About

For about ten years I was sick. Not constantly, and not always badly — but every few months it got bad enough to put me in an emergency room. Each visit ran the same course: tests, more tests, results in the normal range, and nothing to treat.

When your tests keep coming back normal, something shifts in how you are treated. No one says you are imagining it, exactly. But medicine has a quiet category for people whose numbers look fine, and it is not a generous one. The doctors were doing their work properly. The system they work in simply had no name for what was happening to me, and without a name it had nothing more to offer.

The turn, when it came, was almost an afterthought. A conventional doctor — the same kind of doctor who had been running the tests — mentioned an alternative path, nearly in passing. I followed it. It resolved a condition that a decade of emergency rooms could not touch.

What stays with me is not the illness. It is how much luck was involved in the way out. There was no deliberate route to that path — no way to know it existed, whether it was credible, or who practiced it well. A passing remark should not be the mechanism.

Well is the product I needed for those ten years and could not find.