Today’s post—about an experience I had while traveling for my MFA residency—features illustrations by
with The Out of Network Network. OONN is a Substack that aims to keep the atrocious U.S. healthcare system in the news cycle, through humor. Enjoy!Opening Gambit
Show me where the migraine is, the massage therapist says as she leads me past a canvas curtain and into a room with a Himalayan salt glow. She clearly read the new patient intake form I’d filled in an hour earlier on my phone, while sitting in the Chipotle across from my hotel in Manhattan. (I was in too much pain to risk a culinary adventure. Best to have the ingredients right where I could see them.)
I turn back toward the therapist, who is standing in the doorway, and point to both my temples.
That’s not a migraine, she says. Her nose is round and drawn tight into her face, as if disgusted at my ignorance. Migraines are only on one side. What you’re experiencing is a sinus headache.
That’s a bold opening move, one I don’t see very often. Do I correct her, or let it lie? I make a split-second decision in favor of a good massage.
Okay, I respond. I try to say this simply, unconcernedly, like an eager-to-please kindergartener absorbing indisputable facts from an all-knowing teacher. Two plus two is four, the sky is blue, I don’t have migraines.
Your forehead looks swollen. My friend’s daughter used to have headaches and had a swollen forehead, too. The doctors did an x-ray and found a bunch of rot in her sinuses, then they did this surgery where they peeled her forehead down past her eyes so they could pull out all the gunk. She had no headaches after that! So anyway, probably a sinus issue.
That’s wild! And also terrifying, the thought of a literal facelift. I know what my nightmares will be about tonight.
How long have you had this sinus headache?
Six years.
Six years? Her mouth opens slightly. Straight?
Yes, straight. Though my pain hasn’t technically been constant, just mostly constant. It also hasn’t been six years—more like five and a half. But as a woman with a chronic illness, I’ve learned it’s best to simplify the situation. As a frequent user of the ten-point pain scale, I’ve also learned it’s best to round up.
Do you ever get nauseous or dizzy when you get a headache?
Yes, pretty often. I sit down on a nearby chair and try to look preoccupied with removing my shoes.
Oh. Well, maybe you do have migraines. She looks deflated by the possibility.
Maybe, but I’ll for sure look into the sinus headache theory! I say, feigning enthusiasm.
Her nose relaxes slightly. I put on a game face disguised in a smile.
Midgame
Twenty minutes into the massage, and she hasn’t even gotten to my head yet. So, she controls the board. It’s at around this time that the conversation gets to where we both know it’s been going all along.
I used to have migraines, the massage therapist says. For twenty-five years.
That’s terrible! I say, because it is, but also because this is my line.
That’s why I went into massage therapy. To help people in pain.
Wow, that’s so nice of you. I’m certainly happy to have your help. I’m so glad I found you. Was that too much? Maybe. Probably. But really, half the masseuses in the world used to have migraines, and their ability to help people like me in any lasting way is limited. But I don’t say this. I’ve already chosen my strategy.
I’m happy to help! she says. There is no worse pain than migraine, after all. Except for cluster headaches, that is. She’s trying to look humble, maybe also encouraging me to put things in perspective. She doesn’t know that I’ve gotten cluster headaches before, multiple times. While hospitalized. For weeks. I know well the type of pain that makes you want to black out, pain that feels like it will end in death.
Another decision to make—do I say this? Whose pain should I diminish at this moment, hers or mine? Mine. Always mine. I stay quiet.
Endgame
The massage therapist turns me over, then digs her thumbs so hard into the back of my head that I want to cry. This is a good thing. I’m trapped beneath a frozen river and she’s chipping away at the ice until it yields and disintegrates beneath her targeted pressure. I’m looking forward to a painkiller-free night, and I begin to wish I’d booked a longer session.
I feel her hands leave the back of my head and go…wait, where did they go?
Then she asks, Can I give you some advice?
There’s only one right answer to this question, which means I’m in check.
Sure, I say, raising my voice slightly to make up for the face cradle. My increased volume could, of course, be interpreted as enthusiasm.
I want to tell you what I did to cure my migraines. It’s so simple you’ll be kicking yourself.
Okay, I say with a flatlined facial expression that she cannot see and, hopefully, cannot hear.
I found this special water. Her fingers touch back down and start rubbing behind my ears. My belly relaxes into the warm table.
Like electrolyte water?
No, not electrolytes. Just small.
Small?
Yes, small. Like microscopic. Small enough to fit into the mitochondria in your cells.
Oh!
I’m telling you, it cured my migraines.
I believe you. Sounds interesting.
Can I email you the info after? I’ll give you a discount code.
Of course!
Checkmate
A few minutes later, she offers to extend the massage. 🧠
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I’m glad you at least got a decent massage because that shit is bananas.
Oh, god, another one of those people! I've seen so many, for chronic pain, for my IBD, for migraine! They are leeches, and some of them are dangerous. Yuck! I hope you're feeling ok. Migraines suck.