ARTHRITIS BEATEN TODAY: A VERY PERSONAL HISTORY
A month or so after one subject found relief from the terrible pain and limitations of his arthritis he wrote a brief testimonial about his experience with CMO. Excerpts from that testimonial have appeared from time to time in our CMO information packages. Now that he has been free of virtually all pain for three years, he has also consented to prepare this more detailed “before and after” account for this book. Here’s the story of his own experiences with arthritis and how his motives, both personal and professional, propelled the San Diego Clinic’s research associates to the discovery and development of CMO. This is the compelling personal account of the Director of the San Diego Clinic.
“Two years ago I was a closet cripple; bone-on-bone in my knees. Then CMO turned my life around.”
Following several years of excruciating pain from bone grinding against bone in my knees, I find it hard to believe that I’m still 95% pain free almost three years after taking CMO. It’s a miracle! Up until then, I was what you might call a closet cripple, hiding the severity of my osteoarthritis from just about everyone but the chief of our research staff. I never was a complainer. I hid my pain. I pretended, as much as possible, that I wasn’t suffering every minute of my waking day. The only time I was reasonably comfortable was when I was planted in my bed or on the sofa watching TV. Even then I couldn’t cross my legs. In fact, there were only a couple of positions I could manage where my knees wouldn’t hurt, and then only if I shifted my legs around frequently enough.
But that’s just the tip of the iceberg. I’m going to tell you more, much more. I want you to understand why I had such a personal interest in constantly prodding our research associates into pursuing every conceivable avenue of investigation regarding arthritis. I’m sure they thought of me as some kind of possessed maniac. Remember, I was trying to hide my pain from nearly everyone. But how successfully can you hide it when you have to walk down a flight of stairs backwards?
Whenever I assisted our MDs in our patient examination and treatment rooms, I’d just scoot around like some wind-up toy on one of those wheeled stools that doctors always use. That way no one had to see my tortured walk. But I couldn’t get up without pushing myself up from the seat with my arms. (The same was true for any chair or seat.) Sometimes I’d just get stuck there on that stool for quite a while. But most of the time I’d have a table or a desk to use for additional support to push myself up. Even so, getting up from anywhere meant I’d get those stabbing pains in my knees. Once I was seated somewhere, I tended to stay put for a long time. A very long time. I was sure my butt was beginning to mould itself into a chairseat shape.
Regardless, there I was, relentless about continuing research. Whip in hand, I was ruthless about all their snivelling complaints that they had already exhausted all avenues of exploration. Mush, you huskies! For me, pain was a great motivator and constant pain was an even greater one. So I couldn’t have cared less about their calling me Dr. Strangelove. Or Robo-doc.
Most people probably thought it weird that I’d move a chair over to some object that I needed to pick up off the floor. I couldn’t bend down, of course. So I’d sit on the chair and lean down sideways to pick things up. Maybe I wasn’t so good at hiding my problem after all.
My evenings weren’t much better. I couldn’t cross my legs in bed either. If I chose to lie on my back, I’d have to prop a pillow under my knees. When I slept, it was always on my side with a baby pillow in between my knees. I couldn’t stand the weight of one knee upon the other. Even with the cushion, several times a night I’d be shocked into wakefulness by some jolt of pain. I often wondered what our neighbours thought about those late night screams.
Naturally, as a medical professional, I was aware of mostly everything in the world used to treat arthritis. And, believe me, if I heard of it I tried it. (Except for steroids and Methotrexate. I wasn’t willing to sacrifice my immune system and my liver.) It didn’t matter if it was herbal, or homeopathic, or acupuncture, or gold shots, or conventional medicine, or voodoo, I tried it.
Yes, even voodoo. After several years of constant pain I even tried a couple of faith healers and a few very reputable Mexican ‘curanderos’ as well. I was assaulted by healing hands, dusted with magical powders, rubbed with potent poultices, thrashed with leafy branches, suffocated with smoky fumes, and stung by angry bees. I wasn’t about to rule anything out. But it didn’t help a bit.
I have a lot of respect for Oriental and Indian medicines. So I was hopeful when, in 1994, our researchers came up with some strange Ayurvedic medicine from India that was really supposed to work. There were many anecdotal reports of success, centuries of them. Lots of professional documentation as well. I spent months faithfully smearing my knees every night with some smelly Ayurvedic gooey tar and wrapping them in flannel and plastic to try to keep the goo from oozing out onto the bed. It oozed out anyway, just like some kind of killer alien blob of tar-like sulphured molasses, staining our sheets. What a mess! And no success.
I was also taking the whole range of vitamins and minerals, plus alfalfa, yucca, saw palmetto, juice diets, raw food diets, fasting, gelatin, shark cartilage, chicken cartilage, glucosamines, chondroitin sulfate, all kinds of herbs alone and in combination. Some were a help, but they could only dull the symptoms a bit, and certainly could not keep up with the rampant destruction of the cartilage in my knees. I must say, though, that I felt considerably more discomfort any day that I didn’t take my supplements. So I kept on with them for the minimal benefits they brought, despite the fact that they were costing me a bundle.
Anti-inflammatory pills? Knowing how hard they are on the liver, I only took what I needed to keep on functioning. I could usually get away with only one or two strong (and very expensive) time-release pills on a working day. I’d gulp one down just before brushing my teeth in the morning. You see, for the most part I could run the clinic sitting behind my desk. I hardly had to move around at all, so that let me get through the day fairly well. But often I’d need another potent pill around mid-afternoon.
When the family would go to the movies or anywhere else that required some walking, I’d have to take a double dose (despite the medical warnings not to). Even so, trying to negotiate a set of any more than two stairs was a killer. So was the inclined aisle you have to descend to get to your movie seats. Going downhill was much worse than coming back up. And going down any flight of stairs was worse than climbing up. If you’ve got arthritis in your knees, I’m sure you know what I mean. I never shopped at the malls. Too much walking. Just a few yards of walking and I was in severe pain. I’d pick stores where I could park near the door. And ones with shopping carts were a must. They were very helpful to lean on while walking or scanning the merchandise. I found that wheelchair ramps were easier to negotiate than stairs.
Handrails were a blessing for pulling myself up and bracing myself to go down the ramps or stairs. I’m sure I looked like some funny stiff-legged mechanical teddy bear trying to negotiate sets of even just a few stairs.
Picking things up off the floor near a table or a desk wasn’t so bad. Painful, yes. But at least I could do it by supporting myself with one hand while carefully bending down to pick up the object with the other hand – all the while hoping my knees wouldn’t collapse. You know, you learn to cope.
Nevertheless, in my heart I knew that someday I’d reach the point where I’d be facing a dreaded wheelchair existence. I was already often using a cane and sometimes crutches. Next would come the crutches full time. Then the walker. And finally the wheelchair. I hated the thought of being so limited. Until I got arthritis I was always quite active – tennis, swimming, scuba diving, hiking, travelling, window shopping, or just strolling around here and there. It depressed me to have given up those pleasures.
It depressed me even more to think of how much of a burden I would become to my family.
*35\142\2*
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Tags: Arthritis
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