By Pia Ersfeld
. My mother calls. I have a migraine. Bad combination. We talk anyway. Well, she talks. But whatever. Her hairdresser has a friend whose sister-in-law also has migraines. And the sister-in-law of my mother's hairdresser's friend got rid of them with an apple diet (the migraine, not the hairdresser). Shouldn't I try that too, instead of all the medication? I love that undertone. And unsolicited therapy suggestions.

Almost every day someone tells me about pain therapy. Snake venom has even been suggested – then I'd be dead, but at least nothing would hurt anymore. Chakra dancing – anywhere. Or mantra chanting. Try doing that in a rented apartment! You'd be committed immediately.

What good will that do?

So, today it's the apple diet. Sounds more appetizing than the Mayr migraine cure with its dry bread rolls. Apple pie, applesauce, apple juice. Delicious! I don't quite understand how it works, though. Doesn't that just lead to a good case of diarrhea? Presumably, the idea is that the migraine will disappear into the sewer system thanks to the suction of the irritated intestines.

“Mom, I had brain tumor surgery. This isn’t a normal migraine for me.” “Oh, child,” says Mom. In my second-favorite tone. “I’ll get you the book about it.”

I take a deep breath in and slowly exhale. She only wants what's best for me.

I'm almost there, honestly, when it comes to founding a library for pain therapy.

If you constantly have headaches, you learn that happiness is the absence of pain. And of well-meaning lectures.

Good advice everywhere

“Head?” a woman yelled at me two days later as I sat on the tram, looking pained. Her hearing aid was probably lounging on her sofa at home. I nodded. “Uuuh,” she threw her hands up in the air. “I know that feeling.” Please, no, I thought. “I can’t stand anything loud.” Me neither.

She leaned forward and raised the volume by 30 decibels. “Healing stones, I tell you.” My remaining facial expression was skeptical. “They look strange, but they work! Just put two in a carafe. You can refill it whenever you want.” Knowing myself, I'll drink them too. Then I'll have one more problem: bladder stones or something.

What exactly is written on my forehead when I have a migraine? “Please give me the rest by describing your pain experiences to me in detail right here and now. Leave nothing out! Also, quote articles from 'Woman Without a Heart'. In full – including the stairlift advertisement, please.”

Perhaps I should get the following tattooed on my forehead: “Thank you so much for every tip – that you keep from me.”

With kind permission of Pia Ersfeld

More wonderful experiences can be found on her blog “Frau E. noted…”