Head Health

Last month I went to see the doctor in Tijuana for the last time. My migraines are not cured but I have lost all faith in him.

He had stopped seeing patients in the late afternoons, so I had to make a morning appointment and miss work. I took the first appointment of his day, at 9:00 a.m. on a Thursday. It was one of the coldest days in this part of the world. When I checked in, the doctor had not yet arrived. The office had no heat, so I sat with legs twisted around and hands tucked between my thighs for 45 minutes. The receptionist, who always treated me in an unfriendly manner, was bundled in a thick coat, scarf and gloves. Of course there was no apology for keeping me waiting, just like there was no apology when I went down there to pick up my medicines the day they closed the office earlier than they had told me they would.

When I was called to the back, the doctor brought in a woman who could speak English. I told Doctor G. that I was still suffering, yet taking the formulas religiously every night. He asked me to open my mouth and when he looked in he exclaimed in a surprised way. The translator said that I had a lot of metal in my mouth and to get rid of the migraines, it all had to be removed before my next appointment in 15 days. She said that the doctor must have told me this on my first visit. I know he had never looked in my mouth.

I said that I would talk to my dentist and that I had dental insurance. She translated from the doctor that there is no dentist in the U.S. that can replace the metal with the correct “biological” material, that I had to use the dentist that shared his suite. I felt like obvious scam was unfolding.

I went out to the receptionist and stood at her counter to pay. I had to wait for her to finish buying tamales from a vendor that carried a small ice chest. I had to wait while she asked for hot sauce, accepted a napkin, and paid before she would even look at me to see what I needed. I handed her the money and said that I was not going to make another appointment. Meanwhile, she gave me a card to another office a few blocks away to have a panoramic x-ray of my mouth done. There was no way I was going do that. My father had a lot of dental work done in Tijuana to save money and had to have it all redone here in San Diego at great expense.

Walking to my car, I shivered at the cold air and the thought that this whole experience was a waste of time and money. It did take my migraines away for almost two solid months but they were still lurking in the shadows of my brain.

I turned out of the parking lot to get on the main road to the border and noticed that my side street was blocked off because the line to the border was longer than I had ever seen it. It was miles long. I had to go the opposite way, and drove around for 20 minutes trying to find the beginning of the line, making U-turns and sliding around traffic circles. After I found the beginning of the line, it took me an hour and a half to get to the border. When I got to within twenty cars of the immigration booths I noticed a handful of U.S. immigration officers strolling between the cars with their German shepherds. They had their weapons on their hips, and flashlights that looked like weapons in their hands. They randomly went up to cars and shone their lights in the back seats, felt under the body of the cars with their boots and peered into the backs of pick-ups. It felt very intimidating. Paranoid thoughts danced with my rational brain. What if, unbeknownst to me, someone had taped something illegal to the underside of my car when I was at the doctor’s office to retrieve it after I crossed the border?

I was relieved that I did not have to make this trek again, yet very upset that the doctor had pulled this on me. It seemed like the treatment did work in the beginning.

A week later, I decided that it was time to try another path. I called my neurologist and scheduled an appointment. My radiologist friend has been encouraging me to have an MRI. The neurologist scheduled one for me, plus a few sessions with a physical therapist.

The physical therapist has been working on my neck and upper back, trying to re-align them. Good posture has always been a challenge for me. From the time I was very young, my parents constantly nagged me to stand up straight. Whereas it is natural for most people, for me it is not. I think most women check out their hair or their make-up when they look in a mirror. I look at my posture. Why was it never natural for me to stand or sit up straight? Could it have been that I felt so ugly and had such low self-esteem that my shoulders would try to swallow my head? If only I had been a turtle, where I could retreat naturally into myself.

If you have had an MRI, you know how unpleasant they are. You know the claustrophobic tube they slide you into. I am sure you remember the noise that is so loud that it makes you feel like you are in the middle of a giant jackhammer. You may recall how the technicians insist on absolute stillness. The only way for me to cope was to try to leave my body.

After two weeks, I called the neurologist to find out the results. She is recommending further tests. (When was she planning on calling me?) I feel a mixture of relief that maybe they found the culprit, the perpetrator of my migraines and a little anxiety that they found something at all. Whatever it is, the doctor strongly assured me that there is nothing to worry about.

That is the update on the health of my head.