How the body heals itself

For several years I had gone to doctors complaining of terrible issues with my stomach, incredible pain, vomiting, etc. For years I was told I had food poisoning, or that I was too nervous, and I was doing it to myself Thus, I was treated like a hypochondriac, again I suffer from fibromyalgia, which is known as the “invisible disease,” aptly named as if you simply look at me, I don’t look disfigured, as people with arthritis can, yet my pain level and disability match that disease.

In addition, I have a dislocated knee and serious issues with my hip. Walking is extremely painful. Pain is a constant companion. Getting stressed out sends me into a downward spiral of elevated symptoms, to the point I can hardly move when extremely upset. So, I have had to learn to find peace within myself, and to keep my faith.

When would I ever learn to listen to my inner voice, from the real lessons I have learned in this world?

Take, for example, my child and her childhood illness, croup. I could tell by a funny look in her eyes, the same one I get, when croup is about to attack her bronchial tubes, swelling them shut, and making her cough in a seal like whoop. I suffered from croup into my early adult years. I went through many doctors trying to find one who would believe me, that I could see a sign of impending illness. So, I brought her in when I saw her eyes, and told the doctor it was coming, she said my child was healthy, and darned if the croup didn’t hit that night. If she was given the antibiotics immediately upon attack, it would only last a few days, if I had to wait the day for an appointment, and the pharmacy, it would last for weeks. Finally, her last pediatric physician believed in mother’s intuition, and she never suffered a long bout of croup through her childhood again.

In 2004, I had begun to realize that I was dying, I had tried going to doctors for this problem, and none believed me. My finances were so that I couldn’t afford to go to the doctor, and had no insurance. My boyfriend of several years married me, and I was glad he would be able to arrange the funeral. I ended up in the hospital in June, having a terribly infected gallbladder, which needed to be removed immediately, however, my white blood count was extremely high, and they had to give me antibiotics for 24 hours before they could dare to open me. The doctor informed me later that I had the gallbladder of an 80 year old, I was 43, and that it was covered with pustules, the worst

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