Open-Mindedness
This is an archived post that was originally published at beyond-terminal.com
A friend of mine recently sent me an article from the NYT titled “How I Became Extremely Open-Minded” by Ross Douthat. In this article, Douthat describes his journey with Lyme disease and how he became more open to experimental treatment options the longer he dealt with chronic pain. The Rife machine was the strangest option Douthat came across when he was searching for alternative ways to treat Lyme disease. When pathogens are targeted at a certain frequency, this machine purportedly kills them. If you Google this machine, you’ll come across several sites that claim that this machine is total quackery. Yet there are countless Lyme disease sufferers, including Douthat, who claim that this machine helped them with their ultimate recovery.
When you have little to nothing to lose, you become that much more open to treatment options that you never would have considered before. I get it.
In this excerpt, you’ll learn that my parents took me to see Dr. Garcia, an M.D. who switched to homeopathy when he became interested in treating illness more systemically. Prior to setting up his new practice, Dr. Garcia traveled to Germany, where he studied acupressure, acupuncture, and homeopathy under Dr. Voll, who invented the Electro-Acupuncture according to Voll (EAV) machine.
During my appointment, Dr. Garcia used the EAV machine (a machine that some claim is a sham just like the Rife machine) to come up with an alternative diagnosis and prescribe a homeopathic treatment for me.
I’m going to wait and do “the big reveal” next week. Why wait? Partly because I’m well aware how weird this doctor’s appointment will seem to most people. I want to rest in that spot where my parents and I were desperate enough that we would consider this as an option.
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The excerpt below is from Chapter 13: Meeting Dr. Garcia
We’re off to see Dr. Garcia. My mom is pumped. Seriously? I want to scream. You’re excited for this trip?
Usually it’s a six-month wait to get in to see Dr. Garcia, but there was a cancelation, so here we are, my parents and me, at the not-so-bright hour of 4:30 a.m., driving to Madison, Wisconsin.
Peter once again is sleeping over at a friend’s house. I don’t know of anyone other than my brother who gets to have a sleepover on a school night. It seems like a privilege, but I doubt Peter sees it this way. I worry that he thinks I’m the “favored one.” What I would do to be in his shoes. And yet I have enough perspective to realize none of this is easy for him either.
After sleeping for a couple of hours in the car, I slowly open my eyes. The sun is rising, and it looks like it’s going to be a clear day. My mom must sense that I’m stirring because she looks back at me, a smile on her face. “I have such a good feeling about today, honey,” she says. “I feel like we’re going to get the answers we deserve.”
I hate feeling like crap all the time, I hate seeing more doctors, I hate waking up so early. But I feel Iike I can’t be mad with my mom for too long because she keeps trying and trying when everyone else thinks there’s no room for hope. So, I nod at my mom and give her a quick smile.
We arrive at Dr. Garcia’s clinic a little over four hours later and with a few minutes to spare before my 9:00 a.m. appointment. It turns out that this clinic is one of several that are strung together by gray bricks and no windows. Talk about depressing.
My mom has told me that people come from all over the U.S. — and apparently around the world — to see this guy when they’re out of answers. I can’t help but think, if this guy is so prestigious, why would he practice here of all places? Wouldn’t he pick a clinic located at the top of an ivory-colored building with a big view of the city? What has my mom gotten us into?
I get out of the car and hold my breath as we walk into the clinic for fear that the air might stink. Old building. Stinky air. Or do I hold my breath because I’m nervous? I’m not sure. Either way, a minute after walking into the cramped lobby area, I find I can’t hold my breath any longer and finally exhale before inhaling. Turns out it doesn’t stink.
My mom checks me in for my appointment as my dad and I sit down on cheap upholstered chairs. I can tell the chairs are cheap because they have tiny frames and thread-bare fabric. Again, I question my mom’s claim that Dr. Garcia is the doctor to see when you’re at a loss for answers.
I’m tempted to pick away at the fabric on the arm of the chair and make a bigger hole, but I know that wouldn’t be nice, and besides, Dick Clark has caught my attention. There’s a small tv hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the room, and Dick is announcing the start of his show: “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the $10,000 Pyramid!”
I keep my eyes glued on the tv until a woman who’s close to my mom’s age and her daughter walk into the clinic. I learn from eavesdropping that they’ve traveled all the way from England to see Dr. Garcia and that the daughter’s appointment is later that morning. I shake my head ever so slightly. Here I thought my mom must have been exaggerating. These two have traveled all the way from England to visit this hole in the wall? I guess appearances can indeed be deceiving.
A few minutes later, Dr. Garcia, a small-statured Filipino man with silver streaks in his hair, appears in the doorframe. He’s wearing a button-down shirt and khaki pants, a welcome break from all the white coats. “You must be Megan,” Dr. Garcia says with a heavy accent. He nods and smiles at me over his glasses. “Come on back,” he says. “Oh, you come, too.” He gestures to my parents almost as an afterthought.
I don’t want to like this man right away. I want to be cautious. Yet I can’t get over how he addressed me first. I’ve been the patient for coming up on three years. That said, I can’t tell you when a doctor has talked to me before they’ve talked to my parents.
My parents and I walk back to Dr. Garcia’s office along a narrow hallway. “Megan, you sit here.” Dr. Garcia points at the leather-upholstered chair that’s next to a machine which is attached to a computer. At least this chair looks sturdier than the ones in the lobby area. “And, mom, dad, you sit here.” Dr. Garcia motions to the fold-up chairs against the wall before he makes himself comfortable in his swivel chair next to me.
“Ah, you probably want to know a little bit about me first?” Dr. Garcia says with a twinkle in his eyes.
My parents nod. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my dad rub his hands together. The heat in the room is cranked high, so I think he’s nervous. We all know that this doctor practices “different” medicine.
“I’m from the Philippines. After medical school, my wife and I decided to move to the United States so I could practice medicine here. We ended up in the Midwest.” Dr. Garcia nods as he talks in a reassuring sort of way. “I worked as an anesthesiologist with the University of Wisconsin Hospitals for 20 years before making the switch to homeopathy.”
I look around the office as Dr. Garcia speaks. His diplomas and certifications are framed and hang on the wall. Next to them is a picture of Dr. Garcia with his wife and four children who appear to range in age from about 15 to 25, all wearing color-coordinated clothes.
“Why did you make the change?” my dad asks as he fiddles with his wedding ring.
“Western medicine is great for certain things, but it doesn’t always get to the core of what’s going on.”
“You’re going to have to help me understand how homeopathy works.” My dad gestures at the dark-tinted bottles that line every available shelving space.
“Well, it’s based on the principle that ‘like cures like’ and the ‘law of minimal dosage.’ The principle ‘like cures like’ means that a substance that causes symptoms in a healthy person can treat those same symptoms in a sick person.” Dr. Garcia looks directly at my dad as he speaks, not appearing intimidated by my dad’s 6’3” frame that’s oversized in the small chair.
“So, are these ‘substances’ in these bottles?” my dad asks, making air quotes with his fingers. I can tell from his crumpled forehead that he’s not buying this.
“You got it. And each bottle contains a diluted amount of the substance, or the ‘minimal dosage.’”
“I still don’t get—” my dad says.
“John, let’s give him more time to explain,” my mom says, putting her hand on his shoulder.
“Well, I use this to detect different levels of toxicity in my patients.” Dr. Garcia taps his machine/computer. “I test acupuncture points on my patients’ hands and feet that correspond to different organs using this electrical probe.” He picks up a metal stylus that’s connected to the machine by a wire. “My computer will test Megan’s electrical outputs at these acupuncture points and compare them to electrical norms. If certain acupuncture points are outside the normal range, I can use homeopathic remedies to help Megan’s body heal.”
I look at this “machine.” Is this a joke? If this machine really works so well, why haven’t we ever heard about it before?
I look over at my dad who sits with his arms across his chest and a frown on his face.
“You think all of this is B.S.,” Dr. Garcia says.
“I do,” my dad replies without any hesitation.
“I see lots of dads who have your response. And, you know what, you’re right to have doubts. There are lots of people who use this machine incorrectly. I studied in Germany with the doctor who developed this machine, and I’m confident that I use it correctly.” Dr. Garcia swings around in his chair and grabs an electrode from his desk. “Let’s see what I find. Of course, if you think my findings are crazy, you don’t have to do the treatment.”
“Don’t you want Meg’s background before you begin?” my mom asks.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary.” Dr. Garcia smiles.
Dr. Garcia places an electrode, which looks just like a metal rod, in my right hand and then places the stylus on an acupuncture point on my thumb on my left hand. When he does this, a small electrical current is sent through my body. It doesn’t hurt at all, but it sure is weird. What’s he going to conclude after performing this hocus-pocus?
Dr. Garcia shows us how to read my skin conductance measurement on the computer screen. My reading shows up as a red bar.
“What does that even mean?” my dad asks.
“That means that Megan’s lymphatic system is working just fine.”
“I’m still confused,” my dad says. “Say you find something. What can homeopathy do for you that western medicine can’t?”
Dr. Garcia swivels in his chair so that he can look directly at my dad. “It can heal the body, layer by layer. Think of an onion, with all its layers. Homeopathy works by peeling away the layers of the onion to get at the core of what’s happening. It’s not fast, but it works.”
Dr. Garcia turns back and continues the testing. When he measures one of the acupuncture points on my left pointer finger, the bar on the computer registers above the “normal” range. “Hmm,” he says. “There’s an electrical imbalance here. Her central nervous system. It’s out of balance.”
“Her MRI shows that she’s had brain trauma,” my mom says, moving to the edge of her chair as she speaks.
“Shhh!” My dad looks at my mom with glaring eyes.
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Was this a bizarre experience? Absolutely. But we were also at a point where trying an unconventional approach left us feeling less nervous than not giving it a go. More to come on the results from this appointment next week.
In the meantime, I want to share how homeopathy is currently being used by allergists (with M.D.s) in the U.S. These doctors are giving children with peanut allergies micro doses of peanuts such that their body’s normal healing process can be stimulated and, with time, their allergy overcome. This is homeopathy at work!
Because of my own medical journey, I embrace components of both western and eastern medicine. I’m not here to say that you should do the same. However, what I do encourage is a certain degree of open-mindedness when you meet someone who has a different approach to medicine than yours. (Within the last decade, there are more organizations and foundations in the U.S. that have funded studies that compare complementary and alternative medicine modalities to western modalities. In my humble opinion, the evidence-based studies that compare the use of acupuncture versus opioids to treat pain are worth exploring more.)
Imagine how much more open-minded to different perspectives you might become if you were at a dead end.