I am shaking. I’ve been shaking for the past eight hours, following my visit to a new primary care physician. On my end of things, I didn’t approach the appointment as proactively as I could have. I think it’s a combination of factors: For starters, I’m overwhelmed taking care of my mom, my work, and the administrative matters of my life, so I have not been thinking as clearly about or giving the time necessary for navigating through the medical machine.

Second, after half a year of living in Southern California and after two painful (literally) doctor experiences, I hit a point of desperation — both to establish a decent primary care physician on file and to get referrals to a few specialists I need to see ASAP. The doctor I saw today works closely with a local integrated medicine center. So he seemed like a wonderful candidate as a primary care physician, or at the very least, a great person to throw on my chart for now.  

Third, I’ve recently been so cloistered in my ghetto of fabulous body workers that it’s taken a few reminders to believe that a simple visit to a doctor can indeed be a traumatic experience. It seems so impossible, until it happens.

Now this doctor was not what I’d call a bad doctor. In fact, I think he embodies qualities that can make him an excellent doctor. It’s just that he dove in too fast for me, and it left me completely jangled. Had I come in better prepared, this scenario may not have happened. And yet, I think that health care practitioners need to take a step back in the first visit with a client, so that the burden of safety and pacing doesn’t fall on our shoulders all the time.

First, he grilled me for being 10 minutes late. I appreciate his concern that it meant we’d have less time together. To his credit, he wanted the full half hour with me, so that he could give me a decent amount of time. After paperwork was done, we had only ten minutes left.

And yet, he harped on this late thing several times. It’s like, buddy, life happens, people sometimes have crazy-ass shit going on in their lives, and they come late every now and then. Aside from which, how was I to know you’d be the one doctor in the universe who runs on time? I felt pressured to apologize about four times.

I told him I was fine with just getting some referrals and cruising outta there. In fact, that’s all I wanted! But he had other plans, despite my feedback. I think his intention was to give me the best possible care, even if crammed into a short amount of time. But he didn’t first consult with me or, when I verbalized it, actually listen to me about what that care might look like. So he ended up feeling rushed, and I ended up feeling pushed.

Within two minutes of grilling me, he was busy asking invasive personal questions about whether I had any history of abuse, and if so, what kind of abuse it was and whether it was with people I knew, specifically, family members. Again, I appreciate the sentiment: Child abuse certainly can be a major contributing factor to health problems, especially if left unaddressed. Very cool that a doctor who practices Western medicine is onto this notion. But to be jumping in with these intimate questions just minutes into the session, when I don’t know this guy at all, and immediately after chiding me for being late? How about a little warm-up here?

I didn’t want to answer his questions, but somehow, I felt I had to. No matter how informed and empowered I am, something about the doctor’s office environment kicks me into submission on some level or another, almost every fucking time. Especially if I am, well, sick (which is of course why I’m usually there in the first place), and my defenses are down.

I also think it’s because of a combination of other factors: I have invested X amount of time into the doctor research and/or visit; I have some health need (like a prescription or referral) riding on the doctor’s collaboration; and I ultimately want the relationship to work, so that I don’t have to go spending my life looking for another freakin’ doctor. Plus there’s that old obey-authority training that seems to be the fall-back emotion, coupled with the doctor’s attitude that he’s the boss, plus social expectations that I’ll fall into line. It all becomes a little much to push back against all the time.

So I robotically answer his questions, then try to shift the conversation to the issue at hand: I’ve had adult acne for years, and I really want to see an integrated medicine specialist who knows dermatology, so that I can get rid of my acne once and for all. He asks me questions about what I’ve tried in the Western world, and I make it clear I ain’t interested in any o’ that shit – topical solutions, antibiotic pills, none of it.

Without warning, doc man rolls his chair over so that his legs are pressed onto mine, and he’s all up in my face. I’m in serious physical discomfort. I don’t have time to register what’s just shifted, when he starts pressing hard on my left and right arms, showing me where I can stimulate acupressure points to heal the acne.

Again, “A+” on intention: Teach the patient non-invasive self-care. But “D” on method: I‘d very clearly told him I have chronic pain throughout my body. Any practitioner with that information needs to be very. fucking. careful. about getting into the client’s physical space. The practitioner needs to move slowly and gently, checking in with the patient – inviting her/him to speak up and regularly asking if any given pressure hurts. As a rule, the practitioner should start out only with super gentle touch. S/he can always amp up the pressure if it’s OK for the client.

So there I am, vibrating and panting inside from the sudden rush of stimulation coming at me. To my credit – hard-earned from years of navigating through the treatment of careless and/or clueless doctors – I instructed him to stop and move back and be super gentle with his pressure. He did get gentler, which I did appreciate. I couldn’t help but notice, however, that there was a bit of judgment – an incredulous, “Like this?!” — about how lightly I was asking him to touch my arm.

I’d barely recovered from the emotional frazzle of that string of events, when doc man jumped up, threw a flimsy gown on the examining table, and instructed me to take everything off, except my bra and underwear, and put the polka dot monstrosity on backwards. His hand was on the doorknob, and he was flying outta the room as he spoke. I felt a sinking sensation inside. Too much, too fast. And I felt that if I said something to the extent of, “No, I don’t want to be examined,” or, “Slow down, this is too much,” he would deem me a beligerent patient, and who knows what — maybe not want to work with me anymore, or just get all pissed and authoritative on me — for which I just didn’t have the fucking energy.

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How to find a good doctor? Here’s what I’ve found to be the ideal way to approach the matter:

A. Print out these three articles from my website:

1. AARP cover story on drug-free remedies for chronic pain - to lay out the orientation I have toward chronic pain management and relief.
2. Massage article on practitioner guidance working with chronic pain patients – to establish how practitioners can best work with me.
3. Blog post on pain and suffering - to establish that when I tell my story about what happened to me and what residual effects I’m still dealing with (which inevitably I will be asked to do), I will have put the doctor on notice not to judge, ridicule, or project his spiritual evaluations onto me.

B. Research primary care physician candidates in my area – through referrals from acquaintances and reputable medical centers in the area.

C. Send the articles to potential candidates, along with a cover letter that includes the following:

1. the basics of my condition – chronic pain throughout my body and hypersensitivity to touch, as the result of a series of physical injuries
2. my orientation to healing – integrated East/West medicine approach, heavy on energy healing, dance, and visualization
3. statement that while I have worked with excellent health care practitioners, much of my pain is the result of having been injured by doctors and body workers – making it essential to slowly build up trust with a doctor and be sure I find someone who is sensitive and listens carefully to patients
4. query whether the doctor thinks we may be a good match and whether s/he is open to having a preliminary conversation by phone or in person. The response to this query often reveals, in and of itself, whether the doctor is a good match for me. Those who think it’s a no-brainer for patients to preliminarily interview their doctors are usually those who are most sensitive to patient needs.

D. Meet with the doctor for a preliminary conversation about her/his background, specialties, and approach to working with patients; my condition, needs, and expectations; and what the next steps might be in working together. Make it clear ahead of time that I do not want an exam during this meeting.

E. Evaluate the meetings with the various doctors – paying special attention to body language, energy, and verbal cues — and decide with whom to work.

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OK ladies and gents, I have the solution to our social dilemma: Meetup.com. If you’re anything like me, you just don’t have the energy marbles to be running all around town trying to find your cool niche. Well now you can run around the internet, to find groups that gather around subjects that interest you — meditation, dance, language, whatever. And if you don’t find a group that floats your boat, you can create your own!

I went to my first Meetup group a couple of weeks ago, and it was a life-altering experience. (I wrote about it in a previous post.) I just decided to create a Meetup group for people living with and healing from chronic pain. I’m so excited about our first meeting! I’ll let you know how it goes.

But seriously, check this Meetup thing out. Among other things, it organizes all the meetings for you, once you’ve selected the groups to which you want to belong. I mean, it’s like a freakin’ social secretary, and it don’t cost a thing!

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I have done quite a bit of experimenting with casting out my energy field. It started with the whole man-walking-down-sidewalk phenomenon. Because of how we’re socially trained, most men (and I doubt they do it consciously) expect that if a woman and man are about to walk into each other, the woman will move.

In my pre-pain days, I didn’t mind banging into the bloke, waking him up a bit. But now I can’t subject myself to contact sports when I’m just trying to get to the damn cafe down the street. So what I started doing was consciously expanding my energy field when the man was starting to close in on me. 

I did it with an attitude of curiosity, exploration. And I have found that almost every single time, the man suddenly veers to the side, exactly when my energy field hits him. It’s shocking every time, though now I’m sort of starting to believe it’s not coincidence.

Well apparently it works with cars as well. I was quite dubious about this one, but I tried it out yesterday: A car was cruising towards me all willy-nilly, down the alleyway I was walking up, to get to my apartment. 

As I cowered to the side of the alley, I thought, why not give it a shot? I cast out my energy field tentatively at first, then more forcefully. After that second wave went out, the car swerved. Like, just out of nowhere, it veered sharply to its left — which is exactly where I was pushing it out with my intention.

This shit’s kewl.

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In the world of mind-body medicine, I have not heard people talking in a deep way about what I will call “interdependent healing” — ie, the relationship between healing family, community, and self. All I have heard is people saying that if you’ve got issues with those around you, well, work ‘em out. What happens, however, when you’ve done your part, but those around you are just not on the healing path?

I recently heard a rabbi talk about how the Iranian-American Jewish community lives with a consistent, low-grade depression. The community came to the States not as immigrants, but as refugees. Exiles. And so my own family left Iraq back in 1950, fleeing to Israel, and then in my dad’s case, continuing on to the United States.

Although I was born and raised here in the good old US of A, I feel not only like an exile from a country where I’ve never been, but also like an exile from my family, the Middle Eastern Jewish community, the greater Jewish community, and, well, society in general — each for its own set of reasons. I intimately know that low-grade depression the rabbi was talking about. And when we hit the Jewish holidays, like Passover this week, that depression is amped up in full gear. I spent the day feeling melancholy.

I have, in fact, deep layers of distress tied up inside me, revolving around complex issues of identity, religion, gender roles, violence, racism, immigration, family, community, and society. I know that I have to continue addressing these layers — bringing to them light, love, and healing — as part of my path out of pain.

Unlike the New Age crew, I do not believe that my experiences with these issues caused either the incidents that led to my condition or the pain itself. I do, however, feel that the residual effects of these issues interfere with my ability to achieve a total heart-spirit-mind-body harmonious alignment. And I furthermore believe this alignment is key to overcoming and transforming my current physical disabilities.

In other words, I know I have the power within me to radically shift matter on the physical plane. I just gotta get my energetic ducks in order.

Here’s the rub: Healing from dynamics within a family, community, or society involves healing relationships. In other words, there is only so much that I as an individual can do. I am dependent in some way on the response of others. When I reach out in healing – as I have done, again and again and again – but an individual or community does not want to so much as acknowledge an unhealthy behavior, much less change it, well, that impacts me and my healing process.

The obvious response would be to let go of what’s not in my control. And so I have. But the thing is, the distress does not end there. In my case, the fallout of “letting go” has been isolation from people I love, from communities where I belong, and ultimately, from integral parts of myself — my heritage of prayers, songs, traditions, stories, and history. That alienation creates its own layer of distress, in its own way compromising my internal harmonious alignment.

I’m not sure how other people deal with this dilemma, but I have decided to write about my process on this blog, so as to release the experiences to the Universe and free my soul from the burden of carrying them. I will also experiment with new ways of actively integrating prayer, dance, and meditation into my process — invoking the transformation I want to see happen.

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