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A Cure for Sciatica
By
Louis Fried
My damned sciatica flared up again. Since Marybeth died I was beginning to feel much older. Not yet ready for death, mind you, but older.
I bent over to get into the cab that I’d called. I wanted to go to MOMA, the Museum of Modern Art In SOMA, the south of Market Street district of the city. But then, as I bent, I felt that same old pain in the back.
I’d had the epidural shots a couple of times and, for my money, received only short-term relief, medical platitudes and recommendations to consider surgery.
“Eeowww!” I exclaimed involuntarily. Actually, if you’ve been there you know it’s more like a cross between a scream and a grunt.
“Problem buddy?” the cabby asked, half turning in his seat to look at me.
“Yeah. Same old thing … sciatica acting up again.”
“Hey, I got it, too. Some days it’s so bad I can hardly get in and out of the cab. In fact, last week I had to ask an old lady to put her luggage in the trunk by herself. If you don’t think that hurts tips, you got another think comin’.”
“So … what do you do for it?” I asked.
“Prob’ly the same as you. I go to the doctor. I get shots. I get told to sleep with a pillow under my legs. I get told about all the other things I can try … you know … stretching exercises, lose weight, chiropractor treatments, needles … whatchacallit … acupuncture. Shit … nothin’ helps.”
By this time I was used to discussing my problem with anyone who would listen. Other than enough shots of vodka, discussion seemed to be the only thing that made me forget the pain.
“Forget the new art show,” I said to myself. Then I told the cabby, “814 Bryant Street. Dr. Negroponte’s office. Let’s see if he can squeeze in an old friend and patient with no notice.”
Wincing, I crawled into the back seat and tried to get more comfortable. Charlie Negroponte was not only a neural surgeon and a PhD, but also a long time friend and once-a-month poker playing buddy. I felt sure he would see me quickly.
As we pulled away from the curb, the cabby looked at me in the rear view mirror. “My name’s Herb … what’s yours?”
Just my luck to get a chatty cabby.
I briefly considered saying Prometheus because of the pain or Hephaestus because of my limp, but finally decided that I’d better stick to the truth. “Jake Smith.” I directed my answer to the back of his hairy neck.
“Look, Jake … you don’t mind if I call you Jake … we both have the same problem, the sciatica … I’ve heard some talk about trying herbal treatments.”
“You mean pot, Herb?”
“No,” Herb chuckled, “’though that might help to kill the pain. I was talkin’ to one of my passengers who told me about this woman over on the West Side who has this shop. He gave me her card. Sells herbal medicines …”
The pain in my back was getting worse. Herb droned on, but I tuned him out, just trying to mumble responses at what seemed like appropriate times.
We pulled into the parking lot next to Charlie Negroponte’s office. SOMA was now upscale lofts and offices instead of the old warehouses. As I struggled to get out, Herb turned to me. “That’ll be twenty-one sixty. Look, Jake, It’s a slow day. I can wait here ‘til you’re through. No charge. That way you won’t have to wait for a cab.”
”But what if it takes a long time for him to see me?”
“Here,” Herb pulled a card from above the visor and handed it to me. “If it looks like it’ll take more than a half hour, call me on my cell phone. Then I can come back for you when you need me.”
I though about it for all of fifteen seconds, as he gave me my change. “Your on, Herb.”
I handed him a five-dollar tip and hobbled into Charlie’s office. I explained my problem to the receptionist, Mabel.
“I’m sure that the doctor can fit you in, Mr. Smith. Why don’t you sit down for a minute and I’ll check with him?”
In less than two minutes, Charlie walked out and took my hand to help me stand up. “You look like Hell warmed over,” he said cheerfully.
“It’s worse this time.” I gritted my teeth as I stood up. “I’ve got to do something.”
“Come on back to one of my exam rooms.” Charlie steered me by the elbow to one of the rooms and lowered the table so that I could sit on it easily.
“I told you you’d be back for another epidural shot. When are you going to let me really fix this thing for you, Jake?”
“Look, just give me some pain killer and let me get through the rest of the day.”
“You haven’t got many alternatives left. I know you’re scared of surgery, but I’ve told you before. You’re like the others. You’ll go to a chiropractor, then you’ll try tai chi exercises, then you’ll try an herbalist, then you’ll try acupuncture, then you’ll go to a quack witch doctor for all I know. But, sooner or later you’ll come back to me.”
“Charlie, if you don’t shut up and give me something quickly for this pain, when I can stand up again I’ll beat the shit out of you. I’d sell my soul to get rid of this pain.”
Charlie grinned at me. “Really? I’ll be right back.”
As he left, I called after him. “I haven’t tried the last three yet. Thanks for the suggestions.”
I called Herb on my cell phone and told him to wait for me.
Twenty minutes later I limped groggily to the cab and got in.
“Take me home, please, Herb.”
“OK, Jake. Oh, while you got some relief from the pain, it ain’t too far out of the way to see that herbalist if you want. She’s down in the Castro.”
“Let me think for a minute, Herb.” All right. Charlie had predicted I’d see different specialists … an herbalist, then an acupuncturist, and then a witch doctor. Maybe I should just skip to the last one. And the Castro, like SOMA is, arguably, the most different district in our different city.
Naw, I might as well try something more realistic.
“Ok, Herb. Take me to the herbalist. What’s her name?”
Herb fumbled with a rubber-banded pack of business cards he carried on the seat beside him.
“Here it is. Madame Sonya, Herbalist. A World Wide Collection of Healing Herbs and Potions.” The way he read it made it sound as if every word started with a capital letter.
“All right, I’m game.” The shot that Charlie had given me was taking its course. “Lead on, Macduff, and damned be he who first cries, “Hold, enough.””
“What’s that, Jake?”
“Nothin’.” I settled back into the seat, stared at Herb’s hairy ears, and watched the traffic go by.
At Madame Sonya’s funky little shop on 16th Street we parked. Herb turned off the meter. “Ain’t right to charge when I steered you here.”
Herb went up a notch or two in my esteem … even though I felt that maybe I was being conned.
Opening the door triggered chimes that sounded somewhat like Indian temple bells. In a moment, Madame Sonya herself, or a reasonable facsimile, appeared, scarf wrapped around her head in gypsy fashion, neck loaded with beads, every finger sporting a gaudy ring, luxuriant, black, more than shoulder-length hair, statuesque body, dark complexion and deep red, full lips.
It fit with the funky look of the shop. Weirdo stuff hanging on the walls and in the display cases.
In a word, to a guy half-loaded on pain suppressant, and tired of living alone, sexy!
“Ah!” she said, looking at me quickly, but then peering carefully at Herb, “you look familiar.”
I hadn’t the slightest idea of what she meant, but Herb answered. “Just stopping in for advice and maybe a cure.”
“You have a tail!” she answered.
“What?” both Herb and I said at once.
Were we being followed?
“You have a tail,” she looked at Herb. “You are not from here.”
“Hey, lady. I didn’t come here to be insulted. So what if I’ve got a tail. I’m as good as the next guy!”
“My dear sir,” the Madame replied. “I did not mean to insult you. Far from it! I am quite accustomed to dealing with your people. A people, I might add, that are among the most creative in the universe.”
“That’s more like it.” Herb said.
“And you, Sir? What can I do for you?”
I stood there trying to make sense out of that conversation.
Herb spoke for me. “Madame Sonya, this is my friend, Jake. He’s sufferin’ badly from sciatica, and, by the way, so am I. You got anythin’ that can help us?”
“You, a familiar or from that family, suffering from sciatica?”
“Yes, M’am. Most likely from my mother’s side, may she rest in somewhat like peace.”
I always knew that there was something different about San Francisco cabbies, but I was never sure until this moment.
However, I held my tongue. Perhaps Madame Sonya could help me; however, in my present state it would be better to be careful of what I said.
“Sciatica in such persons as yourself is extremely rare,” the Madame said. “While in men such as the Mr. Smith here, it is common, among your folk it is so rare as to be a challenge to any practitioner.”
Despite my befuddled state, I knew she had slipped.
“How did you know that my name is Smith?” I asked. “I was only presented to you as Jake?”
“Probabilities, my dear. Prolific probabilities.”
“But can you help me … us?”
“I shall try.”
And with this she proceeded to go through the same litany as I had heard before from others who pretended to treat my ailment. She spoke of the sciatic nerves, what may be the causes of pain, what is the probability of successful treatment. She spoke of the potential of curses and inquired as to my history of hurting others. She spoke of unintentional slights and deeper … of lost loves and maleficent enemies. She probed me not only through spoken words, but through the depths of my … my … I guess … my soul.
Exhausted, I almost dropped off into sleep as she subjected Herb to a similar inquisition.
At length she seemed to relax into a trance state that continued for perhaps half an hour.
When finally she stirred, I also had begun to awake from my weary soporific state.
“I have answers for you,” she looked first at me and then at Herb.
While we had been sitting there, waiting, I had not noticed anything peculiar. Now, however, it appeared to me that in the evening Herb had grown. Somehow his bulk had increased to the point that it occupied a large portion of the small room in which we had been holding the “séance,” if one might call it that.
Along with his increase in bulk, his clothing had been torn and it was now clear that he was both tailed and extremely hairy, not to mention the stubby horns that had sprouted from his forehead.
“First, I must ask, how will you pay? Cash, check, debit card or credit card?”
I looked at Herb and he grinned, as if to say it was up to me.
“MasterCard.” I answered. “Is that OK?”
“Fine,” Sonya said.
Then she proceeded. “Mr. Herb. You clearly have a problem of differentiation between form and spirit. Too long have you lived in this world of form. As a result, your form is subject to a breakdown of components that participate in spirit. The neural components of form, such as those that may be found in the sciatic nerve in true humans, are extremely vulnerable to such collapse of the spirit.”
“Wow!” Herb exclaimed. “What should I do?”
“Do you own your own taxi or do you work for a taxi company?”
“I own my own cab!”
“In that case, you need do nothing, since, once you return to your father’s realm, the taxi will accompany you. It is of your essence … an essence peculiar to independent taxi drivers. This unification will restore your spiritual essence and dissolve your pain.”
“However,” she continued, “the same is not true for your passenger, Mr. Jake Smith. While Mr. Smith, due to his pain and drug induced state is temporarily between domains, he is quintessentially human.”
I roused myself to question Madame Sonya.
“That sounds impressive, but what does it mean?”
“It means that you must seek an answer that lies in the spiritual but affects the corporeal.”
“Madame, if you will pardon my saying so, as beautiful as you are, I think that your answer lies within the domain of the deposits made by male bovines in the fields in which they pasture.”
“Nevertheless, Mr. Smith. I will provide a prescription … rather, I will provide a reference to a healer who can help you.”
“Thank you.” I held back my severest doubts due to the size of my cabby.
“That will be one hundred and fifty dollars, please.”
“But where is the prescription?”
“After payment, if you please.”
“Does that include my bill?” Herb asked.
“Of course … out of courtesy for the referral.” Sonya smiled.
I handed her my credit card and then, signed the charge slip she presented to me.
“And now?” I asked.
“Now,” she picked up pen and paper, “Now, here is the name of a doctor who can
really help you. A doctor who is has invented a new technique that can bridge the world between form and spirit.”
“Thank you,” I said. I marveled at the simplicity of the technique she had used to bilk me.
“OK, Boss,” Herb said. “Let’s go.”
As we walked out the door, Madame Sonya called out, “Mister Herb, I should add one thing. Your human side is suffering from too much time in the taxi … sitting on your tail, so to speak.”
I handed Herb the paper. By this time, as night and the medication came on, it did not seem to matter that I was being driven by a seven foot tall, gorilla-hairy, horned and tailed quasi-demon.
Herb glanced at the paper.
“814 Bryant Street. Dr. Negroponte, MD, ThD … somehow sounds familiar.”
“Damned right it does. That’s Charlie’s office! What’s going on here?”
Twenty minutes later we were back in the parking lot outside Charlie Negroponte’s office. By this time it was full night. The few lights in the parking lot simply showed Herb’s form, not the detail of his being.
“Herb,” I said to my driver. “I think I’d like to have you with me.”
“It’s OK, Jake. I’m too curious to leave now.”
I walked to the main entrance and pushed the entrance button for Charlie’s suite.
“Dr. Negroponte speaking,” the voice said. “It’s after office hours. Who sent you?”
“Sonya,” I answered.
“Jake?” Charlie questioned. “Is that you?”
“Yeah … and I know, you told me I’d be back.”
Once inside, Charlie served Herb a cup of boiling water and I took a coffee. Charlie didn’t bat an eye at Herb’s appearance.
“OK, Charlie. What’s this all about?” I looked at him.
“I’ve developed a technique that I call ‘virtual acupuncture.” You have to realize that this is not an AMA or FDA-approved technique, nor is it guaranteed through extensive practice. However, I have found that it is a beneficial alternative to surgery for some of my most severe cases.”
“Look, Charlie. I’ve been suffering from sciatica for a long time and I’ve done a fair amount of research. How come I haven’t heard of this technique?”
“That’s not too hard to explain, Jake. My biggest competitors are the AMA approved surgeons, the chiropractors and the acupuncturists. Each of them has vested interests in the status quo.”
“So?” I asked.
“So, virtual acupuncture is based on a combination of those techniques plus some ideas I developed for my ThD thesis.”
“And it works?”
“So far, in about ninety percent of my cases.”
“What are we waiting for?”
“First, Jake, I’ll have to ask you to sign this release.” He handed me the form and a pen.
I quickly signed the form. After all, Charlie was a friend.
Charlie turned to Herb.
“I’ll have to ask you to sign a non-disclosure form also. Your finger, please.”
Herb stuck out his hand and Charlie pricked his index finger. “Sign here in blood, Herb.”
“OK,” Herb signed and smiled at me. “Good luck, Jake.”
Charlie directed me to the examination table. “Here, Jake. It’ll just take a few minutes of preparation.”
From a cabinet nearby, Charlie took several varicolored candles. He placed them in a candelabrum of strange design and lit them. Next, he brought out three containers of scented herbs and set them to smoldering. He dimmed the lights in the examination room until I could barely see.
From a drawer he took some red colored wax. Next he reached out and plucked several hairs from my head.
“While I’m getting things ready, you can watch this,” he flicked a switch and a moving mandala flashed onto the ceiling where I could watch it’s slow hypnotic play.”
From the corner of my eye I watched as with gentle motions, he kneaded the wax so that the hairs were embedded in the lump.
From the sideboard he took a doll that I had not previously noticed. Quickly, he molded the wax and hair to the head of the doll.
He laid the doll on the table beside me.
Reaching once more into the drawer, he withdrew a pinch of some powder and threw it into the air above me.
As the candle flames ignited the powder in a flash, he spoke an incantation in a language sounding vaguely Middle Eastern. I heard a dull roar and felt the room vibrate as though a big rig was passing on the 101 freeway just south of us.
“You’ll be OK in the morning,” Charlie said.
“Now, how about you?” he asked Herb.
“I’ll have to see how Jake does,” Herb answered, “and then check to see if my group insurance plan will cover it.”
The scene around me seemed to fade.
The next thing I knew, I was cradled in Herb’s huge arms and he was putting me into the taxi.
“Your lucky my sciatica isn’t bothering me tonight,” Herb grunted as he gently pushed me into the seat.
The next morning I awoke refreshed and pain free. I had a vague feeling that something was missing, but I checked for my wallet and glasses and they were there on the nightstand.
I made breakfast and about ten o’clock I called Charlie’s office.
“Charlie, whatever you did, it worked. Thank you!”
“Glad it worked, Jake. It has rarely failed me.”
“What do I owe you, my friend?” I asked.
“You’ve already paid.” Charlie’s voice held a smile. “Remember what you said that you’d give to get rid of the pain?”
“What?”
“You said that you’d …”
“Yeah, I know … sell my soul. But what has that got to do with you?”
“Didn’t you ever notice my training … my degrees?”
“Sure, MD, PhD ... so what?”
“Not PhD, ThD!”
“ThD? What the Hell’s that?”
“Doctor of Thaumaturgy. I’m a graduate of Teradynic University, an affiliate of Miskatonic U. I practice
medicina magicus as an alternative to surgery. I’m a witch.”
“A witch?”
“I told you you’d come back to me for treatment.”
I hesitated for just a moment. My back and leg told me their painless story.
“So how about poker Thursday night?” I asked.
“My place or yours?” he said. “Will you call the other guys? I’m kind of busy.”
“My place … and I’ll call the others.” I hung up.
Then I thought about Madame Sonya. What would she say if I asked her out for dinner?
I looked for her card, found it, and picked up the phone …
Copyright © 2006 Louis Fried
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