugs. Well. Except perhaps the odd kiwi, full to the brim with vitamin C!
