The Heart of Medicine

It was in the weeks that followed my official diagnosis of ALS, or Lou Gehrig’s disease, that I experienced the heart of medicine. There were two soft openings, if you will, before the weight of becoming a person with ALS collapsed in. First when I originally went to a neurologist to explain my right-hand weakness, he quickly arrived at ALS, but said it was too rare for him to diagnose. He referred me to the ALS specializing neurologist across town. Surely there was some shock to hear a doctor say he thinks I have a terminal illness of total disability and no cure, but I could still brush it off with, "he clearly doesn't know what he is talking about!". Then when I went to the ALS specialist and she also told me that ALS was her leading suspicion, but I didn't fit the diagnostic criteria because I didn't have multiple limb weakness, I still had an out. Even though she gave an alternate diagnostic possibility, I could feel the reality closing in, like the cold cement walls of a trash compactor.

In the weeks that followed my diagnosis I felt like a dead man walking, just going through the motions as a ghost of my former self. I was in a deep cycle of denial and escapism. I knew that I needed to come out of it and face the fears that this brought up. Chinese medicine and acupuncture have its root in a holistic treatment paradigm that allows for the dispersion of impediments to the spirit's natural vibrancy to shine forth, like the wind clearing the clouds from the sky. I thought this would be a good place to start, and I made an appointment with Dr. T on his next available slot. I'll have to remain rather protective of Dr. T's true identity because the medical system has rules against this kind of expression of the heart of medicine. Dr. T and I were, and continue to be, very close. Even though I am not seeing him as a patient anymore, I am still looking forward to visiting him after the pandemic quarantine concludes. I wouldn't only ask him about my health, but also when I was needing marriage advice or general life guidance. He was a lighthouse for the times I was lost. He is a doctor of life.

I had been practicing trauma-tension release exercises (TRE) with Doctor Tamara Staudt. This practice stems from observing nature. When a gazelle narrowly escapes the jaws of a lion, and it is safe, it will vigorously shake out the trauma-tension. In this way animals immediately clear it from their fascia, the connective tissue sacks that hold muscles. Only one animal, humans, tends to hold on to trauma-tension, even protecting it. Therefore, I was a bit nervous before my acupuncture appointment with Dr. T that day. I believe that an acupuncture treatment is an invitation to sit before the mirror of the soul. With the help of the practitioner, they allow the resonance to improve between what we see in the mirror and who we truly are. I knew I would see a lot of fear in the mirror, and I was more comfortable not dealing with it. I was straightforward during the interview with the student intern. If I kept to my physical complaints, it would save me from dealing with the ocean of despair a little longer. Then Dr. T came into the room and the student brought him up to speed. He asked me if there was anything else to address today. It was the turning point that I had to choose whether I would be honest with myself and him or continue to suppress my feelings. As was my practice, based on the enveloping trust we had, I strove towards total openness, and the vulnerability that comes with it. I expressed how panicked I felt since my diagnosis, amongst other similar topics.

I got on the treatment table lying on my back. Dr. T began palpating my energy meridians and finding the points he wanted to use. He inserted the needles in my arms and legs. He instructed the student to massage along my kidney channel because fear is an expression of the kidney process. Surely, the ancient masters of Chinese medicine didn't know much about the adrenal glands that sit on top of the kidneys. That is beside the point when we consider that cortisol, the main stress hormone, is synthesized in the adrenal glands, as well as the shorter acting neurotransmitters, norepinepherine and epinephrine, that are part of the stress response. The student began massaging along the kidney channel. Dr. T had to check on another patient and said he would be back shortly.

I began relaxing into the moment, letting my breath be my guide. What began as a tremor in my hips rapidly grew into a volcano eruption. My legs were bouncing around while my torso jerked about. Rhythmic pulses passed through my whole body. The student took a step back. She was also trained in TRE with Dr. Staudt, so it was not completely outside the realm of the possible. As the one experiencing this though, it was becoming increasingly overwhelming. At first it was like a usual TRE session, but soon it grew well past anything I had experienced, and then some. There is a technique to bring yourself out of the shaking if needed. I was not able to do it and panic started to creep in with thoughts that this was out of control. What I could control was my breath and I used it to anchor me through the storm.

The waves continued to move through my body. At the crest of each North Shore size wave my acceptance of this experience was deeply challenged. After ten minutes or so of this Dr. T came back into the room. He looked at me in a seizure of sorts and said, "alright good ", as if this was part of his treatment plan. He began to further stimulate some of the points with the needles. He removed some of the needles from points that were finished and added a few more needles to points that were still needed for the treatment. All the while mind you, my whole body is still convulsing. It was like doing acupuncture while riding a horse in full gallop. I just watched him in amazement how he glided around my bouncing body with ease. He told the student to hold my kidney one points, the ultimate root of our being, in the bottom middle of the foot. Dr. T said I was doing great and leaned over me, giving me a kiss on my forehead. I had my eyes closed but I could "see" a golden glow around my forehead. At the same moment I felt a subtle rush of warmth go through my body. Dr. T and I had talked at length about the abuse by my father, both physically throughout my childhood and mental emotionally my whole life. This expression of the heart of medicine was pure paternal love.

What could be more healing for me? Dr. T stepped out again. The convulsive waves were still going through my body, but I was more at peace with it. I was still very uncertain about my future with ALS, but I knew I would be protected and cared for. Over the next ten minutes the shaking gradually sputtered out. What needed to be released was clearly discharged. After Dr. T came back to remove the needles, we finished the treatment with a warm embrace. That was some of the most profound healing of my life. Surely standards of care should not be rewritten for all doctors to kiss their patients. That said, can we hold the vision for a medical system where that type of intimate connection is possible, even the norm? Do we need a medical system that not only tolerates the mysterious nature of healing, but embraces and activity explores it as much as we do the known world?  

Let us be honest. If medicine is the ocean, we understand the Puget Sound, which is not technically the ocean. We are masters of inference. What we learn in the Puget Sound we infer how we can affect the ocean. What we able to do with our medical system is remarkable, but we have not begun to grasp the essence of the ocean. The heart of medicine, like the story I shared, can be explored and understood scientifically, to a point. Our capacity to understand the mysteries of life will always be limited, but that is not an excuse to not ask those questions, and continually reach for the heart of medicine. There is comfort in looking at blood analysis, a CT scan, or a sputum culture because we know how to understand the physical signs.

Although what can medicine offer those of us that suffer without physical signs, or those like myself who have unexplained disease processes like ALS, or my friend Brian who has his immune system attacking his digestive tract for an unknown reason? What can medicine do when it can't see the problem or see the solution? Does it need to see in a new way, to change the way we look at the question of healing, maybe start reaching for the essence of the ocean? I believe the answer is to begin to look beyond the physical elements of the human experience to see other layers. Rudolf Steiner proposed in his anthroposophic medical system the human to be seen as a physical layer or mineral aspect, a subtle energy layer or fluid aspect of chi utilized in Chinese medicine, a mental layer or airy astral influences, and finally our consciousness or fire of spirit. Only if we begin to see the whole human being can we hope to substantially reduce suffering to allow the higher processes to unfold to progress human evolution, the evolution of consciousness, the purpose of the heart of medicine.