After about twenty minutes of “testing,” the healer sat down to give me my results. As he did, I caught him not smiling for a brief second, and suspected I was pretty screwed. I was right.
Basically, every organ was failing except for my heart, which was fascinating since my father was recovering from quadruple bypass surgery at that exact moment. I was allergic to almost every food I was eating, including the healthy ones I didn’t like (injustice). I had two viruses - one of which was the upper respiratory virus - and one bacterial infection. On a scale of 1-10, my thyroid was a 1 (but still a 10 over at Endocrinology), my pituitary gland was a 1, liver a 3, spleen a 4, immune system a 1, adrenals in complete exhaustion (another 1) and my nervous system was shot (ha ha - that one I knew).
So, here I was – healthy and normal in the eyes of my western doctors, a physiological war zone in the eyes of my Caucasian Chinese healer. I definitely wasn’t laughing anymore, but I was too fascinated to cry.
After getting the news, the healer sat down to explain his methodology to me, but my head was still spinning between being grateful for finally having answers and devastated at the state of my health. I don’t think I heard a word.
Today, however, I know that the counting and pressing was to test the performance of my organs against my reflexes and muscle strength (which is measured by my arm’s resistance) and the vials represented various foods, heavy metals, viruses, bacteria and chemicals that were being tested against my system for either allergies or some form of contamination.
Despite how imprecise and funny it all seemed at the time, it’s scary how accurate it really is.
The silver lining of the bad results was that my intuition had been vindicated. All of the unconfirmed suspicions and hunches about my health were finally settled.
In about five minutes, for forty bucks.
I was beginning to see alternative medicine as a really good alternative.
Nutrition Response Testing (NRT)
After my initial round of tests, I had the healer all to myself.
He instructed me to sit upright for some nutrition response testing – a practice designed to assess the health of my organs. I’d heard about this process from the friend who referred me. But a few minutes into it, it became obvious that, either she needed to be more descriptive or I wasn’t totally listening.
First he asked me to extend my right arm out in front of me, and resist the pressure as he pushed down on it. I did. Then, still pushing on my arm with his right hand, he began moving the left across and around my body in a rapid fashion. He would stop at random points, press on my skin and count to himself like Rain Man, only to start all over again with the pushing, tugging and moving.
When I wasn’t wincing to avoid the swinging hand or focusing on resisting him with my arm, I was left to imagine the hysterics that would ensue as I described this moment to my friends and family. I repeatedly looked at the healer’s face to see if he was also having fun at his expense, but he was totally serious.
Then he instructed me to lie down while he placed a kit full of liquid-containing glass vials on my stomach. Again he told me to raise my arm in the air and resist the pressure as he tugged on it repeatedly. But this time his other hand was focused on the tubes, as he began moving his fingers back and forth over them, one after the other. At about every third tube, my arm would drop and flatline without explanation. I attributed it to my muscles losing their strength as they turned inward - to focus on quashing my immature laughter.
After he was done with the kits, he started tapping lightly on all of my organs, with his head cocked to the side, like he was checking to see if anyone was home.
By this point, I was looking for signs of Candid Camera.
But there weren’t any.
This was real.
And this was my new life.
He instructed me to sit upright for some nutrition response testing – a practice designed to assess the health of my organs. I’d heard about this process from the friend who referred me. But a few minutes into it, it became obvious that, either she needed to be more descriptive or I wasn’t totally listening.
First he asked me to extend my right arm out in front of me, and resist the pressure as he pushed down on it. I did. Then, still pushing on my arm with his right hand, he began moving the left across and around my body in a rapid fashion. He would stop at random points, press on my skin and count to himself like Rain Man, only to start all over again with the pushing, tugging and moving.
When I wasn’t wincing to avoid the swinging hand or focusing on resisting him with my arm, I was left to imagine the hysterics that would ensue as I described this moment to my friends and family. I repeatedly looked at the healer’s face to see if he was also having fun at his expense, but he was totally serious.
Then he instructed me to lie down while he placed a kit full of liquid-containing glass vials on my stomach. Again he told me to raise my arm in the air and resist the pressure as he tugged on it repeatedly. But this time his other hand was focused on the tubes, as he began moving his fingers back and forth over them, one after the other. At about every third tube, my arm would drop and flatline without explanation. I attributed it to my muscles losing their strength as they turned inward - to focus on quashing my immature laughter.
After he was done with the kits, he started tapping lightly on all of my organs, with his head cocked to the side, like he was checking to see if anyone was home.
By this point, I was looking for signs of Candid Camera.
But there weren’t any.
This was real.
And this was my new life.
Intro to Alternative Medicine
I don’t know what I was expecting from the Eastern healer, but I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be a thirty-five year old white guy from the valley.
Luckily I have a good poker face.
When he first walked into the room, I began pondering the notion of seeking Chinese medical help from a Caucasian, and tried not to remind myself that this was my last hope.
I shook his hand as he bombarded me with his good skin and boundless energy. From the looks of his face, I actually thought he had great news for me. I now know that his extreme good health causes him to be unnecessarily smiley.
Prior to meeting the actual healer, I was put through a barrage of tests with one of his female assistants to determine the overall level of my health. My heart, immune system, weight (could have done without that), body fat percentage (that one too), Ph balance, and a few other unfamiliar things were measured, tested and dutifully recorded. No needles were used, I wasn’t naked, and nothing was particularly invasive, so I was prettyskeptical fascinated.
When she asked what my primary concern was, for some reason, all I could think of was the vertigo. While the weight gain was annoying, I was already getting used to it, along with the lack of sleep, depression, anxiety and spotty skin. It’s not like I had a life by this point anyway; I just needed to be able to read my e-mail straight and get to the couch without ricocheting off the coffee table.
After she wrote down my problems, she enthusiastically informed me that my heart test was particularly impressive - probably thanks to all of the exercise I did in my 20s. That was good news.
But she didn’t mention the other fifteen tests.
It was an awkward silence.
Luckily I have a good poker face.
When he first walked into the room, I began pondering the notion of seeking Chinese medical help from a Caucasian, and tried not to remind myself that this was my last hope.
I shook his hand as he bombarded me with his good skin and boundless energy. From the looks of his face, I actually thought he had great news for me. I now know that his extreme good health causes him to be unnecessarily smiley.
Prior to meeting the actual healer, I was put through a barrage of tests with one of his female assistants to determine the overall level of my health. My heart, immune system, weight (could have done without that), body fat percentage (that one too), Ph balance, and a few other unfamiliar things were measured, tested and dutifully recorded. No needles were used, I wasn’t naked, and nothing was particularly invasive, so I was pretty
When she asked what my primary concern was, for some reason, all I could think of was the vertigo. While the weight gain was annoying, I was already getting used to it, along with the lack of sleep, depression, anxiety and spotty skin. It’s not like I had a life by this point anyway; I just needed to be able to read my e-mail straight and get to the couch without ricocheting off the coffee table.
After she wrote down my problems, she enthusiastically informed me that my heart test was particularly impressive - probably thanks to all of the exercise I did in my 20s. That was good news.
But she didn’t mention the other fifteen tests.
It was an awkward silence.
Enter Natural Healer
So here I was – 31 years old. In the last year alone I’d suffered from unexplained and extreme fatigue, weight gain, nausea, insomnia, anxiety, migraines, depression, vertigo, lower back pain, a mysterious skin ailment and numerous “infections” that antibiotics couldn’t treat.
I’d seen my doctors more times in the prior year than in the five before that. I’d undergone blood work, x-rays, saliva samples, urine samples and a few other procedures that landed me in some of Kaiser’s scariest departments.
I spent countless hours on the internet devouring information about my symptoms, which was the only thing I was capable of doing in my pajamas in bed. I learned to read medical treatises and clinical trials, all while panicking over other people’s chat room horror stories (some obviously exaggerated) about how they never got cured.
I was exhausted from being so exhausted.
And yet, I had no answers. I was just Normal.
My life, of course, was not. It was virtually unrecognizable. Gone were the vacations and parties, along with the gregarious ringleader always up for an adventure. In their place were TIVO and a despondent fat-ass, incapable of carrying on a conversation about anything other than health.
I was, in a word, a loser.
So, at the multiple urgings of my closest friend, I decided to visit a naturopath/acupuncturist whose specialty is a form of alternative medicine called "nutrition autonomic response testing," a method utilizing muscle responses/reflexes to identify and treat the root cause(s) of certain ailments. She’d been seeing him for years, with great results.
At first, his techniques sounded like quack medicine.
Then I remembered that my HMO was a total funny farm.
I decided I had nothing to lose.
I still remember the exact date of my first appointment with him. It was – for better and worse - the date that changed the course of my life forever.
I’d seen my doctors more times in the prior year than in the five before that. I’d undergone blood work, x-rays, saliva samples, urine samples and a few other procedures that landed me in some of Kaiser’s scariest departments.
I spent countless hours on the internet devouring information about my symptoms, which was the only thing I was capable of doing in my pajamas in bed. I learned to read medical treatises and clinical trials, all while panicking over other people’s chat room horror stories (some obviously exaggerated) about how they never got cured.
I was exhausted from being so exhausted.
And yet, I had no answers. I was just Normal.
My life, of course, was not. It was virtually unrecognizable. Gone were the vacations and parties, along with the gregarious ringleader always up for an adventure. In their place were TIVO and a despondent fat-ass, incapable of carrying on a conversation about anything other than health.
I was, in a word, a loser.
So, at the multiple urgings of my closest friend, I decided to visit a naturopath/acupuncturist whose specialty is a form of alternative medicine called "nutrition autonomic response testing," a method utilizing muscle responses/reflexes to identify and treat the root cause(s) of certain ailments. She’d been seeing him for years, with great results.
At first, his techniques sounded like quack medicine.
Then I remembered that my HMO was a total funny farm.
I decided I had nothing to lose.
I still remember the exact date of my first appointment with him. It was – for better and worse - the date that changed the course of my life forever.
The Pushy Patient - Melasma
Although I had been through the ringer health-wise, nothing could have prepared me for the trauma of the medically-non-threatening-but-somehow-completely-debilitating condition of melasma. Even the word makes me cringe.
Melasma is a skin condition that affects primarily women with olive to dark toned skin, with a decent amount of pigment already. In other words, all minorities (like they need one more thing to worry about), tan people and everyone south of the equator.
Mind you, I’m none of these.
Anyway, melasma is technically a type of hyperpigmentation that appears on the face, usually in the form of large patches, spots or streaks of darkened skin. And it is notoriously resistant to treatment.
Yeah, you read that right – Dark. Patches. Face. Permanent.
Doctors will tell you the good news about melasma is that it’s not life threatening and usually “not related to any other symptoms.” Women with this condition will tell you that it’s very life threatening, since those of us who have it want to kill someone.
No one really knows what causes melasma. Some speculate that it’s caused by hormone fluctuations because it’s very common in women who are pregnant (known as cholasma – the mask of pregnancy). However, the vast majority of sufferers, like me, have not been pregnant or taken any form of oral contraceptives, which disproves that theory for many. This leaves the medical community totally baffled, but completely unmotivated to do anything about it. Of course, the dermatologists, medspas and plastic surgeons are all over it – coming up with new and dangerous lights, lasers, peels and other creams that attack your face with the promise of clear skin. Not surprisingly, none of them work. My wallet knows this firsthand.
Perhaps most upsetting about melasma is that any amount of sun will exacerbate it. So women live with this condition for years, hiding out from others, avoiding social interaction, and of course, staying inside. At the same time, they are told by western doctors that there is no complete cure. As you can imagine, the level of distress associated with this condition is unusually high.
Little did I know when my face started turning colors that my journey with melasma would be long and life-altering. I credit it with my extreme determination to understand and achieve maximum health.
I knew my vanity would eventually pay off.
Melasma is a skin condition that affects primarily women with olive to dark toned skin, with a decent amount of pigment already. In other words, all minorities (like they need one more thing to worry about), tan people and everyone south of the equator.
Mind you, I’m none of these.
Anyway, melasma is technically a type of hyperpigmentation that appears on the face, usually in the form of large patches, spots or streaks of darkened skin. And it is notoriously resistant to treatment.
Yeah, you read that right – Dark. Patches. Face. Permanent.
Doctors will tell you the good news about melasma is that it’s not life threatening and usually “not related to any other symptoms.” Women with this condition will tell you that it’s very life threatening, since those of us who have it want to kill someone.
No one really knows what causes melasma. Some speculate that it’s caused by hormone fluctuations because it’s very common in women who are pregnant (known as cholasma – the mask of pregnancy). However, the vast majority of sufferers, like me, have not been pregnant or taken any form of oral contraceptives, which disproves that theory for many. This leaves the medical community totally baffled, but completely unmotivated to do anything about it. Of course, the dermatologists, medspas and plastic surgeons are all over it – coming up with new and dangerous lights, lasers, peels and other creams that attack your face with the promise of clear skin. Not surprisingly, none of them work. My wallet knows this firsthand.
Perhaps most upsetting about melasma is that any amount of sun will exacerbate it. So women live with this condition for years, hiding out from others, avoiding social interaction, and of course, staying inside. At the same time, they are told by western doctors that there is no complete cure. As you can imagine, the level of distress associated with this condition is unusually high.
Little did I know when my face started turning colors that my journey with melasma would be long and life-altering. I credit it with my extreme determination to understand and achieve maximum health.
I knew my vanity would eventually pay off.
The Pushy Patient - Complicated Migraines with Aura
Another weird thing that popped up around this time was a series of “complicated migraines.” These types of migraines are particularly debilitating and scary, as they involve a host of stroke-like symptoms (vision impairment, numbness, inability to comprehend words, etc.) that precede the actual headache and can really freak a person out.
There were times when I didn’t get the headache at all, just the neurological symptoms (known as the “aura”), and was too out of it to even find the phone and call forfood help. And although the symptoms usually subside within two to six hours, the suffering, confusion and fear during that time is pretty intense.
I’d had these migraines before – in my late teens (sorry Dad) when I took the combination birth control pill. But when the doctors switched me over to Depoprovera, a progesterone-only, injected birth control, they subsided. Now, for no obvious reason, they were reappearing with increasing regularity, although I was still on the Depoprovera.
The good and bad news is that they disturbed my neurologist so much that I didn’t have to demand all of the expensive brain tests – he ordered them for me. One MRI and CT Scan later, my brain appeared to be fine, and again I left with no real explanation for the cause of my symptoms.
I did, however, leave with a prescription for a new drug called Topamax, which he advised me to take once a day for the rest of my life, and a pamphlet on migraines that instructed me to get eight hours of sleep per night (but not more than nine) and stay away from the possible–but-not-confirmed causes, including: chocolate, MSG, all nuts, all beans, caffeine, hard work, red meat, red wine, probiotics, bright lights, bread, sugar, rough sex, the sun, bananas, perfume, avocados, sweeteners, humidity, cheese, stress, smoke, paint and pickles.
Looking at that pamphlet, it’s super hard to believe that modern medicine hasn’t cracked cancer. I mean, with this caliber of detective work.
At any rate, reading the pamphlet felt like a lot of hard work. So, as instructed, I avoided it.
There were times when I didn’t get the headache at all, just the neurological symptoms (known as the “aura”), and was too out of it to even find the phone and call for
I’d had these migraines before – in my late teens (sorry Dad) when I took the combination birth control pill. But when the doctors switched me over to Depoprovera, a progesterone-only, injected birth control, they subsided. Now, for no obvious reason, they were reappearing with increasing regularity, although I was still on the Depoprovera.
The good and bad news is that they disturbed my neurologist so much that I didn’t have to demand all of the expensive brain tests – he ordered them for me. One MRI and CT Scan later, my brain appeared to be fine, and again I left with no real explanation for the cause of my symptoms.
I did, however, leave with a prescription for a new drug called Topamax, which he advised me to take once a day for the rest of my life, and a pamphlet on migraines that instructed me to get eight hours of sleep per night (but not more than nine) and stay away from the possible–but-not-confirmed causes, including: chocolate, MSG, all nuts, all beans, caffeine, hard work, red meat, red wine, probiotics, bright lights, bread, sugar, rough sex, the sun, bananas, perfume, avocados, sweeteners, humidity, cheese, stress, smoke, paint and pickles.
Looking at that pamphlet, it’s super hard to believe that modern medicine hasn’t cracked cancer. I mean, with this caliber of detective work.
At any rate, reading the pamphlet felt like a lot of hard work. So, as instructed, I avoided it.
The Pushy Patient - Back Pain and Thirst
Around the same time that the vertigo was coming and going, I developed very severe lower back pain, along with a mysterious need to drink water every ten minutes, which in turn caused an even more urgent need to urinate about as often. Even in the middle of the night.
As someone who had always been addicted to diet soda, my sudden urge for water was uncharacteristic. But I couldn’t stay off of the stuff. So, between the back pain and waking up every hour to hit the bathroom (and every wall on the way there), my sleep was seriously compromised. This went on for weeks.
So I e-mailed my doctor. Not surprisingly, he wrote back with a referral to endocrinology instead of an appointment time with him. Being theannoying assertive patient was starting to have its advantages.
The only problem was that I had been to this endocrinologist before, for the blatantly obvious thyroid problem he wouldn’t diagnose. So this time, he tested me for diabetes, which was at least fresh and different. I hadn’t stumbled across that during internet medical school.
I was beginning to think we were onto something, which was awesome even though I definitely didn’t want to have diabetes. Amazing how a desperate desire for relief can prompt a prayer for any condition with a name. Regardless, another trip to the lab - where I was starting to make friends - resulted in another diagnosis of normal.
Groundhog Day.
At the same time, he told me the back pain was probably due to my position during deep sleeping – like I was getting myself twisted into a pretzel and staying there through the night. That would have been a good explanation but for the fact that I hadn’t really slept at all in weeks, much less deeply. Regardless, I took apart the bed, rotated the mattress, got new pillows and removed the feather bed. No change.
So I called him back to explain that the bedroom gymnastics didn’t work. That’s when he did what every other western doc does in a situation like this - where they have no answer - punt to another doctor. And then suggest anti-depressants.
I think he was hoping that a better attitude about my declining health would at least keep me out of his office.
Fat chance.
As someone who had always been addicted to diet soda, my sudden urge for water was uncharacteristic. But I couldn’t stay off of the stuff. So, between the back pain and waking up every hour to hit the bathroom (and every wall on the way there), my sleep was seriously compromised. This went on for weeks.
So I e-mailed my doctor. Not surprisingly, he wrote back with a referral to endocrinology instead of an appointment time with him. Being the
The only problem was that I had been to this endocrinologist before, for the blatantly obvious thyroid problem he wouldn’t diagnose. So this time, he tested me for diabetes, which was at least fresh and different. I hadn’t stumbled across that during internet medical school.
I was beginning to think we were onto something, which was awesome even though I definitely didn’t want to have diabetes. Amazing how a desperate desire for relief can prompt a prayer for any condition with a name. Regardless, another trip to the lab - where I was starting to make friends - resulted in another diagnosis of normal.
Groundhog Day.
At the same time, he told me the back pain was probably due to my position during deep sleeping – like I was getting myself twisted into a pretzel and staying there through the night. That would have been a good explanation but for the fact that I hadn’t really slept at all in weeks, much less deeply. Regardless, I took apart the bed, rotated the mattress, got new pillows and removed the feather bed. No change.
So I called him back to explain that the bedroom gymnastics didn’t work. That’s when he did what every other western doc does in a situation like this - where they have no answer - punt to another doctor. And then suggest anti-depressants.
I think he was hoping that a better attitude about my declining health would at least keep me out of his office.
Fat chance.
The Pushy Patient - Vertigo
Likely tired of seeing me, my doctor promptly referred me (and my growing file) to an ear-nose-throat specialist for the dizziness. I ran into two walls on the way there.
The ENT doc was pretty nice, but like most specialists, was rushed and made me feel like I was holding her hostage. So I stuck to the facts pertaining to my ears, nose and throat, despite the fact that I really wanted a female’s opinion on my sudden weight gain. I had taken detailed notes outlining the precise times and circumstances surrounding my dizziness spells, but then couldn’t read my own writing.
She basically surmised that my condition was lingering vertigo leftover from the earlier upper respiratory infection and due to some junk still in my head (if she only knew). The prognosis was that it “would likely go away soon, but some people have it forever.”
Huh. Soon….or… never. My co-pay would have been better off with a magic eight ball.
So… I took the next round of antibiotics she prescribed (you’d think I would have learned). Of course, nothing happened to the vertigo, but I did develop some interesting and disgusting new side effects.
I then decided to go back to my trusted medical treatises - google and WebMD - to do some serious research for myself. I mostly found nothing. BUT, there was a You Tube video made by a guy who had vertigo for a few months and suddenly cured it with an interesting body-twisting yogic maneuver. He did the whole demonstration online. It was pretty cool, although I couldn’t focus on him long enough to get the whole thing down. He seemed pretty passionate about helping people cure their spins. I remember thinking that it was the most empathy for my situation I had felt from another person in a while. What a nice guy.
The ENT doc was pretty nice, but like most specialists, was rushed and made me feel like I was holding her hostage. So I stuck to the facts pertaining to my ears, nose and throat, despite the fact that I really wanted a female’s opinion on my sudden weight gain. I had taken detailed notes outlining the precise times and circumstances surrounding my dizziness spells, but then couldn’t read my own writing.
She basically surmised that my condition was lingering vertigo leftover from the earlier upper respiratory infection and due to some junk still in my head (if she only knew). The prognosis was that it “would likely go away soon, but some people have it forever.”
Huh. Soon….or… never. My co-pay would have been better off with a magic eight ball.
So… I took the next round of antibiotics she prescribed (you’d think I would have learned). Of course, nothing happened to the vertigo, but I did develop some interesting and disgusting new side effects.
I then decided to go back to my trusted medical treatises - google and WebMD - to do some serious research for myself. I mostly found nothing. BUT, there was a You Tube video made by a guy who had vertigo for a few months and suddenly cured it with an interesting body-twisting yogic maneuver. He did the whole demonstration online. It was pretty cool, although I couldn’t focus on him long enough to get the whole thing down. He seemed pretty passionate about helping people cure their spins. I remember thinking that it was the most empathy for my situation I had felt from another person in a while. What a nice guy.
Sick and Sicker
As fall turned to winter, I began to develop even more ailments. An upper respiratory infection that just wouldn’t quit wreaked havoc on my throat and lungs for four straight weeks. And despite the fact that my docs thought it was a “particularly bad virus going around this year” (I didn’t know anyone with it), they gave me antibiotics, which don’t treat viruses. For some reason, I took them.
Out of desperation, I also doused my larynx a few times with some codeine-laced Tylenol, another prescription I had no problem obtaining. But nothing happened. I didn’t even get high off the codeine.
Then as even more bad luck wouldn’t have it, my father had emergency open heart surgery a week later, so we were both miserable. But at least we were in sunny southern California.
My dad has a hot tub at his house, so I decided to self-prescribe some spa time for my burning lungs. I soaked in it nightly. Surprisingly, I felt better. I thought maybe I was onto something with the bubbles.
But a week later, I woke up and the room was spinning.
Only I wasn’t drunk.
And it didn’t… stop… spinning.
Out of desperation, I also doused my larynx a few times with some codeine-laced Tylenol, another prescription I had no problem obtaining. But nothing happened. I didn’t even get high off the codeine.
Then as even more bad luck wouldn’t have it, my father had emergency open heart surgery a week later, so we were both miserable. But at least we were in sunny southern California.
My dad has a hot tub at his house, so I decided to self-prescribe some spa time for my burning lungs. I soaked in it nightly. Surprisingly, I felt better. I thought maybe I was onto something with the bubbles.
But a week later, I woke up and the room was spinning.
Only I wasn’t drunk.
And it didn’t… stop… spinning.
The Pushy Patient - Thyroid
Initially, the evidence pointed to a thyroid problem. That much was clear. It runs in my family and I had every symptom on the WebMD thyroid list (slam dunk). But the doctors assured me I was fine. The T3, T4 and TSH tests all came back normal. I was told the extra fifteen pounds were probably due to a slowing thirty-something metabolism (in the last six months?) and that the rest was related to stress.
Stress? That one was particularly hysterical. I used to be a lawyer. We invented stress. I didn’t recently stumble upon this phenomenon. I’ve been de-stressing and re-stressing for a decade. I know when something is stress, and this wasn’t it.
So, naturally, I made them test me again.
Normal.
Again.
Shit.
Now on top of being clinically fine (which for some reason upset me), I was also Public Enemy #1 at Kaiser for all the tests I wasdemanding ordering. I sensed this wouldn’t help my plight in the future. On top of that, I was starting to get stressed.
Stress? That one was particularly hysterical. I used to be a lawyer. We invented stress. I didn’t recently stumble upon this phenomenon. I’ve been de-stressing and re-stressing for a decade. I know when something is stress, and this wasn’t it.
So, naturally, I made them test me again.
Normal.
Again.
Shit.
Now on top of being clinically fine (which for some reason upset me), I was also Public Enemy #1 at Kaiser for all the tests I was
30 is the New 80
I rang in my 30th birthday like most Americans – slightly inebriated and surrounded by friends. I couldn’t relate to the people who feared this big milestone. I was finally settled in my career, financially stable, in functional relationships (parents excluded), on top of my health, and ready to party.
I thought I was in the prime of my life. I had been exercising regularly for almost a decade and finally weighed the number I’d put on my driver’s license at 16, which is ironic because it was perjury even then.
On top of that, I had never done drugs or smoked, I rarely went to the doctor, and really only abused alcohol on special occasions. To me, I was in picture perfect health.
Six months later and very out of the blue, I became very sick. Sudden severe exhaustion and fatigue prevented me from getting out of bed in the morning, much less to the gym; I was experiencing frequent nausea and vomiting, which is very traumatic when you’re sober; I was paralyzed with hopelessness, sadness and anxiety, which might have had something to do with the fifteen pounds I gained overnight and – to boot - began to develop strange dark spots on my space. Even in the best of lighting, I looked like a neurotic chubby leopard.
Still trying to come to grips with my declining health, I began to take on fewer clients so that I could rest and make getting well my fulltime job. But it wasn’t working. The rest made me more tired. The fears about my health only made the anxiety worse. And being sluggish made my two-story house look like Everest.
At the same time, my team of western doctors repeatedly told me that my tests were normal – all clear.
But clearly something was wrong. And I knew it in my gut. Leary of taking the multiple medications offered to fix my individual symptoms, I began a quest to find solutions to the underlying problem.
This blog is an ongoing chronicle of that journey. It continues today.
I am now 32.
I thought I was in the prime of my life. I had been exercising regularly for almost a decade and finally weighed the number I’d put on my driver’s license at 16, which is ironic because it was perjury even then.
On top of that, I had never done drugs or smoked, I rarely went to the doctor, and really only abused alcohol on special occasions. To me, I was in picture perfect health.
Six months later and very out of the blue, I became very sick. Sudden severe exhaustion and fatigue prevented me from getting out of bed in the morning, much less to the gym; I was experiencing frequent nausea and vomiting, which is very traumatic when you’re sober; I was paralyzed with hopelessness, sadness and anxiety, which might have had something to do with the fifteen pounds I gained overnight and – to boot - began to develop strange dark spots on my space. Even in the best of lighting, I looked like a neurotic chubby leopard.
Still trying to come to grips with my declining health, I began to take on fewer clients so that I could rest and make getting well my fulltime job. But it wasn’t working. The rest made me more tired. The fears about my health only made the anxiety worse. And being sluggish made my two-story house look like Everest.
At the same time, my team of western doctors repeatedly told me that my tests were normal – all clear.
But clearly something was wrong. And I knew it in my gut. Leary of taking the multiple medications offered to fix my individual symptoms, I began a quest to find solutions to the underlying problem.
This blog is an ongoing chronicle of that journey. It continues today.
I am now 32.
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