Article - Alternative Therapies - Life Magazine Article

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LIFE MAGAZINE ARTICLE

by Howe Colt

ALTERNATIVE THERAPIES - SEE ME, FEEL ME, TOUCH ME, HEAL ME

Following text is taken from Life Magazine, issue September 1996 (Page

35-50)

Pertaining to a picture in the following article:

" The mud-caked man on the facing page is Weil, a 54-year old

Harvard-trained physician who believes that a revolution is brewing in

American medicine. He is only one among a rapidly growing number of M.D.s

who combine traditional Western techniques with alternative therapies such

as herbalism and acupuncture. " By uniting philosophies that have been

separate for a long time, " says Weil of the integrative medicine movement,

" health care will be completely transformed. " "

Retired department store manager ph Randazzo, 69, lies on an operating

table at Columbia-Presbyterian Medical Center in New York City, in the

throes of a triple coronary bypass. A drape is suspended above his neck. The

gray canvas rectangle has a practical purpose - to keep the operating field

sterile - but it serves a metaphorical purpose as well. On one side of the

drape is the demesne of Western medicine. The seven member surgical team

moves through a small cityscape of machines that have lowered the patient's

body temperature to 93F, drained almost half the blood from his body to

provide a clear operating field, and now act as his heart and lungs for the

two-hour operation. Next to the table lie four sterile trays of stainless

steel instruments - 20 forceps, 41 clamps, 11 pairs of scissors - arrayed in

gleaming ranks like soldiers ready for battle. Mehmet Oz, a 36-year-old

cardiothoracic surgeon, has plunged his hands deep into Randazzo's chest

cavity. Encased in latex gloves, his long, thin artist's fingers delicately

attach a segment of saphenous vein, cut from the patient's leg, to the

aorta, bypassing the place where the artery walls were so clogged with

plaque that Randazzo was in danger of dying. On the other side of the drape,

another pair of hands are at work. They hover a few inches above Randazzo's

pale forehead, making gentle, circular movements, as if polishing the air.

The hands belong to Helen McCarthy, 42, a nurse trained in therapeutic

touch, a form of " energy healing. " McCarthy believes that a person's energy

field extends beyond the skin into the air around him and that by

consciously directing the flow of energy through her hands to the patient's

body she can - without even touching the patient - help him relax and

stimulate his recovery. When McCarthy feels extra warmth, indicating an area

of congested energy, her hands linger over the spot, smoothing it out. At

one point, she even caresses the air around the plastic bag that stores the

patient's blood.

The sight of a surgeon and an energy healer working side by side in one of

this country's most prestigious hospitals has a forbidden air. If Snoop

Doggy Dogg were to share the Carnegie Hall stage with Isacc Stern, the

partnership would be no less incongruous. But the scene in Operating Room 23

is just a particularly dramatic manifestation of an extraordinary detente

taking place in American medicine. It is no secret that during the past few

years an increasing number of Americans have been turning to alternative

medicine: swallowing echinacea pills to forestall the flu, doing tai chi to

lower stress, undergoing acupuncture to ease chronic pain. What's news is

that their doctors are joining them: A recent survey of family physicians

found that more than half regularly prescribe alternative therapy or have

tried it themselves.

Practices once thought to be the province of snake-oil salesmen are turning

up in bastions of medical orthodoxy. Thirty-four of this country's 125

medical schools - including Harvard, Yale and Hopkins - now offer

courses in alternative medicine. During a four-week elective at Wayne State

University School of Medicine, students visit a chiropractor, learn yoga,

mediation and biofeedback, practice hypnosis and therapeutic touch on one

another, and are led in tan-jian breathing by a Buddhist monk. At a recent

conference on herbal medicine sponsored by Columbia University, 58

physicians sipped chrysanthemum tea and sampled shanza, a Chinese fruit said

to relieve hypertension, with the exuberance of sixth-graders on a field

trip. Even the American Medical Association, which two decades ago declared

it " unethical " for its members to associate with chiropractors, grudgingly

passed a resolution last year suggesting that its 300,000 members " become

better informed regarding the practices and techniques of alternative or

unconventional medicine. " Many physicians still dismiss these therapies as

unproven, unscientific and potentially dangerous; they scorn them as " New

Age medicine. " But adherents point out that these practices are hardly new.

As Philadelphia physician Marc Micozzi puts it, " What we call alternative

medicine is traditional medicine for 80 percent of the world, and what we

call traditional medicine is only a few centuries old. " When the two are

wedded - to form what is known as integrative or complementary medicine -

the result is either a synergistic leap forward or a massive case of the

Emperor's New Clothes.

Like most Americans, I was raised to believe in doctors they way I believed

in policemen and firemen-a holy trinity of authority figures in whom I

placed unquestioning faith. As I grew older, I'd nod politely as friends

described their infatuation with homeopathy and acupuncture. But when it

came to the bottom line of my own health, I still wanted someone in a white

coat who had an M.D. diploma on his wall.

Then my back went out for the third time. When bed rest failed to banish the

pain, my orthopedist ran me through thousands of dollars of X rays, MRIs and

bone scans. He told me I had a herniated disk and that surgery was

unwarranted. There was nothing he could do for me. When I mentioned the word

" chiropractor, " a nauseated look passed over his face, and when I asked

about acupuncture he made a dismissive gesture. My 10-minute consultation

was over. But my pain continued, and over the following year it seemed as if

my entire self - husband, father, writer, six feet tall, 170 pounds - had

been reduced to a quarter-inch gelatinous disc between the L-4 and L-5

lumbar vertebrae. I realized for the first time that physicians might not be

the alpha and omega after all. Yet I still had a deep mistrust for the

irrational gobbledygook that overflowed from the faddist magazines I picked

up free at my health-food store. My interest in alternative medicine did not

ignite until I learned that M.D.s were getting involved. Perhaps I could

have my cake and eat it too. But how, exactly, did this integrative stuff

work? Bringing along my aching back and a dose of skepticism, I set off to

explore what some believe to be the future of American medicine.

" Science is a remarkable thing, " says Mehmet Oz, sitting in an office

plastered with awards, diplomas and a plaque attesting that he has received

Patent 5,370,989 for his " solution for prolonged organ preservation. " He is

tall, squarejawed, preternaturally handsome. " We cured most infectious

diseases, we made incredible advances. My career is built on a scientific

bias. But I also recognize that there are areas where science doesn't have

all the answers. " In his early years as a surgeon, Oz saw how inseparable

his patients' health was from their emotions. " You'll have two patients with

70 percent blockages, " he says. " One patient's completely asymptomatic. The

other is hospitalized with a lot of symptoms. But why? Often because the

vessels spasm, very commonly with stress. And so I though, well, I'm a good

heart surgeon, but I'm not dealing with these issues. If there's anything I

can do to take advantage of other modalities, that will be valuable.

Oz, whose parents are Turkish, married a woman from a Pennsylvania farm

family that treated most minor ailments with home remedies. Today he treats

his children's earaches with vinegar and oils, their chest colds with vapor

rubs, and he rarely fails to do his thrice-weekly yoga. But at work, Oz kept

his alternative interests to himself. Then, in 1993, at the end of a

difficult bypass operation, he muttered that the patient might have

benefited from subliminals (recordings said to relax patients even under

anesthetic). " What? " said percussionist Jerry Whitworth, who unbeknownst to

Oz had several decades' experience in alternative techniques. To the

bewilderment of the operating room staff, Oz and Whitworth began chatting

about the merits of yoga, guided imagery and meditation.

Six months later, they opened the Complementary Care Center, offering

patients a smorgasbord of pre- and postoperative techniques. The Center is

still small, funded largely by Oz himself - " We're tolerated here, we're not

embraced, " admits Whitworth - but has gradually drawn the hospital's

alternative-leaning population " out of the closet, " Oz says. Its Wednesday

morning strategy meetings used to be attended by five of Oz's friends; now

55 hospital staffers crowd into the room. And though some patients are

dubious - Will the hypnosis make them bark like dogs? Will they have to

shave their heads and dress in orange to do the yoga? - the results are

impressive. Research has found that patients who follow the program have

less postoperative pain and anxiety. Even the technique of therapeutic

touch, about which Oz himself is " skeptical, " has lowered the blood pressure

and heart rate of unconscious patients.

Three days after his triple bypass, ph Randazzo is doing yoga in his

hospital room. He prepared for his surgery with relaxation tapes, Swedish

massage and self-hypnosis - alien therapies for a man who previously dealt

with stress by smoking two packs a day of unfiltered Lucky Strikes and

eating plenty of cannoli. He entered the hospital a skeptic; now he's a

convert, convinced he owes his rapid healing to his alternative treatments

and excited to be taking an active role in his recovery. His yoga instructor

tells him to place is hands on his upper chest. " Watch your breath go in and

out, " she tells him gently. " Take the time to feel the warmth of your hands

against your heart center, and allow yourself to feel the healing. " The

lights are lowered, the room is quiet. Slowly, with his hands over the scar

that runs the length of his breastbone, Randazzo takes a healing breath.

Why have alternative therapies in this country started to migrate from the

margins to the center? One reason is that as allopathic medicine - a term

commonly used to describe Western techniques - becomes better at what it can

do well, its limitations become more conspicuous. Allopathy is clearly

superb at dealing with trauma and bacterial infections. It is far less

successful with asthma, chronic pain and autoimmune diseases. Patients are

also growing weary of their hasty processing by conventional doctors.

According to one study, the average doctor interrupts his patient after 14

seconds. " I used to work in an HMO setting, which was like cattle-chute

medicine, " says Edelberg, a Chicago internist. " One patient every

seven minutes, and three examining rooms going. My personal epiphany

occurred when I was making hospital rounds and I had 10 chairs in front of

me. Of these 10 patients, seven were in the hospital because nobody had

explained lifestyle issues to them when they were younger. They could have

avoided degenerative diseases when they were older if somebody had told them

to exercise, meditate and eat right. The other three were in the hospital

due to complications from conventional medicine. I said, `This system is

wrong.' " Edelberg now runs the American Holistic Centers in Chicago, where

initial consultations last well over an hour.

One would like to think this physician interest is the result of raised

consciousness, but some doctors are undoubtedly moved as much by the wallet

as by the spirit. A 1993 study, which found one in three Americans had used

alternative therapies, estimated that they spend almost $14 billion a year

on them, more than people spent out of their own pockets for conventional

medicine. Simultaneously, the economic breakdown of the current medical

system has provided a window of opportunity: Many people believe that

alternative techniques, which are less invasive and therefore often take

more time, may entail higher up-front preventive costs but in the long run

will cost less by reducing tests, procedures and hospitalizations. Insurance

companies are beginning to cover some alternative therapies. This year,

Washington became the first state to require reimbursement for treatment

performed by any licensed or certified health-care practitioner, including

massage, acupuncture and some 30 other techniques.

These two strands - spiritual and economic - are in evidence at the World

Congress on Complementary Therapies in Medicine in Washington, D.C., where

it doesn't take a double-blind study to conclude that there is a higher

incidence of ponytails, hugs and mugs of herbal tea than most medical

conferences. There is a buzz in the air, a feeling that people here are

participating in an important issue at a defining time. Physicians engage in

passionate discussions about the " paradigm shift, " the " medical revolution "

and the " healing partnership " between doctor and patient. But as often as I

hear the phrase " patient-centered care, " I also hear " market share " and

" piece of the medical pie. " Insurance company reps and HMO aides circulate

purposefully among the doctors. Nattily dressed young salesmen pitch

nutritional supplements, homeopathic remedies and vitamin sprays. ( " Keeps

the body's energy level and immune system at a maximum with a simple quick

spritz four or more times daily! " . I am disheartened to watch a Yale medical

professor wind up her seminar by flogging a series of medical videos she

helped produce, then carefully enunciating the toll-free number for ordering

them.

The Arizona Center for Health and Medicine in Phoenix is one of a handful of

clinics in the U.S. already practicing what physicians at the conference

were only dreaming about. Signs that allopathic and alternative medicine are

happily wedded are everywhere. While answering incoming calls, a nurse

untangles a ganglion of electrical acupuncture cords with the patience of a

mother untangling Christmas lights before a tree-trimming. A set of glass

orbs used for cupping, an ancient practice said to improve circulation, sits

atop a sterilizer. In the clinic pharmacy, vials of insulin for diabetes and

Labetalol for hypertension line the shelves near canisters with labels like

Meridian Passage, Dispel Invasion and Compassionate Sage. Cheek by jowl with

the reception desk is a meditation garden. Some 100 patients a day come to

the two-year-old Center to receive standard Western medical care or to

combine it with biofeedback, acupuncture, homeopathy, craniosacral therapy,

guided visual imaging and 12 other alternative therapies. Each of the six

physicians on staff is trained in several techniques, and they oversee a

dozen non-physician practitioners. Says program director Sam , 48, a

ponytailed physician often seen with a stethoscope around his neck and a box

of acupuncture needles in his hand, " We don't believe we're giving our

patients the best care possible if we just practice in one modality or the

other. "

My visit to the Center makes me realize how deeply the allopathic model of

health care is ingrained in my consciousness. I'm in a medical clinic: Why

doesn't it look like one? The Center was recently redesigned after a

yearlong series of meeting in which staff and patients sat in circles and

talked about their concepts of what constituted " a healing environment. "

Their idea of a healing environment clearly did not include stark white

walls, fluorescent lights, linoleum floors, antiseptic smells, out-of-date

magazines or Muzak. The Center's wide hallways are gently curved and painted

different colors of the desert - brown, orange and sky-blue. In the

tear-shaped waiting area, patients can sip spring water from a cooler,

ponder " healing artwork " and peruse an eclectic selection of magazines

including HerbalGram and Omega (as well as such waiting-room perennials as

Redbook and National Geographic). Each examination room is marked with a

number and drawing of an herb; inside, pine armoires replace the usual steel

cabinets.

In Room 20 (Ginger) an osteopath performs craniosacral treatment - a

technique of applying barely perceptible pressure to improve the flow of the

cerebrospinal fluid - on a 49-year-old businesswoman who has had persistent

headaches and neck pain since she fractured a cervical vertebra five years

ago. In 18 (uva ursi) a physician prescribes an herb called Ginkgo biloba, a

homeopathic remedy called Vertigo Heel and a course of meditation for a

70-year-old man suffering from anxiety and dizziness. In 16 (Grape seed) Sam

taps the last 28 acupuncture needles into a man suffering from

dizziness and back pain. Then he kneels near the man's head and begins to

pray.

Prayer is one of 's favorite tools. Sometimes he writes healing

words from the Bible and tapes them to a patient's pillow before surgery.

" Does it work? " he says. " I think it does. But if it doesn't, what harm does

it do? And it doesn't cost anything. " Patients at the Center may reject

alternative treatments - 20 percent receive only allopathic care, some

because they choose to and some because their insurance companies won't pay

for anything else. However, they cannot reject conventional treatments if

their doctors feel they are necessary. " If you have a broken skull, " says

, " we're not going to give you a homeopathic remedy under your

tongue, we're going to get you over to Barrow Neurological Institute. " When

a middle-aged woman with breast cancer asked to pray for her

instead of sending her back to her surgeon, did both. But most

patients come to the Center after years of standard medicine have failed to

help them, and for them the attitudinal differences - the way doctors here

look patients in the eye, touch them, ask them about their hopes and fears,

enlist their aid not in a mechanical quashing of symptoms but in a long-term

journey toward health - may matter as much as the multiplicity of treatment

options. In fact, after I've spent several days at the Center, talking with

both doctors and patients, I find that I've stopped missing the Betadine

smells and the Muzak. The curving blue-green walls look perfectly normal.

And the only white coat in the place - worn by a physician who arrived a

month ago and doesn't yet feel comfortable without it - now looks chillingly

formal to me, an emblem of distance rather than authority.

Although the Arizona Center receives more than 50 job inquiries a month from

physicians who would love to doff their white coats forever, there are

plenty of people in the medical establishment who think that doctors who

prescribe saw palmetto for prostatitis (as has often done) are akin

to astrophysicists who believe in UFOs. Barret, a retired

psychiatrist, board member of the National Council Against Health Fraud and

self-described " quackbuster, " calls Chinese medicine diagnostics " loony as

hell " and homeopathy " complete nonsense - not even worth testing. " He

believes that M.D.s gullible enough to be drawn into alternative therapies

should be delicensed. In search of a more nuanced argument, I turn to the

American Medical Association. A spokesman recommends their Reader's Guide to

Alternative Health Methods, which, I find, is co-authored by Barrett. Its

subtitle hints at its attitude: " An analysis of more than 1,000 reports on

unproven, disproven, controversial, fraudulent, quack, and/or otherwise

questionable approaches to solving health problems. " In its first 36 pages,

the word quack is used so often -209 times, by my count - I think I'm

reading Make Way for Ducklings.

The chief objection made by this book, and by other critics, is that there

is no proof - beyond slippery anecdotes and testimonials - that alternative

therapies work. This is not entirely true: A University of Miami study found

that premature babies who were given daily massages gained weight faster and

left the hospital sooner than those who were not; a Stanford University

study found that women with breast cancer who participated in support groups

lived an average of 18 months longer than those who didn't; a study by

radiologist Dean Ornish found that a program of meditation, exercise, group

support and low-fat diet can not only halt the progression of heart disease

but actually reverse it. Critics of alternative medicine argue that most

pro-alternative research is methodologically flawed, that it does not

consist of double-blind, placebo-controlled studies, medicine's gold

standard. However, it is estimated that half of today's traditional medical

practices have never been subjected to such studies either. In 1992 the

National Institutes of Health opened an Office of Alternative Medicine,

which has awarded modest, but symbolically groundbreaking, grants to study

26 therapies, including the use of guided imagery to control asthma, Chinese

herbs to treat hot flashes, and, I'm happy to learn hypnosis to treat back

pain.

A frequent defense of alternative therapies is that they may or may not

help, but at least they do no harm. Many people turn to herbs, for instance,

instead of pharmaceuticals, in the belief that because herbs are " natural, "

they must be safe. This is not always the case. Ephedra, a plant used in

China to treat upper-respiratory ailment for two millennia, and more

recently in the U.S. to boost energy, promote weight loss and give a legal

high, has caused an estimated 15 deaths from chronic use or overdose. Herbs

and vitamins are regulated by the FDA as dietary supplements, not drugs, so

these substances (with exception of some ephedra products recently banned in

several states) are readily available in health-food stores.

One of the most serious criticisms is that practitioners of alternative

medicine may miss a severe illness that only conventional medicine can

effectively address, a hazard that would certainly be lessened by the

involvement of M.D.s like Sam . But other skeptics see physician

involvement as a kind of Trojan horse via which questionable techniques are

being sneaked into the medical canon. " When M.D.s use these kinds of

irrational, nonsensical techniques, it may confuse their patients and set

them up for further reliance on quacks, " says Jarvis, an educator

and founder of the National Council Against Health Fraud. " Just because

these techniques sell doesn't mean they're good. It means people are

desperate and easy to deceive. " One cannot help detecting a note of

defensiveness. " Lots of doctors are very scared of what we're doing, " says

. " Doctors are extremely into control, and integrative medicine is a

system that takes away some of that control. " recently treated a

physician who came to the Center after standard care had been unable to

relieve his rheumatoid arthritis. " After he saw what we had to offer, he

asked, `Where does that leave me?' "

One of the first doctors to ask himself that question was Weil, who

has been exploring alternative techniques since graduating from Harvard

Medical School in 1968. Weil is perhaps the most widely known proponent of

integrative medicine. Many readers keep his best-selling books on natural

remedies next to their beds and dog-ear them the way a generation of parents

dog-eared their Dr. Spocks. Each week, Weil receives about 250 calls and 100

letters from around the world. Some are from doctors who want advice on how

to get into alternative medicine, others from entrepreneurs who want him to

endorse products (he won't). But most are from people - including M.D.s -

with desperate medical problems. The letters usually begin with " I need

help " and end with " You are my only hope. " And just as Weil once tracked

down shamans in the Ecuadoran jungle, strangers show up unannounced at his

home - a former ranch in the desert southeast of Tucson, at the end of a

series of bone-jarring dirt roads punctuated by cattle-guard grates and

bullet-pocked signs. Just a few weeks ago a woman and her three children

drove up to the front gate - all the way from Ohio. One of the children had

a medical problem that had baffled doctors, and, without calling ahead, they

had gotten into their car and driven to Arizona to see Weil. (Weil happened

to be lecturing in Japan, so the woman and her children turned around and

headed home.)

This kind of pilgrimage makes Weil scratch his shiny pate, since his

professional life has been devoted to the philosophy of Patient, heal

thyself. In his most recent book, Spontaneous Healing, he outlines an

eight-week program of diet, exercise and mental/spiritual work to " create

the foundation of healing lifestyle. " His prescription includes deep yogic

breathing, eating garlic and fish rich in Omega-3 fatty acids, buying fresh

flowers, making a list of friends who make you laugh, and going on a one-day

" news fast " (no TV, radio or newspapers). He also recommends falling in

love. When symptoms occur, Weil prescribes natural methods whenever

possible. Instead of an antihistamine for hay fever, he might suggest

stinging nettles; for mild depression, instead of Prozac, he might prescribe

a tincture of Saint-'s-wort. For every prescription he writes for

pharmaceuticals, Weil gives out 40 botanical remedies. " My gut estimate is

that conventional medicine is appropriate for about 15 to 20 percent of

instances in which we're now using it, " he says. " And I think if we

restricted it to those instances, we wouldn't have an economic crisis in

health care. But doctors don't know anything else. Those are the tools

they've been given. "

To provide physicians with more tools, Weil has established a two-year

program at the University of Arizona to train postdoctoral fellows in

alternative medicine. Starting next year, four M.D.s will immerse themselves

in acupuncture, homeopathy and mind-body techniques. Although Weil is

unimpressed with the trappings of medical power - not only does he not hang

his medical school diploma on the wall, he doesn't even know whether he

still has it - he maintains that M.D.s are vital to the integrative medicine

movement. " That training prepares you better than anything else to recognize

allopathic emergencies, " he says. And he thinks consumers need some guidance

in sorting through the 202 alternative therapies currently practiced in this

country, all of them mixtures, he says, " of wisdom and foolishness. " As Weil

sees the growing fervor for alternative medicine, his delight is tempered.

" I worry about programs being created too fast, where there aren't competent

people to staff them, " he says. " There aren't many doctors who have

background in other kinds of medicine, who are tuned in to mind-body

interactions. We need a new generation of physicians who are trained to

think differently. "

When Loomis, 51, a former insurance underwriter, was referred to San

Francisco's Wellness Center, he was so skeptical he canceled his first two

appointments. (The name Loomis is a pseudonym.) " I've been a big

believer in Western medicine all my life, " he says. Loomis was found to be

HIV-positive in 1985 but somehow avoided serious opportunistic infections

and managed to stay off antiviral medication. Then last year he became

sicker than he had thought possible: a constant, debilitating stew of

asthmatic bronchitis, chronic allergies and fever. " I thought it was the

beginning of the end, " he recalls. When antibiotics failed, his physician

suggested he try the Wellness Center, a clinic for people with HIV, ARC,

AIDS and other chronic ailments, directed by Jon Kaiser, a 37-year-old

physician.

Loomis was surprised when Kaiser himself escorted him back to his office,

where they talked for more than an hour. Loomis's doctors had chalked up his

every symptom to the HIV virus and written prescriptions for each symptom.

Kaiser talked of strengthening his immune system with Chinese herbs,

vitamins and exercise, and told him that his symptoms were his body's way of

telling him something. To find out what, Loomis needed to go " inside

himself. " Kaiser prescribed 30 minutes a day of quiet time during which

Loomis was to light a candle and meditate, listen to a relaxation tape or

write in a journal. " After that meeting, I felt peaceful, " recalls Loomis.

" I felt encouragement, inclusiveness, support - something I'd never felt

from Western medicine. I also realized I was going to be participant, not

just a passive patient who gets a pill from the doctor and sees him in two

weeks. " The memory makes Loomis burst into tears. " I came home and said to

my partner, `I feel like a huge rock has been lifted from my shoulders.' "

When Kaiser was an intern, he saw that HIV and AIDS patients treated with

drugs alone invariably experienced a decline. Over the years, he has

developed a healing program that revolves around nutrition, Chinese herbs,

acupuncture, exercise and stress reduction, and introduces antiviral

medication only when necessary, and then with as light a hand as possible.

But just as important, Kaiser found, is the emotional component. He tells

his patients that " healing doesn't come out of little bottles, it comes out

of changing, growing and getting in touch with the spirit. " He encourages

patients to leave stressful jobs and relationships, to join HIV support

groups, to repeat affirmations to themselves, even to write letters to their

viruses. " Patients have to get away from treating the virus only as an enemy

to be destroyed. If they don't, they'll be at war with themselves the rest

of their lives. "

About three-quarters of Kaiser's patients remain asymptomatic and either

stabilize or increase their T-cells (the helpful lymphocytes that mediate

the body's immune response). Those with full-blown AIDS live longer and have

fewer hospitalizations and chronic symptoms than AIDS patients who follow

conventional medical regimens. " Even those patients of mine who do pass on,

they are, in a sense, good passings, " says Kaiser. " They are surrounded with

support; there's no angst, no anger, they let go and peacefully turn into

the light. "

In the course of my explorations for this story, I decide to volunteer my

own back - back pain is the most common complaint of people who seek

alternative therapy - as a research subject for about a dozen alternative

therapies. Almost all are performed or recommended by an M.D. A

neuromuscular therapist, who tells me I am walking with my hands rotated 90

degrees and my weight on the outside of my feet, recommends adjustment in my

gait. A physical therapist tells me I have a slight blockage in my energy

flow and suggests I need " a healing place of my own. " A yoga instructor

prescribes deep breathing. A practitioner of traditional Chinese medicine

examines my tongue, feels my pulse, concludes I am suffering from " wind damp

in the channels and joints " and prescribes herbal compounds with the

euphonious names of Brocade Sinew and Nourish the Root. An acupuncturist

tells me the cause of my back pain is repressed anger and gives me a Seven

Dragons treatment to expel the demons from my body. A qi gong healer just

clasps her hands around my right thigh for 30 seconds. Who knows why -

exercises? herbs? needles? - but gradually I begin to feel better; not

perfect, but good enough. My therapies have been so scattershot that I

cannot say which, if any, is my savior, but I am willing to concede that any

of them may have helped - which, of course, may only indicate that I am

extremely gullible. Altogether, the treatments cost less than half what the

orthopedic surgeon charged. My improvement may have less to do with the

treatment I received than with the way I was treated - not as a localized

pathology but as a whole person who is full partner in the business of

keeping himself healthy. My experience has led me to a partial conversion -

the medical analogue, perhaps, of the attitude held by someone who isn't

sure God exists but prays just in case. I have renewed my prescription for

Brocade Sinew and Nourish the Root, and plan to get an occasional

acupuncture tune-up. Perhaps most radically, I think about my back pain not

as an enemy to be destroyed but as a part of me that is trying to send

messages about how I need to change my life. I am not cured. I am healing.

But I have not lost my awe for the M.D.s in white coats. When I developed

acute chest pains recently, I swallowed barium, viewed my innards on X ray

and ultrasound and saw my gallbladder pinpointed as the culprit. I did not

telephone my acupuncturist; I telephoned a surgeon. When I was released from

the hospital, I offered fervent thanks to the gods of conventional medicine.

And when I got home, I put my hands over my three inchworm-size scars and

took a deep, healing breath.