In a dream I had I was wandering through a dirty place full of filthy people (no, it wasn't Washington DC). I think it was somewhere in England, and sometime during the middle ages, because that's the way it all looked, and sounded like, to me. In this dream, I had a terrible, screaming pain in my head, so I stopped a passing villager to ask him where I might find a doctor.
"Neva eard of one of those, but ye look like ye might be in need of an ealer" he offered.
"Yes, yes, a healer" I replied.
He pointed to a house built of thatch, and mud, just a few paces away from where we now stood. I called out into the open window of the hut between the winces of searing pain bolting through my brain.
"Is there anyone there inside? I've been told you are a healer, and I need your help"
Out of the doorway appeared a gnarled, smiling, old man, and he didn't look quite as filthy as the other inhabitants of my dream.
"I have a terrible headache" I told him. "Can you give me something for the pain?"
"I can chisel out a piece a yor skull to let the sickness out is what I can do" he said.
"But Hippocrates was already prescribing the bark, and leaves, of the willow tree for fever, and pain, before the Roman Empire ever existed" I protested. "Surely your methods aren't so cruel these many years later"
"Lissen ear" he defended "at this regressive point in istory, we just can't wrap our minds around the MOA of that particular treatment. No affense to Ippocrates, but the blood, and guts, of bleedin you out, well, that's the science I can touch with me own ands."
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