The first time I found out about neuropathic pain, it was not even mine.
I was living in Amiens, above a cafe, and had adopted the boss, the patronne, as a surrogate mother. I came home late from a laboratory class one night and I tried to figure out what I was looking at with a dim light only on in back. I found this 80 year old woman in the back room with her blouse undone and an older man apparently angry at her pointing his finger. I ran in and asked him to identify himself, as I was concerned for Madame, and there was apparently some difficulty. He was nearly as old as she and they were both laughing heartily indeed. That is how I met this noble “docteur du quartier” (neighborhood doctor) who was performing what he described as an “honest and beneficial auscultation” and prescribing for her chest cold.
His whole practice was cafe backrooms. His patients the cafe patrons, who often had no cars, or no place else to go for medical care. He practiced a simple medicine, and as I advanced in school and he knew what I was learning he told me all that was too technical for him, and he would leave that to the young ones, especially the girls like me, because girls pay a lot of attention to detail and remember everything. And girls are nice and take good care of patients because they care a lot and try very, very hard. He told me not to tell anybody he said that. I never told anybody he said that until just now. Read more on Neuropathic Pain and Benfotiamine…