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BDD Support Group
- It is held the 3rd Friday of every month 7:30-9:00 PM.
- Friends and family welcome!
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OCD Support Group
- It is held on the last Friday of every month at 7:30 PM.
- Friends and family welcome!
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Need directions?
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THE ART OF HEALING
If all drugs were dumped into the sea, it would be the best thing ever to happen to mankind and the worst to happen to fishes.
Oliver Wendell Holmes, quoted in B. L. Gordon, The Romance of Medicine (1949)
As soon as we become ill we are hit by uncertainty: what is wrong with me? If we don't know, fear sets in; if our malady is untreatable, we despair. To avoid these feelings, we have learned how to heal.
Because the universe and individuals are made of earth, air, water, and fire, the healer has always looked to these four elements to treat disease. Primitive people learned from the healing instincts of animals, which use grass, mud, and saliva as remedies. The basic medicines were air, water, stone, salt, mud, and fire.
The ancients believed in the breath of life, that the air from the lungs had curative properties. In the Middle East, a mother will gently breathe on her child's wound. In modern medicine, the use of oxygen in therapy is well accepted. In the Hebrides Islands, salt was eaten to produce dreams revealing the future. Fire, in the form of a branding iron, was used to stop bleeding; as a heat cup, it was used to decongest the lungs. The electrical surgical knife is a modern version of the use of fire in medicine.
As animals will cover a broken limb with mud, so once did we. Mud from certain regions is still used for general healing purposes, mainly for the treatment of diseases of the skin and joints. At the Ganges River and in the grotto of Lourdes miraculous cures are still attributed to water. Medicinal water, due to its chemical properties, is still popular around the world.
It was once a custom to place a child suffering from rickets in the forked branch of an ash tree facing the sun, al though no one knew that rickets, a deficiency of vitamin D, required exposure to sunlight as a corrective. Iron was given for anemia as early as 700 B.C. In the sixteenth century, Paracelsus used magnets to drain unwanted accumulations of fluids from organs. Research in the use of magnetic fields to treat illness goes on today.
An early belief was that the body could be cured by applying substances possessing shapes or colors similar to the afflicted part or illness. The rash of measles could be relieved by covering the skin with a red blanket. It was acceptable to rub one's gums with the finger of a dead person to kill a toothache. To prevent colds or leg cramps, knots were make in clothes and handkerchiefs.
Blood, the most vital element, also played a role. It was drunk in potions, injected under the skin, and even removed from the body. The Incas had already transfused blood by the time Giovanni Colle of Italy put transfusion into practice in 1628. Until this century, bloodletting was a common form of treatment. Barber surgeons would hang a sheet stained with blood at their shop doors to indicate the opening of the bloodletting season.
The Egyptians were the first to challenge legend and superstition in medicine and bring a more rational approach to it. They used vapors to treat uterine bleeding by placing the patient, legs spread, above boiling urine. The Egyptians believed that urine vapors would stop the bleeding. Today we know that urea, a substance present in urine, has clotting properties.
Hippocrates (460 to 377 B.C.), a Greek physician considered the father of medicine, also did not believe in legends. He said that we are each a composite of earth, air, fire, and water, and that health depends upon an adequate proportion of these elements. Hippocrates' contributions to medicine include studies in anatomy, disease, diagnosis, prognosis, and treatment by drugs and diets. He formulated the rules of medical ethics, which led to the Hippocratic Oath. In addition, Hippocrates pioneered the hypothesis that the human temperament is regulated by body fluids. Today it is accepted that body chemistry is related to the mechanisms of some mental disorders.
Historically, the brain has been a no-man's-land. As a consequence, it has been subjected to many kinds of atrocities perpetrated under the noble guise of "cure." We have listened, spoken to, suggested, commanded, and hypnotized the brain. The brain has been chained in asylums, burned by witch hunters, chopped by surgeons, and electro-shocked by psychiatrists. The brain remains one of the least understood organs.
Attempts to treat the brain as an integral part of the body were carried out in the Greek town of Epidaurus in the fourth century B.C. A shrine for Asclepius, the god of healing, was erected there in the shape of a maze where depressed patients were bathed, massaged, given food, wine, and mu sic. During sleep, a god would appear in their dreams and a cure was obtained. Although the Greeks knew that wine made them happy, they didn't know that it contains phenylethylamine, a mood regulator, which might have helped.
Dreaming was also used to heal. Many centuries ago, we did not know what to make of dreams, and we were fascinated and scared of this inner world. The Egyptians were the first to interpret the meaning of dreams.
For hundreds of years, psychiatry remained in the hands of priests, pagans, quacks, and witches. It was in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries that demonology moved out and medicine moved in, once again, to treat the men tally ill. The power of suggestion was put forth by Mesmer and the concept of the unconscious mind by Fechner. Sexual repression, a subject unacceptable to neurologists, was later masterfully unfolded by Freud.
If the origin of illness was believed to be found in gods, planets, and demons, the treatment was directed toward those causes. The logic was to appease or chase out those powerful forces that made our lives miserable. For that reason, we worshiped, prayed, sang, danced, and offered human and animal sacrifices to those who seemed to be the cause of disease. We also fasted and whipped ourselves night and day with the single objective of being healthy. Shamans, sorcerers, exorcists, medicine men, witches, priests, and psychics shared the responsibility for curing us.
On the other hand, at different periods in time the origin of illness was ascribed to rational causes devoid of legend and superstition. This stand resulted in the presence of new members in the trade of healing, among them barbers, surgeons, physicians, naturopaths, osteopaths, chiropractors, homeopaths, psychiatrists, psychologists, pharmacists, and sociologists, all of whom claimed to know the answers. Thus, a diseased individual has, in fact, two dangers to face: one, the illness; the other, the healer. Whether we like it or not, there is a type of disease called iatrogenic, which is caused by the healer, or by the medicine itself.
In 1982, one million people worldwide died as a result of medication side effects. The same year the international pharmaceutical industry reported 90 billion dollars in sales. We should recognize that, when ill, we are in jeopardy of losing our freedom as we surrender ourselves to healers. Many practitioners still walk the twilight path of incomplete knowledge; therefore, for our own sake, let us not forget how the practice of healing has evolved throughout history.
Healing is an art: it requires creativity, observation, study, and experience. Four requirements are needed to heal: identification of the illness, choice of the right treatment, prognosis, and compassion.
The best healers are those who combine scientific and empirical wisdom with love toward the patient. The old prescription of tenderness, love, and care is still valid. It strengthens the doctor-patient relationship, and it facilitates recovery.
A good healer treats the individual rather than the dis ease. Because it is the individual who has lost his or her balance; the disease is a consequence.
An illness impacts on our self-pride. We feel embarrassed; we see illness as a sign of weakness. We feel important, due to our inability to cope with it, or our failure to avoid it.
An integral being accepts illness as part of being a conscious living organism. An illness is not punishment must face illness with courage.
The integral being knows that healing is a Self- directed phenomenon: we heal ourselves with our own inner sources. The outside healer or physician is merely an assistant. For instance, the cast on our broken leg keeps the bone in place while the bone heals itself. We must have a confident, committed attitude toward our illness. Otherwise, the healing process might remain unfinished.
A few questions should be asked before we embark on the journey to healing.
What illness do I have?
I am told I have a peptic ulcer, but I also know that everything started by keeping my anger inside. Should I treat my anger as well?
Why did I become ill?
It is of utmost relevance to trace the illness's origins and precipitating factors. An illness is a warning calling for a reexamination of life-style.
How did I become ill?
To know the ways an illness operates will bring under standing and acceptance of the illness and will help outline a healing strategy.
Am I an illness?
Some individuals prefer to be the illness rather than to have one. This affects their attitude toward the illness. How can we get rid of an illness if we are the illness? We are not illnesses.
How do I go about healing?
Because healing requires tremendous binding of the body and mind, we have to open all our avenues of energy, thoughts, and feelings, so the flow of our self will not re main obstructed by the disease. We call upon our self- reliance and our determination to restore our health.
What is the best healing system!
An integral being is insightful and open-minded and searches for the best therapy to be cured. Orthodox therapies are conservative and cautious; new ideas are accepting only when they have been scientifically proved. Sometimes this attitude may impede the introduction of new healing concepts as the orthodox healer continues to heal with obsolete methods.
The integral being should not feel limited to orthodox medical options to heal what has been damaged. We have the duty to explore, inquire, compare, and decide about what seems to be the most reasonable treatment approach.
Alternative therapies are options to be considered. From Chinese medicine to manipulative or paranormal therapies, a whole range is available. In many circumstances orthodox and alternative therapies can complement each other. The idea is not to praise one system of healing and condemn the other. The idea is to integrate the best of each and put them to work together to treat the integral being.
We should not make the mistake of believing that primitive people only used magic, legend, and pure nonsense to treat illnesses. Not at all! Our ancestors had creativity and imagination that have not yet been surpassed in modern times. Regrettably, we show contempt for a past that we have misunderstood and misjudged. It would be to our advantage to look back into the ancient traditions of medicine to extract wisdom we might apply today.
In spite of fate, omens, augurs, quackery, and medications that may kill instead of cure, we have made tremendous progress in the art of healing. Nevertheless, new diseases are just around the corner: viruses become fat on antibiotics, epidemics continue to sweep countries, famine kills as usual, and we are as violent as ever. What has happened? We have not been treated in an integral manner, taking into consideration our body, intellect, and emotions.
Does everyone accept healing easily?
The most difficult area I have encountered in my practice as a physician is the resistance of the patient to treatment. Leaving aside emergencies, such as serious injuries, heart attacks, and seizures, the natural tendency of a patient is to postpone the visit to the doctor. Before seeing a doctor, the patient will tn' the advice of family and friends, over- the-counter drugs, folklore medicine, praying, or resort to a wait-and-see attitude. Worsening of symptoms, bleeding, or uncontrollable pain are factors that force the patient to make a trip to a doctor's office. Among the mentally ill, the refusal to see a psychiatrist may prolong the duration of treatment or make the illness chronic.
The denial of an illness is the result of self-destructive behavior. The presence of a disease brings upon us a fear of impending death. It awakens the dormant feeling that we can die anytime. A disease imposes an unpleasant reality that forces us to center within ourselves. Most of us abhor unpleasantness and cannot bear to be centered in our own life.
Our tendency to procrastinate with our health is disheartening. Procrastination is epitomized by the woman who discovers a lump in her breast and decides against a medical consultation. She chooses to live in the hope that it is benign and that it will magically vanish. Procrastination is the obese man who suffers from diabetes and high blood pressure and has been told that his main arteries will burst and he will have a brain hemorrhage if he keeps eating the way he does. His response is to keep indulging himself with cake and ice cream.
Although most people start some sort of treatment, few people remain in it. About half of all medical prescriptions never arrive at the drugstore. It could be argued that many symptoms vanish by the time we get to the pharmacy. We could also say that some symptoms are psychological and disappear without treatment. Unfortunately, these not really the reasons; instead, it is because we tend to procrastinate. A pill or a visit to the doctor is a reminder that we have an illness.
Of all the chapters I have written, this one suits me best. I am a healer, I was born a healer, and I expect to die one, only giving up to face my death. I was six years old when I found a picture of a bearded female in a medical book That was, I believe e, the beginning of my vocation. Then, the death of my mother and a series of childhood diseases drew me closer to the field of medicine. I could never see the anguish of my patients without being moved. I never saw eyes more inquisitive than those of severely ill patients looking into mine in search of a hopeful sign. Their hopes became mine. Today I look back and see old hospital corridors, beds lined up in endless wards, the smell of anti septic, infections, and death. I remember anatomy amphitheaters, silent morgues, the chronic lament of the emergency room, the gushing of blood in the operating room, the last rite of closing eyelids. It is a frightening and overwhelming responsibility to take care of a human life.
As a healer, I have always refused to become a witness to my patient's suffering; I have always chosen to be a participant. The healer who becomes so involved in the process of healing eventually wears out. Yet how could I remain detached from my patient's pain?
Early on, I was exposed to the arts of preventive medicine and healing within my own family environment. I had the opportunity to see and try what were then considered traditional methods of therapy as well as unconventional approaches. Herbal teas and vitamins for colds, mud therapy for skin rejuvenation, tonics for the brain, oils for hair growth, walking barefoot in a puddle of cold water to liberate energy, eating honeycomb to remain young, drinking red meat juice to grow strong, and taking cod liver oil to prevent weakness were all part of the array of choices avail able to improve one's health.
As my godfather was teaching internal medicine at the university hospital, my aunt would recommend the application of sliced cold potatoes on our temples to relieve a headache if aspirins failed to do the job. There was plenty of knowledge in our household, and perhaps because of that there was the flexibility; to try new modes of making our lives more meaningful and healthy.
In 1968, the winner of two Nobel prizes, Linus Pauling, wrote an article in Science stating that mental diseases should be treated by providing the optimum molecular environment for the mind, especially the optimum concentration of substances normally present in the human body. Here was someone speaking of equilibrium between the molecules, the mind, the body. The concept made sense and echoed my own ideas about mental illness or any other illness, namely, the loss of equilibrium.
After twenty years I became frustrated with my profession. I could not tolerate just being a pill-pusher and a sympathetic ear. I wanted action. I wanted to be a better healer. I went back to my medicine books and looked for links between the body and the mind. A new panorama opened as I began to integrate my approach to medicine. I would not only listen to my patients' problems, but I would also give them a physical examination.
Advancements in the field of biological psychiatry were taking place, and I was pleased to participate in these avenues of research. I began to experiment with diets , vitamins, minerals, and amino acids. Some of our nutritional research was satisfactory, but by 1972 I was no longer satisfied. Patients who had improved wanted more. What could I do! I was at a turning point in my career. I began to talk more to my patients, but this time I talked about their attitudes, behavior, and life-styles.
If a patient needs talk therapy I prefer to apply common sense to resolve the immediate needs. Long-term therapy such as psychoanalysis, does not offer prompt solutions. Moreover, while resolving current problems new ones ap pear and the backlog becomes unbearable. The ideal program of talk therapy should be focused on the here and now. My question was which psychological treatment would fit my patients' needs best? Thinking about these issues I decided to incorporate behavioral therapy in an effort toward an integral approach to psychiatry. The idea was to help people to become more assertive and productive. In the meantime we could work at a slower paced program to apply common sense and knowledge and to develop awareness.
Throughout the years I have stayed aware of the need to improve health care and forms of treatments. While working in Buenos Aires, I noticed that some of my patients were outspoken about social issues such as inflation, the uncertainty of the future, and the power struggle going on among the ruling classes of Argentina. I observed that these patients were more difficult to treat. Other patients, facing political persecution, manifested higher degrees of anxiety or depression. In such instances, I provided them with medication and a sympathetic ear. But was that enough?
I knew that the social environment affects our internal chemistry and body functions. So the question was: If the cause was social, what good did it do to minister to the brain to keep the internal environment in equilibrium? Wouldn't it be better to start with the external environment providing social justice – and then readjust the brain and its internal environment? I began to discuss this concept with my patients. Associating their illness with social factors became a fundamental element in their recovery.
I began to sense that social psychiatry had a major place in mental health programs. The challenge was how to implement it in treatment program.
Another influential period of my development as a healer took place while working in Bedford-Stuyvesant, a ghetto neighborhood in Brooklyn, New York. There I came into direct contact with victims of hunger, drugs, and a minority subculture that shook many of my conceptions about the fairness of the American distribution of wealth, education, and health.
The problems of the Bedford-Stuyvesant patients were just about impossible to handle. What was the priority? The fever, the hunger, the fix, the despair, the loneliness, the rage, or the fear? Under those bleak circumstances, my prescription pad became useless. What kind of a healer was I supposed to be? I felt impotent, unable to help, and embarrassed because I had more than they had. But I am grateful to those patients because they made me aware of what social medicine was all about. I thought it would be important to work with a team psychiatrists, psychologists, nurses, social workers, art therapists, and research assistants. This group of professionals would share a common goal: to better themselves as therapists by ordering a more comprehensive therapeutic program. This program included a physical examination, laboratory tests, psychological evaluation, and a psychosocial history.
I had one patient who was ready for our rehabilitating program. Therefore, I requested a session with his family. During it, I noticed that his mother was rather reluctant to accept the idea that her son was to be discharged. "I am afraid he'll relapse," she said. Nonetheless, he was dis charged, but one month later he was back for treatment. What had happened?
The patient explained that his mother did not allow him to participate in the rehabilitation program out of fear that the "sick people in the program would not be a good ex ample" for her son. While I had been ready to discharge him, the patient's mother was not ready. She had dedicated her life to the care of a son who was schizophrenic. What was she going to do with her own life if I cured him?
The importance of family therapy was proven. But now I had further questions. How important was the economic background of the patient?
When patients skip their medication because they cannot afford to buy it, when patients do not follow a wholesome diet because starches and sweets are cheaper, I see the importance of having jobs, money, a good welfare system, and a society that cares. It is pathetic when a patient cannot afford consultation. Poor people neglect their health.
I learned that healing requires integration of the internal and external environment. It is the healer's job to take all of those factors into consideration in order to recover health or prevent disease.
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