by Pia Ersfeld
My mother is calling. I have a migraine. Bad combination. We still talk. Means: She talks. But whatever. Your hairdresser has a friend whose sister-in-law also has migraines. And my mother's hairdresser's friend's sister-in-law got rid of them (the migraines, not the hairdresser) with an apple diet. Shouldn't I try that instead of taking so many medications? I love this undertone. And unsolicited therapy suggestions.

Almost every day someone tells me about pain therapy. Snake venom has already been suggested to me - then I'll be dead, but it won't hurt anymore. Dance your chakra – wherever. Or chanting mantras. Do that in a rented apartment! Then you will be admitted straight away.

What is that supposed to achieve?

So today apple diet. Sounds more appetizing than Mayr's migraine cure with the dry rolls. Apple pie, applesauce, apple juice. Yummy! However, I don't understand how it works. Doesn't this result in well-groomed diarrhea? Presumably the migraine disappears into the sewer system due to the suction of the damaged intestine.

“Mother, I had brain tumor surgery. This isn’t a normal migraine for me.” “Oh, child,” says mother. With my second favorite undertone. “I’ll get you the book for it.”

I breathe in deeply and exhale slowly. She only wants the best for me.

To be honest, I no longer need anything to start a pain therapy library.

When you have constant headaches, you learn that happiness is the absence of pain. And from well-intentioned lectures.

Good advice everywhere

“Kopp?” a lady shouted at me two days later as I sat on the tram with a tormented face. Her hearing aid was probably lounging on the sofa at home. I nodded. "Uuuh," she threw her hands in the air. “There can be a song that makes sense.” Please don’t, I thought. “So I can’t tolerate anything then.” Me neither.

She leaned forward and increased the volume by 30 decibels. “Healing stones, I told him.” My remaining facial expressions reacted skeptically. “You look like that, but it works! Just do two in the carafe. You can always pour it on.” Knowing me, I drink it too. Then I have another problem: bladder stones or something like that.

What actually says on my forehead when I have a migraine? “Please finish me off by describing your pain experiences in detail here and now. Don't leave anything out! Additionally, cite articles from 'Woman without a Heart'. In full length – including the stair lift advertisement, please.”

Maybe I should get the following tattooed on my forehead: “Thank you very much for every tip you didn’t tell me.”

With kind permission from Pia Ersfeld

More wonderful experiences on her blog “Ms. E. notes..”