| You know the type—all natural, from the top of their cruelty-free hair to the bottom of their Birkenstocks—aging hippies, neo-hippies, New Agers (or, as my California cousin calls them, “crystal suckers”) who just want to help you . They’re all convinced that if only you would change your diet, your exercise, your religion, your attitude…that you would free yourself of arthritis. Here is my reluctant confession: I used to be one of them…
Rebel Without a Clue
I used to think that the greatest tragedy of my life was that I was born two decades too late. I should have been a child of the Sixties. I would have grown my hair, followed the Dead, gone to every sit in, walk in, be in, every demonstration there was. Instead, I was a frustrated radical during the Reagan era, as dull and complacent as the Eisenhower administration. I compensated by being an Alabama punk rocker (“Anarchy, y’all!”), by driving around with a “Warning: I break for anti-nuclear activists” bumpersticker in a town virtually cowering in the shadow of Browns Ferry Nuclear Plant and by covering the walls in my bedroom with pictures of Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin.
As soon as I became of age, I moved away so fast, I left tread marks.
Motherhood came—unplanned and too soon—and so I remained a frustrated radical. And then I moved to Richmond, where every third person is an artist. In a town like that, you have to be damned strange before you’re even considered “eccentric”.
I was home.
I am Hippie, Hear me Bore
While too cynical to become a full-fledged flower child (once a Punk, always a Punk) , I did become quite the New Ager. I was especially interested in the New Age philosophy on health. I quit smoking, worked out and became an ardent vegetarian. In this day and age, I believed, no one should be sick. Cancer, heart disease, diabetes—and yes, rheumatoid arthritis (my grandmother had RA and I believed it my mission to “cure her”)—could be prevented and even cured with the proper—i.e. meatless—diet. For seven wonderful years, I was almost preternaturally healthy, which only confirmed my beliefs. I moved to San Diego, continued living a meat-free existence and settled into my own arrogance.
Fast-forward: seven years, three thousand miles and another child later.
Bad Karma, Man
One morning, I woke up and could barely walk. My hands, my knees and my feet felt as if they were full of ground glass: one wrong move (and they were all wrong) and you get cut. Because of my grandmother, I knew exactly what it was. I wasn’t worried, though. I had studied holistic health for years, was a competent amateur herbalist, had a complete library of books, all promoting natural healing. It was just a matter of figuring out what I did “wrong” and correcting it.
In the meantime, after “firing” my first rheumatologist I settled with my present rheumatologist, reluctantly taking Naproxen and Plaquenil, secretly wondering if I was further poisoning my body with all of those “toxins”. To make up for it, I gave up eggs and dairy products and became a Vegan. When it became apparent that the Plaquenil wasn’t working, I refused to take my doctor’s advice to take anything stronger. I upped the ante on my diet by cutting out fats. I took ginger, turmeric, evening primrose oil, took massive doses of vitamin C. I did yoga, daily. I meditated.
And I worsened. Within one month, the middle finger on my left hand developed a deformity (and yes, I have been struck by that little irony). On top of everything else, I felt terrible guilt. Obviously, I had brought this on myself somehow. Should I cut out the Nightshade vegetables? Dare I eat fish and go on a macrobiotic diet? Was it my own cynicism? Was I a horrible brute in some past life?
Faithfully, I read every book, every magazine that promoted holistic living. Two years after I was first diagnosed, I eagerly opened my monthly vegetarian magazine. On the cover was “Guaranteed Cures for Arthritis!” I found the article…which listed its “cures” as ginger…turmeric…evening primrose oil…vitamin C…and, of course, vegetarianism.
Rebel Without a Clue, Redux
Immediately, I cancelled my subscription. I called my rheumatologist and finally agreed to take Prednisone. On the way to the pharmacy, I turned into the first drive-through I could find, and—in between puffs of a filtered Camel—ordered a double cheeseburger. Diet meant nothing, I thought. Herbs, attitude…what a lot of crap. It all boiled down to having a bum gene.
I stopping haranguing my doctor about every “cure” I read about, and as soon as I could afford it, went on methotrexate. I ate whatever I wanted, exercised only because I hated my thighs, smoked half a pack a day and sneered at every well-meaning hippie nai”ve enough to offer advice. For the first time in my life, I began catching the flu like everyone else…but unlike everyone else, it would take me a month to get well. Colds lingered for weeks. Cuts didn’t heal properly. In my earlier life, I would have blamed the drugs, but now I knew that the drugs were the only things keeping me going.
A Kinder, Gentler Michael
Most of you out there are smart enough to know what took me five years to figure out: moderation is the key. After five attempts, I finally quit smoking. I’m no vegetarian, but I do try to eat lean meats, whole grains and five fruits and vegetables a day; I use the right kind of oils, eat fish at least twice a week, keep my caffeine intake to less than nine espressos a day (some mornings are rougher than others…). I take a multi-vitamin and extra calcium when I’m on Prednisone, which is almost always. I exercise daily—for my health, not my thighs. While I don’t believe that I “caused” my RA, I have noticed that stress and depression seem to exacerbate the symptoms, so I try my best to stay positive.
All advice I could have gotten from the Arthritis Foundation, from the hundreds of books and websites on RA, or from my patient, long-suffering rheumatologist, Garry Bayliss, M.D.
Alternative Lifestyles
So is all that holistic philosophy nonsense? Maybe not. There are over 100 forms of synovitis (that’s RA, in doctorese), ranging from barely noticeable to crippling. Perhaps a mild form of RA could benefit from a vegetarian diet—perhaps it could even bring about remission (I won’t go as far as to say “cure”). Even the stolid Arthritis Foundation won’t completely reject the idea of a “food allergy”, although they don’t support the idea either. My philosophy (which is untrained, undereducated and has no clinical data to back it up—please always ask your rheumatologist before changing any aspect of your diet, medication, etc) is—as long as you are taking the proper medication and following your doctor’s advice—if you’re interested in trying some alternative form of healing, go ahead…as long as it isn’t harmful (e.g. sitting in abandoned Uranium mines).
Whatever you decide, try to be patient with those who offer unsolicited advice. They mean well and they really believe in whatever “cure” they’re espousing. Just treat them as you would a religious fanatic—gingerly but firmly. Tell them that you’ll take their advice under consideration and change the subject. And later, when they inevitably face their own illnesses/surgeries/injuries, be sympathetic, patient and—no matter how tempting—resist the urge to say, “I told you so!”