Pain

Nothing could make the pain go away. Hector had tried everything. Asked everyone. Neurologists, orthopedic surgeons, immunologists, chiropractors, acupuncturists, homeopaths, crystal healers, and anyone else, quack or not, who said they could help him. None of them had. Hell, they couldn’t agree on what was wrong with him.
He’d heard “fibromyalgia” and “phantom pain” from the real doctors. They’d told him it was all in his head. One guy had even accused him of faking his symptoms to get drugs.

The chiropractor had called it a “misalignment of the spine” and proceeded to give him what amounted to a two hour back massage. Hector’s back felt better than it had in ages, but the pain hadn’t gone away.

The acupuncturist had told him he had something wrong with his chi and spent quite a while poking him with needles. Hector’s chi no doubt was much improved, but his muscles still screamed at him every time he moved.

The homeopath had told him he had “rheumatism” and given him a "tonic" that tasted like water and did nothing for the pain. He stopped taking it when he found out the active ingredient was “diluted arsenic.”

The crystal healer had been the most dubious of the bunch. A burnt out old hippie with unkempt hair and a habit of staring into space, she’d said he had too much “negative energy” in him and spent an hour waving a piece of polished quartz in his general direction. He bolted when she tried to sell him the $3,000 home crystal kit.

Now Hector was trying magnets. The man was small and unassuming. He wore an old fashioned bowler hat and carried a cane (apparently magnets couldn’t heal everything). He was an older man – late fifties Hector thought, and he had one of those accents immigrants get when they’ve lived in the US long enough to know how to speak perfect English, but choose not to. His name sounded like “Valdemar” but he spelled it with a “W.” Waldemar. Hector thought he might be Polish. “You have problem with pain, yes?” Waldemar asked.

“Yes? Uh, yes,” Hector stammered.

“Where you feeling pain? Back, maybe?”

“Yeah, in my back, and my chest and legs. Everywhere really.”

“You’ve asked nerve doctor, yes?” Waldemar seemed concerned.

“Yeah, he said it was all in my head”

“Good, good. Real doctor not work, so we try magnets.”

“Wait, you’re not “real?”

The little man gave him a concerned look, “Not doctor. Just man with magnets. So, we try magnets.”

Waldemar spent an hour waving various magnets at Hector and running them up and down his spine. Afterwards, Hector didn’t feel any better, and he said so.
“Of course not, I not doctor, just man with magnets. Magnets not work on everyone. Placebo effect, yes? Stop seeing quacks like me and go find real doctor. Here’s card of neurologist. Tell him you were desperate enough to try man with magnets. He’ll listen.”

“Uh, thanks,” Hector said taking the card. With some trepidation, he decided he’d give modern medicine a second chance. If that didn’t work, there was always aromatherapy.