Ten days ago, I opened up my mailbox and found what looked like “real mail.” It was a rather-fat #10 envelope, neatly addressed with human handwriting (printing, actually) and a first-class stamp. My full name and address were there, but, curiously, there was no return address. It was postmarked May 19: Santa Ana, California.
I excitedly opened it up, thinking that, perhaps, some friend had taken the time to write me a letter – even though I didn’t think I knew anyone in Santa Ana. (But: who gets real mail these days!? What a treat!)
Well, such was not the case.
What I found was a folded-up four-page newsprint “article” (a newspaper insert, one corner identified it as the Weekly Journal, labeled “advertisement” at the top center of the page) describing a commercial herbal mixture called “Cho-Wa.” At the top of the first page, there was more handwriting, saying simply:
James, Check it out! J
Or at least I think it was signed “J.” I’m not totally sure. (Maybe it was a “T?”)
So, I’m thinking: what’s going on here? And, who calls me James?
I was curious enough to read the entire article, though, which purported to document the profound health benefits of an ancient Japanese herbal mixture designed to enhance “ki,” or “life force.” (Also known as “vital energy” or “spiritual energy.” The Chinese word is “qi” – pronounced “chee” – and I’ve written about this concept before, here and here.)
(I subsequently found the full text of this article online…click here if you’re interested.)
Since every visit I’ve ever had with a practitioner of Traditional Chinese Medicine has assessed me as “qi deficient,” I naturally paid close attention to this article. Of course, it was an advertisement for a product, and offered up practically miraculous stories of restoration.
And, I continued to wonder: who the heck sent this to me?
After thinking about it some, I went to the website listed and ordered a month’s supply, though. What could it hurt? I’m already taking a variety of supplements, and, over time, have experimented with a wide spectrum of natural products in order to find assistance for what ails me.
A few days later, the product arrived. It was slickly packaged and professionally invoiced. The box of 30 individual packets came with a little 10-page instruction book entitled “How to Experience Cho-Wa. Harmony is Strength.” It advises the user to set up a regular ritual to take the product, setting aside about 15 minutes a day to stir the packet contents into 6 ounces of cool water and then very slowly sip the mixture. As it takes some time to dissolve the powder into the water, the advice is to “simply continue stirring and go deeper into your awareness of the present moment.”
I’m on my third day of taking this formula now. And there’s not much new to report with respect to my physical well-being yet.
But I’ve continued to be curious about how I got this letter; so today I did some research on the web. Apparently, the letter did not come from anyone I know…this appears to be a “marketing technique.” Some even claim that it’s a total scam, aimed at “a demographic pre-disposed to … poor judgment with respect to mass marketing ploys: the elderly.”
Ah, so.
Well, it apparently works. I guess this old fart still believes in the Fountain of Youth, and am willing to follow anyone who claims that it really exists.
Silly, naïve, me.
Soundtrack Suggestion
Live a life less ordinary Live a life extraordinary with me Live a life less sedentary Live a life evolutionary with me Well I hate to be a bother, But it’s you and there’s no other, I do believe You can call me naïve but... I know me very well (at least as far as I can tell) And I know what I need ...
I went walking along the Pacific Ocean beach of San Francisco’s Sunset District during the weekend. It was an incredible day: bright sunshine, cloudless, not-too-windy. I was dressed in layers, but many (individuals, couples, families) were attired simply in shorts and t-shirts.
As I walked up and down the beach, I couldn’t help but notice how, well, dirty, the landscape looked. This ocean-front bore very little resemblance at all to the array of pristine beaches I am accustomed to in Oregon.
I had to ask myself: what’s going on here?
Well, consider…
On November 7, 2007, not long after I moved to the Bay Area, a wayward container ship (the Cosco Busan) ran right into the Bay Bridge and spilled 54,000 gallons of bunker fuel oil into the water.
You must remember hearing about this. It was a mess. Beaches were blackened; more than 2,500 birds died. (And 20,000 more may have been put at risk.) And who knows what other health risks were created!
At the time, I was just starting a new job in the North Bay, and was pretty much totally focused on my own personal survival. The oil spill, to me, was sort of background noise.
Now, this spring, I get out on a nice day and look at the beaches…and think…ohmygod!
Bunker fuel spills are extremely toxic to marine life, especially birds that float and feed through a spill. The oil inhibits the birds ability to thermo-regulate and they become cold as their natural insulation in their feathers break down. The birds spend most of their time trying to preen the oil out of feathers and thus ingesting the oil. Weakened, they will often beach themselves and fall prey to predators or die from the toxic effects of oil…
Please remember : Do not attempt to wash, feed or house oiled birds and other animals! Spilled oil is extremely toxic. The use of proper gloves and protocols must be followed to insure the safety of the public AND the animals.
So, I am asking: am I really ok when I’m out walking around on these beaches these days!? How would I know?
As I was mulling over options after my visit to the neurologist, and in the context of my entire off-again/on-again relationship with Fibroplex (described in the previous entry), I scheduled another appointment with my primary-care physician. This is a report on that little adventure.
My primary-care guy is the one who has been ordering some tests and making the referrals to the specialists I’ve seen lately. During my initial appointment with him, I, of course, explained the history of my chronic-pain issues, including the opinion of one of my previous doctors that this is likely fibromyalgia I’m dealing with here. He was not exactly receptive to that theory, and suggested that, as much as anything, fibromyalgia is a diagnosis of exclusion. That is to say, before we could justify a fibromyalgia diagnosis, we should rule out a whole bunch of other things that just may be causing my symptoms.
I said, “OK.”
Hence my experiences, reported here previously, with such things as X-rays, bone scans, MRIs, blood and urine tests, physical therapy, and the neurologist consultation. As a result, we have ruled out a whole host of potential issues for me, including: tumors, diabetes, lyme disease, Hashimoto’s disease, lupus, multiple sclerosis, Vitamin-D deficiency, and heavy-metal toxicity (to name just a few).
This has all been quite a relief, of course. It seems as if I’m not going to die anytime soon. At least of what ails me currently.
Of course, I am still in pain. All the while, I continue to take my daily regimen of vitamins and dietary supplements (including, now, a slightly-reduced dose of Fibroplex). And I continue to see my Feldenkrais practitioner, a person who is helping me change some of the personal habits that apparently have contributed to my bodily woes.
So. Back to the story of the doctor’s-office visit.
I related to him my recent experience of stopping Fibroplex, and the negative impact it had on my body in the space of only about four days.
He took a look at the bottle of Fibroplex I had brought along for my show-and-tell and asked me how it was I came to take this supplement at this dose. When I informed him that a naturopathic physician in Oregon had suggested it, he replied that I “might want to hire a lawyer to talk about that,” implying, of course, that I sue my naturopath.
I said, “well, that’s not going to happen.”
Then came the really good part. “There’s just no way that stopping this (as he held the supplement bottle in his hand) could have produced the effect you describe. I think you’re ascribing a great deal of power to these pills to keep you functioning. But that just couldn’t be. I think we have to consider that there’s a significant psychiatric factor at work here.”
Oh, good. How entirely wonderful. My own doctor, instead of saying “how interesting, I wonder how we can figure what’s really going on with your body, given this information,” …. instead chooses to think I’m, well, (to use a technical term) nuts.
Here’s what I believe.
We don’t understand a lot about our bodies. There are many things that just can’t be explained. And, with some of the explanations that do exist, there are many folks out there who don’t, or won’t, accept or believe them. For example, take the recent article in the New York Times entitled “Drug Approved. Is Disease Real?” This piece discusses the recent FDA approval of Lyrica as the first prescription medication for fibromyalgia (a condition “characterized by chronic, widespread pain of unknown origin”). The author contends, not-so-subtly, that fibromyalgia is not a disease and that people who suffer from the constellation of symptoms typically characterized by the condition simply have not learned to live with pain that most people are able to cope with. Further, there is really no benefit of the recently-approved drug, other than for the drug companies to make a lot of money. (Well, of course, this last part is likely accurate.)
I don’t know whether fibromyalgia is “real” or not. Whatever that might mean. And, if it is, I don’t know whether or not I have “it.” For the time being, I continue to have a condition that has no label, except to describe what is actually happening to me: chronic pain.
Yes, I acknowledge that there is quite likely a mind-body connection operative here. I wholeheartedly believe that. Psychoneuroimmunology is an established field in the scientific community, and I have confidently theorized that my long-standing anxieties associated with job loss; rejection and relationship loss; and dramatic life change, have all had a profound impact on my body.
So: let’s explore that. Let’s work with that. Let’s not dismiss my condition as merely “psychiatric” with no plan of action.
Because, the thing about pain is: it always hurts.
I thought I’d return, today, to a discussion of health and health care…issues that are constantly on my mind.
Ten days ago I had a second appointment with my neurologist. After my first visit late last year, I had a battery of tests, including brain and spinal MRIs – and more blood and urine work than I had ever had done at one time before. So, during this subsequent appointment, I was prepared to receive the results. After arrival, and hanging out for a few minutes in the waiting room, I was soon called to the back office where the doctor’s nurse practitioner saw me first.
She asked why I was there.
(Huh? Why am I here? You don’t know that?!)
I politely (as I could) informed her that I’d had a lot of tests done since the last time, and I was here for the follow-up. She asked if anything had changed with my condition, and I said, “no, we’ve done no interventions, only tests.”
She looked up my results on the computer in front of her, and quickly found the report from my brain MRI. She read from the screen, noting that the result was “unremarkable – that’s a good thing.” Then she scrolled to the report from the lumbar MRI, and started reading. She was totally winging this, I surmised, and when she got to a certain part that sounded like it might be going into delicate territory, something about an “irregularity” perhaps (I forgot the exact word, I was stunned that she was so obviously unprepared), she abruptly stopped and said, “well, we should probably let the doctor interpret these findings for you.”
I icily agreed. “Yes, that’s a good idea. Why don’t we let her do that.”
And then: I was left to hang out in the office alone for the next 25 minutes as I contemplated my fate, wondering what it could possibly be that we had left unread and unsaid.
Well, it turned out that the waiting was the hardest part. This clueless nurse practitioner had led me to the brink for nothing, really. When the doctor arrived, she stated that the lumbar MRI indicated I have a disc pressing on a nerve in the L5-S1 area, which, if I were symptomatic, should be causing shooting pain down my leg. Well, that’s not an issue I have, so the theory is that my body may have adjusted to this condition – and I may or may not ever experience this as a problem.
The MRI results apparently ruled out a whole host of potential issues for me, though, including MS. Despite the bumpy start with the nurse practitioner, I was now thinking, “this is going well.”
The more interesting result was from the blood work. It seems I have a terrifically high level of Vitamin B6, to the point that I am now diagnosed with “B6 toxicity” – as a possible explanation for my array of bodily aches and pains, especially my peripheral neuropathy. She ordered me to cease all forms of B6 intake immediately (in my ambitious daily regimen of dietary supplements).
When I got home to read the labels of my supplement bottles, I discovered that the major source of Vitamin B6 for me is in the supplement that I attribute to saving my life last year. It’s called Fibroplex, and it’s been nothing short of a wonder drug. So, I wondered, what would happen if I stopped? …might my body have healed enough in the last thirteen months that I don’t really need it any more?
Well, despite my nervousness, last week I eliminated all B6 sources. Cold turkey. Including my beloved Fibroplex.
It didn’t take long to get an answer about the consequences. Within a couple of days, my head started to hurt. My ears clogged up; my hearing diminished. Within three days I had a splitting, mind-blowing headache, and I started to feel a veil of depression descend over me. By the fourth day, the pain from my head was becoming more generalized throughout my body, and I was remembering the awfulness of what my condition (whatever this is, perhaps it’s fibromyalgia, maybe something else entirely) can really bring to my life. And, I was thoroughly depressed. I showed up at work that day, but I was totally worthless. I was in an absolute fog the entire time.
It was during that morning I concluded this particular experiment was an obvious, utter failure. I went home at noon and started taking Fibroplex again. And I took some more that evening, so by the next morning, day number five, I was practically back to normal (for me).
So, what with all my recent doctor appointments in the last few months, and thousand and thousands of dollars of tests later, all I know is that I have a disc/nerve irregularity that appears in an MRI – and likely a case of B6 toxicity. Except: it just so happens that my major source of B6 is actually allowing me to function in this world. With a (mostly) manageable level of pain. And depression-free.
I have had another look at living on the edge. It took me only four days to start a very real journey into a living hell; thankfully I knew how to bring myself back to something resembling health.
This whole journey called life is pretty scary at times.
Within these pages, I continue to visit and revisit the themes of our culture’s relationship to cell phones and the general level of noise pollution we’re all subjected to on a daily basis. There are precious few places to go, it seems, to escape and find some peace and quiet.
I suppose part of my personal issue here is that I am a rather quiet guy myself…a quality that happens to go along with my reputation as a good listener. Everyone says so. For example, when we talk, I look you in the eye. And I pay close attention. I don’t interrupt. I strive to really grasp the meaning of what you’re trying to say to me. I ask questions of you to help deepen my understanding. I try not to insert my opinions where they’re inappropriate or unwanted. I really hope I don’t say anything to discount your ideas and/or feelings. And then: I’m just plain silent and attentive while you’re speaking.
Simply put, I’m a highly-skilled active listener. My training as a counselor, years ago now, has served me well in developing and maintaining a healthy set of communication skills. In fact, I have even been characterized as “scary” in this area. A female friend of mine once told me that I likely frighten other women away…since people are generally not very accustomed to being paid attention to so intensely. “Your ability to be present is very rare and actually a little scary,” she said.
Today, in the Sunday edition of the Marin Independent Journal, I found a reprint of an article from the Vallejo Times-Herald. The headline is “Performers Confront Cell Phone Offenders,” and the piece talks about entertainers’ issues with folks who show up to performances (plays, musical events, stand-up comedians, etc.) without turning off their phones. This is, of course, maddening for all concerned. For example, as an actor, how do you continue in your rhythm if a cell phone rings during a dramatic moment of a live on-stage performance?
My question for the day is: how does this very dynamic play out all the time in our own lives? How are we supposed to keep our personal rhythm when all anyone wants to do is pay attention to those electronic devices hanging from their belt, rattling around in their jacket pocket, or buried in their purse?
If we, as human beings, ever had the ability to really pay attention to each other, it seems to have totally evaporated. The article I read today contains a quote from comic Johnny Steele who characterizes this as a “national discourtesy epidemic.”
I absolutely agree. For all our gadgets that supposedly keep us connected, we are, in reality, totally disconnected. I submit that we just do not know how to be present with others: how to be present withjust one other person. I believe we’re always paying attention to something else.
I was having dinner the other night with a long-time friend who I hadn’t seen in a few years. I was trying to explain the stresses related to employment changes, and the physical challenges of my life, in recent times. I was unsuccessful in my communication efforts. During the conversation, I needed to halt at one point as the cell phone on his belt apparently vibrated: he held up his finger and then checked a test message that had just come in. And then, while trying to convey my mood and worries about these challenges, the message I got? My feelings don’t really matter: all I need to do is think of all the poor folks in Bangladesh who have it worse than me…and I should perk right up.
Truly, I believe, we’re a disconnected society, unable to care about or pay attention to each other. And I know it’s probably not the fault of cell phones, or TVs or computers. But regarding keeping us connected? They do just the opposite.
