MY WAY

       They, the doctors, can’t understand why I do not get all the tests they recommend.  The mammograms, the sigmoidoscopies, lungs, cancer, glucose tolercance, Pap smears and on and on and on.  Regular physicals. 

 

      I don’t drink or smoke.  I’m not overweight; do lots of exercise and I’ve done this all my life.  They say nothing about the fact that I take all these positive preventative measures ; they dwell on   what I don’t do according to AMA philosophy—I don’t get regular check-ups.

 

     Sometimes I worry about it, slightly, because I know I have a block.  And the block is very dense.  I know it’s not good.  I’m trying to work on it. I do go to the dermatologist regularly and the dentist. 

 

     You might have a block it you were abused by the system.  I was abused as a young adolescent subjected to hospitalization.  I was in the hospital for two weeks at the naïve age of 15.  Deathly ill.  Not even wanting to live because I was in so much excruciating pain.  The nurses wouldn’t clean up my vomit saying, “you did it you can live in it.”

 

      This was in a so-called civilized hospital with professional nurses.  Remember I was only 15.  I couldn’t sleep because I was in bed all day long.

 

      “No sleeping pills for you.  You’re a young girl.”     When I finally got to sleep in the wee hours of the morning they’d wake me up early, 6 AM, just to weigh me. 

 

     One morning coming into my room with no explanation at all they shaved all my pubic hairs for the upcoming operation.   At 15 years old this is devastating. Then another time they left me on a cold stainless steel gurney for at least 6 hours to do Barium x-rays.  No explanation.  No one told me anything.  I was skin and bones at the time; I had lost 25 pounds rather quickly and laying on cold stainless steal hurt my bones.

 

     I never, ever wanted to go back,  I vowed not to go back.  Doctors couldn’t make a diagnosis until I was out of the hospital.  Ulcerative Colitis.  I went through 1 ½ years of treatment.  The prednisone and cortisone bloated me, the diet was pretty hard but I finally started getting better.

 

     Mid- 1969, 2 years later, I was raped by a robber at gunpoint in July.  Then I had to endure going through hearings because my dad made a workman’s compensation case out of it as it happened on the job.  The cops, as I recall made my 17 year old naïve self think it was my fault.  This still upsets me.  What could I do to a black robber with a gun. 

 

     Then in October the cops planted narcotics  on my boyfriend and I.  This happened late one night in Westwood, California. It sounds unbelievable but once again there I was the naïve 17 year old adolescent. 

 

“My boyfriend asked me, “Did you have any drugs in the car.?”

 

“No,”  Did you?”

 

“No.” 

 

In fact we had gone to a movie that night expressly to avoid going to a party where everyone was going to sit around, listen to music and get stoned. 

 

     This led to another court case where my boyfriend, Larry’s, attorney told him he had to plead guilty and maybe get probabtion.  He said they would not believe us over the cops.  I was so upset at this and then my dad said,

 

   “I’ll get up on the stand and lie for you, the cops lie all the time”. 

 

     It was hard to believe once again but dad, after all, was in the building trades, building inspector (if you know what I mean). More upsetting, to this day, was the fact that the cops had not been there when I needed them and harassed us when they had no right.  Like I said they even made me feel like it was my fault I got raped at gunpoint.

 

     So there I was again.  Sick as a dog.  My senior year in high school.  I may have been able to cope with one incident; not two.  I was in the hospital one week after Westwood getting blood transfusions.  I couldn’t stop crying. 

 

     Once again subjected to the incompetence of the so called professionals.

They couldn’t even get the IV needles in my arms.  My arms were all black and blue and when they finally manage to get a needle in my arm it took eight hours for the one bottle to drip in.  One night at changing of the guard the night nurse came in and just elevated the bottle and blood flowed in—1/2 hour. 

 

     That was the last time in the hospital.  I had  arthritic like symptoms, not knowing  at the time that this was a side effect  from the rounds of prednisone I had to take.  I wore ace bandages all over my joints.   I remember my bloated high school photo face. 

 

     Two years later at 19 I started experiencing symptoms once again.  This time I took charge.  I quit my job, left my boyfriend and traveled to Washington State to visit a friend.  I got better in a week drinking Kefir. 

 

 

      Years later clients with ulcerative colitis would tell me the doctors told them there was no cure.  In my world this was not true and it started me thinking what other conditions are there “no cures” for.  That’s why I started this website, healingstories.com, to explore the success stories of anyone who has helped themselves get well in any manner what so ever.

 

      I haven’t had ulcerative colitis in 35 years and I’ve been under much more heavy stress in my life time.  I learned to take charge of my health and my life.  I do consult AMA physicians from time to time but I also consult alternative healthcare practitioners.   I make the final decision; I get informed. 

 

Prologe:  Trying to get over my block—35 years later.  I finally went to some doctors because I knew I had fibroids; I could feel them.  I also had some kind of “hernia” thing going on.  I went to a general surgeon for her opinion of the “hernia” thing. 

 

“Well I’m not really sure if it is a hernia but we can open you up and have a look”. 

 

Then she went on to inform me that I needed to have a colonectomy

 

     I was in shock but instead of going into a rage I told her the story of what the doctors told my mom at age 17. 

 

  “At 28 she will be married with 2 kids and have  a colostomy. "

    

     My colon looked like it was moth ridden.  Mom was livid.  My mom never told me this story until I was 28 and bounding off on a first class trip around the world.  I wasn’t married, didn’t have 2 kids and I didn’t have a colostomy. 

 

     This 2006 doctor went on to say,

 

 “50% of people with ulcerative colitis get cancer.”

 

      Maybe the doctors think this an appropriate to say.  I am not one of this 50% but the doctors don’t take that into consideration.  Not one doctor ever commended me on how I take care of myself.  They just tell me to take tests because  this or that may happen and I might get this or that disease.

 

     The last 2 months dealing with these doctors I have been more depressed than I have for many years. 

 

     And as for the hernia.  I finally was referred to a  Traditional Hawaiiian Lomi-Lomi  Healer.  This is not a fun procedure but healing runs in their families; they can move organs around and besides they have other ways of looking at disease and imbalance.   He really helped me and at this point I have no reason to return to the surgeon.