Take two aspirins and call me in the morning The Thin Edge of Dignity

 

By Dick Weinman

It seemed like Mission: Impossible.

The common shibboleth of the medical profession – take two aspirin and call me in the morning – had special meaning for me when I was flying coast-to-coast one recent, ten hour travel day in August

I had a tension headache, caused by the anxiety of the dilemma I faced (more on that in a later blog), while I was in lay-over mode on a trip between Boston  and Portland.  When I asked for analgesic help from the airport employees who were assisting me in my wheelchair, they asked me to put my request on the back burner(or something like that) until they sought the permission of the airline airport supervisor.  They got hold of her with their iPhone 6s. After she introduced herself – friendly smile in place – I repeated my simple request – so I thought – for two aspirins, or some other headache squelcher. “Sorry” (Or something to that effect,) she said. “No can do.” (Or something to that effect.)

“Well,” I said loudly with assurance, (while quietly mumbling, be that way!) “I’ll wait till I’m on-board and ask the flight attendant.” “Tough luck,” she said (Or something to that effect). “No pill passing there either.” (Or some …well, you get the idea.)

I immediately referenced the TV commercial for Bayer aspirin, that I had seen enough times to give me a headache, in which a passenger, suffering from back pain – he must have been flying economy – received two aspirin from the sympathetic flight attendant, who mistakenly thought he had a headache while he corrected her and the audience discovered the universal use of Bayer and … well, it’s better in the seeing than the telling….

“Wake up, you fool,” she said (Or some similar phrase,) “That’s TV. It’s a commercial. It’s not reality.”

So, I slunk down in my wheelchair, embarrassed that I, a sophisticated, former professor of media, who taught students to analyze the misperceptions caused by television commercials, couldn’t separate image from reality. I deserved that headache!  Which lingered.

Anyhow, the airline supervisor “stood by me.”

”You’ll get your pain relief,” she said (Etc.,etc.,etc.) “But, you’ll have to call 911.”

I didn’t want to bring a screaming, flashing ambulance and half-dozen EMTs into the air port terminal, so I demurred. I thanked her effusively for her persistence in securing pain relief for me; thanked the airport service employees who had my back throughout the ordeal; posted an appreciative, heart-felt thanks on the airlines Facebook page when I returned home (if you want to read it, go to the Delta FB.)  And wrote this story.

It’s really part of a longer tale of airport wonderment and gathering friendships. That should be written and posted soon.

BTW: my headache disappeared all by itself.