Table of Contents
TO ALL OUR READERS:
May you have a life full of health, love, and longevity.
Prologue
Lie still, Marianne. Relax.
I barely felt the gentle push as the needle entered my toe.
Good. Take a deep breath. Wonderful.
I nodded and steadied my breathing, eyes transfixed on a plastic statue of an odd little man perched on the bookcase. Naked and small in stature, he was covered head to toe in strange little red lines and black points. His lifeless eyes bored into me as the acupuncturist expertly maneuvered a row of needles up and down my body.
Close your eyes. Let go. The doctor smiled. Ill be back in a few minutes. She dimmed the lights and closed the door.
As the darkness settled over me, I asked myself once again, How did I get here? How did I end up so far from the doctors I had always trusted?
The whole thing began a few months earlier with a flu that felt like a lot of other flus. Fever. Lack of energy. Surely it would go away with some good nights rest. But in a few short days the fever had given way to worse symptoms: acute exhaustion, dehydration, and vertigo. Suddenly, every bone was throbbing, every joint was on fire. My skin felt as if I had belly flopped on a barrel cactus. Some days I lived in a floating mist, unable to complete the simplest task; other days, I couldnt get out of bed at all.
My situation had gone from miserable to desperate. Never could I have imagined being this sick. The mere brush of fabric, the faintest tickle of bedsheet against my skin was excruciating. Driving was nearly impossible, and finally even eating became difficult. In a matter of weeks, the vibrant rosy-cheeked woman in the mirror had transformed into a chalky white shell. And as my body deteriorated, so did my mental state. How could this be? What horrible disease was attacking me?
The first doctor I visited recommended more rest; the second, a course of antibiotics. Both were pleasant, concerned, but neither treatment had any effect. A specialist even put me through a battery of blood and hormonal tests. Yet again, the results were inconclusive.
Beta-blockers were prescribed for the pain, but without saying so, my Western doctors were throwing up their hands. The closest anyone could come to a diagnosis was a condition known as chronic fatigue syndrome. As the months rolled by, it felt as if I had been abandoned by medical science, condemned to exist with this agony for the rest of my life. I resigned myself to being a prisoner in my own body, unable to live the way I always had.
Then, one day, a ray of hope appeared. While I was at my therapists office, she mentioned Esther Ting, a Chinese doctor in Santa Monica who had successfully treated a number of her patients. This doctor, she told me, was getting positive results with chronic fatigue as well as other stubborn and often serious illnesses. My therapist had even taken her own daughter therea teenager who had been diagnosed with an untreatable condition. The results had been nothing short of spectacular.
A Chinese doctor? I didnt exactly race to the phone. Wasnt this Chinese medicine the stuff of New Age disciples and aged hippies? As a former researcher, I believed in well-documented evidence supported by Western medical institutions. I found it fundamentally difficult to accept that a handful of needles and dried herbs could possibly heal an illness as serious as mine.
Ultimately, though, exhaustion and pain became the deciding factors. With nothing left to lose, the appointment was made. I had to try Chinese medicine.
The following morning I gathered my medical files and set out for this frontier of healing. The first signs were promising. Instead of battling for pricey parking atop a medical high-rise, I found myself in a leafy lot adjacent to a tidy office. Inside, the soothing tinkling of a tiny Chinese bell greeted me, my nostrils instantly seized by the earthy smell of herbs wafting through the waiting room.
A quiet, older Chinese man nodded hello, and handed me a few medical forms to fill out. He was Esthers longtime assistant and pharmacist. I would come to know Mr. Ma well.
After settling on the ornate yellow and red silk couch, I took a moment to savor the pots of bamboo, the fresh green tea and ready bowls of Chinese candies. Then, before I could even finish the forms, Esther herself burst out of an examination room. She wore a lab coat and smiled cheerily. Come, come, she called, and waved me to a seat in her inner office.
Instead of holding forth behind an imposing desk, Esther clearly wanted to work up close and personal. Before I knew it, she was patting my hand, turning my palm upward and placing it on a wrist pad on her desk.
Esther began to work her fingers gently up and down my arm, starting from the wrist. Whatever she was doing, at least it wasnt painful.
I peered past her into the examining room. There didnt seem to be any of the usual devices to test heart rate or blood pressure. In fact, there was no equipment of any kind, just a small marble waterfall, trickling pleasantly in the background.
With both of my wrists in her hands, Esther looked deeply into my eyes and remarked on the redness of my cheeks. Then she opened my mouth. But instead of looking down my throat, she examined the tip of my tongue, commenting on the shape and the color. Okay. Thats different.
As she continued to feel and listen, Esther peppered me with questions about my symptoms. How severe were they? How often had I experienced them?
Good. I was ready for this. Armed with X-rays and MRIs, blood panels and endocrine reports, I recited a litany of medical stats. Esther listened carefully, nodding all the while. Then she asked some odd questions:
What time of day did the nerve pains occur? Did I crave warmth? Was I more comfortable in the cold? Did I get thirsty a lot? How much food did I eat? Hot or cold?
I thought it was nice that she was so thorough, but wondered what any of this had to do with my condition. And how did she correctly determine I suffered painful menstrual periods, without even glancing at my charts?
After nearly ten minutes of these gentle palpitations and questions, Esther announced she was ready to discuss my diagnosis. Really? That quickly?
Marianne, she began, I am very confident I can heal your physical symptoms. Its not your extreme fatigue that troubles me. It is the stored accumulation of emotions I am reading in your body. Then she leaned closer. Are you the oldest in your family? Because its clear you have deeply held feelings of responsibility that have never been resolved and are affecting your liver.
Esther had only met me fifteen minutes ago. How did she figure out I was the oldest of three kids, and what on earth did my liver have to do with responsibility? And how was it possible she could get all that from reading my pulse?
I was about to respond when Esther patted my hand. Marianne, listen to me. Up until now you have treated your body like an old car: When it got sick, you patched it together just to keep it on the road. But now the engine that keeps you going is broken, and the reason is simple. You have been holding onto anger and frustration for a very long time.
She explained that, over time, the corrosive effects of these emotions had attacked my bodys organs and weakened their ability to function. This was made worse by accumulated stress as well as poor food and lifestyle choices.