During the Autumn of 1981, when I was a fledgling journalist in the Missouri-London Reporting Program, I had the opportunity to cover a pain relief conference. The idea to cover it may have come from our program’s moderator, John H. Whale, of the Sunday Times. However I came to cover it, it was a fairly dry experience, though most of it is hidden now in clouds of forgotten memories.

The speakers’ auditorium was in a large, old building, though probably not a hospital. There were a number of speakers, though one of them may have been principal speaker. I do know there was one doctor who said that headaches can be psychologically triggered – as when a man comes home from hard work daily, and his wife gives him a habitual headache. It goes the other way, too, of course.

Another speaker, a nurse, spoke of hospice care for the dying, and of the easing of pain and understanding of death. She spoke of the use of morphine in terminal cases, too.

Other speaker/s talked of more routine pain-relievers, like aspirin and Novocaine, and of not becoming habituated to the former, because the bleeding it causes can be deadly.

Alternative pain-relievers were also mentioned – like the age-old methods, exercise, acupuncture, and meditation.

There may have also been a short-film shown, though I can’t say for sure. All of the well-dressed attendees of the conference had the best interests of their patients and families at heart, I’d guess, but thankfully I did not have to try out British medicine myself during my three month-stay in London.

I did view at least the exteriors of various hospitals, though, perhaps photographing a few, in my walks about the British capital. Invariably, they were housed in old buildings, which may have been well-maintained and staffed by doctors and nurses who cared for their patients well.

Picture Post Magazine, in the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s, ran photo-essays about life in many everyday British venues, including hospitals, and the photos were often very people-friendly.

Which puts me in mind of the British game I wished I would have seen then, rugby, a game that can cause men (and perhaps especially women) a great deal of pain, or pain relief. On some of my walks, I’d run in to a middle-aged man, I think his name was Arnold, who would chat with me as a friend. One day, we spoke of rugby games played at the Arsenal, the famed stadium in London.

‘Arnold’ said rugby was a rugged game, but a good one, and I said I’d like to see some rugby, because I like American football. He said rugby, or football, is a lot like life, with ups and downs, but if you play it right, you can win. I’d guess he was trying to say you can win something more than money, though some people win that, too. That is, if you play past the pain of the game’s ordeals, you actually achieve positive things, like good sportsmanship, exercise, and a sense of accomplishment.

I don’t recall I was thinking of rugby when I sat in that pain relief conference; I may have been thinking of my family and friends in Wisconsin, and the good times we had. (I’d decided I would not phone my family or friends in the States, until I returned there in December. The only letter/card I sent anyone then was a picture postcard of Westminster Catholic Cathedral, which I sent my brother Dennis. He didn’t write back then.) I didn’t really want to think about the relief of pain, when I felt few physical pains then; but I did feel emotional pains about missing home, despite being able to report on just about anything I wanted to then, within moderation, of course.

However, one of my coverages was that pain relief conference in London. I don’t remember sending that story to the Columbia Missourian, but if I had done that, my advisor, Daryl Moen, probably would have published it, for better or for worse.

David J. Marcou is a father, writer, photographer, and editor in La Crosse, Wisconsin.