Peru

Health Lessons from the Amazon

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The morning after I picked up my discharge papers from the Marine Corps, I boarded a plane bound for Peru. After 4 years of being told where, when and what to do, I decided that the best plan was to have no plan. Against the advice of my direct supervisor, parents and a lot of friends, I left for 2 months with the attitude, whatever will be, will be.

On the first morning in Lima, I met Dany, a tour guide – sorta, in my hostel. In America our tour guides accompany large groups of people around cities explaining the historical significance of buildings and areas. In Peru, tour guides have licenses, but their tours can be a little less formal. I was a single woman in a foreign country where I didn’t speak the language and I accidentally hired Dany as my personal guide along the Amazon for 2 weeks (I misunderstood and thought I was joining a group already going – oops! Whatever will be, will be).

We flew from Lima into Iquitos and from Iquitos took a riverboat along the Amazon for 15 hours. Not intentionally trying to get off the beaten path, I was the only gringa on the boat. The children were as fascinated with me as I was with them. We got off in a town with some electricity and running water thanks to an abandoned missionary. After a quick lunch, Dany hired a couple to take us on a peka-peka (a hand carved canoe with a little motor on it that made the sound, “peka-peka”) further into the abyss. A few hours down a smaller river and deep into the rainforest, we stepped onto the muddy bank and walked into a village of about fifty or sixty people. There was no electricity or running water and some of the younger children had never even seen a white person before.

We stayed with the village elders and the children came over to play with my hair, draw pictures in my journal and try to communicate with the strange, tall white woman who had mysteriously shown up with Dany. I tried their various foods and discovered that the Amazonian miracle foods that are sold here aren’t even comparable to the true miracle foods in the jungle. Down there food is life and life is a miracle. During my time in the rainforest, I learned that virtually everything that we can cure with a magic pill in America can be treated with a root or leaf brewed into a tea or soup. On the third day, I started to develop the symptoms of a urinary tract infection and was concerned that if left untreated it could travel into my kidneys. I explained to Dany my concerns about being so far away from a doctor or hospital if the infection got worst. He explained to me that he went to school in Iquitos to learn about medicinal plants before moving to Lima to become a tour guide. Dany placed his hand on my lower back, on my stomach, felt my forehead and said my kidney’s felt warm. He made a delicious tea of roots, berries and leaves and within an hour my symptoms were alleviated. I didn’t have any further problems during the whole trip. On another morning I complained of a headache and Dany concocted a remedy for it as well. It was clear that these people didn’t need health insurance, doctors, hospitals or pharmaceuticals. They simply weren’t plagued with incurable diseases like cancer, Alzheimer’s, or autism.

Fortunately, I have always had great health and have never had to take a long-term prescription. I drink plenty of water, get plenty of sunshine, and hardly ever take OTC medications. However, now I wonder if I will ever be quick to reach for a bottle or prescription in the future. According to the CDC approximately half of Americans are on at least one prescription and many on multiple. Furthermore, CNN reports that: “Today, the United States consumes most of the world’s supply of opioid painkillers. By 2010, enough opioid painkillers were prescribed to medicate every American adult around-the-clock for a month. And every year, nearly 15,000 people die from overdoses involving these drugs… more than from heroin and cocaine combined.” And it’s not just the pharmaceutical companies that spent nearly 60  BILLION DOLLARS in 2004 on advertising, twice as much as they spent on research and development; last year the outgoing chairman of Aetna, the third largest health insurance company in the US, got a 68.7 MILLION DOLLAR farewell package. Is there a place for conventional medicine in my life? Yes, but only as a secondary resource or when it’s obviously necessary (I recently cut my hand open on glass and had to get stitches – in the jungle they probably would have wrapped it up in a leaf and I would have survived all the same). I go to doctors appointments prepared to fight the “take a pill, numb the symptom” approach to my health. Thanks to ProPublica, there is now a database which lists doctors that are on big pharma’s payroll. This database is not all-inclusive yet, but is growing and now list 761.3 million dollars of disclosed payments to doctors from 12 different pharmaceutical companies.

The lesson I learned in the Amazon wasn’t “down with pharmaceutical companies and western medicine,” although I do question our societies pill popping problem. The lesson was that health starts with our diet and lifestyle. We can’t all move to the Amazon or harvest and market their indigenous plants for our benefits, but we can learn from their way of life. The families that I briefly lived with woke up with a clear purpose each day – to survive. Their day was spent repairing their huts, farming, hunting, and caring for one another. They laughed, unfortunately a lot of it was at the silly gringa. They were out in the sun, drank water instead of soda, lived without cell phones, wireless Internet and computers everywhere they went. I don’t know if they live longer than we do, but I know they lived healthier lives without new diseases that can now be cured with a pill. The first thing I did when I came home was get rid of my smartphone and make it a daily habit to disconnect from the virtual world at least once a day. I also eat more whole foods, ask my doctor to find and fix the problem not the symptom, and I laugh, a lot, everyday.

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Photo Credit – Lisbeth Prifogle, 2009

This article was published originally in October 2014. 

In the ER … Again! Heavy Menstrual Bleeding

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“You really shouldn’t be doing this,” the ER doctor informs me. As if I have any control over my body and its screwed up menstrual cycles. As if I choose this hormonal fate. I want to punch him, but I can barely keep my eyes open to look at him while he talks. “You really need to figure out why you are bleeding so heavy, this isn’t normal.”

If I had enough energy to lift my limp head up off the hospital bed, I would point out the fallacy in his logic – this is not my responsibility. I have been in and out of ER’s and doctors’ offices since I was 18 years old from menstrual bleeding so heavy that I pass out or nearly pass out. It always seems to be more of an inconvenience than a concern for doctors. Oh they are concerned at first. But as soon as I explain my history of this problem, his concern, like all doctors, turns into annoyance. As soon as I tell them I don’t want to take oral contraceptives or any other type of artificial hormone, the concern quickly evaporates like the sweat dripping down my forehead in spite of my shivering body being wrapped up in blankets. Even after I explain my experiences on oral contraceptives (OC) and how the four times I have tried to take it to regulate my periods, I bleed like this every single month, not just occasionally, and that’s on top of the other side effects: extreme depression, weight gain, and epic mood swings that cause my boyfriend to nearly dump me (and who would blame him – I’d dump me if I had to deal with the monster I become on OC).

“Ok” is all I have the energy to muster as I close my eyes to prepare myself for the next cramp I can feel billowing in my lower abdomen. I let the pain wash over me as he continues oblivious to the pain I’m in.

“You need to follow up with your primary or gynecologist,” he tells me. “I’m going to give you progesterone to stop the bleeding…” he goes on to explain the difference between progesterone and estrogen. I don’t stop him to tell him I write for a women’s health ezine or that I’ve done enough research that I likely know more about women’s health and hormones than most general doctors.

A few minutes later my nurse, I’m tempted to start a new religion just so I can appoint her as a saint, walks in with my discharge papers. “Ok honey, I hope you feel better. I’m so happy it’s not an ectopic pregnancy or anything serious.” Throughout the day she has brought in warm blankets and shown more compassion than any doctor I have ever met. I am a problem they can’t fix. They aren’t Dr. House so they’d rather just pass me off to another doctor and move on to a more exotic problem. I’m just a noncompliant patient with hormone problems. God forbid I ask them to think outside the box and figure out what is causing this excessive bleeding. My nurse takes out the IV as careful as you can take out an IV and in a motherly tone says, “I’m glad everything came back normal, but sometimes not knowing is even worse. You go home and take it easy.” I fight back tears. Exhausted and hormonal, I want to hug this woman for her simple acts of kindness and compassion.

“This isn’t really anything new.” I tell her, even though she already knows my medical history. “It sucks, but I’m used to it now.”

“But it shouldn’t be like that,” she says. Like I said, this woman should be appointed as the saint of Emergency Departments.

On my way out of the ER, I stop by the hospital pharmacy and pick up the prescription for hormones that I won’t take. I head back to my office to explain to my male boss that everything was fine and try to make it sound serious enough not to sound like a hypochondriac. He smiles and Okays me to work from home the next day.

I go home to my very concerned boyfriend. I throw the bag with the “magic” pills on the counter and exasperated say, “they gave me IV fluid and hormones, but I’m not taking them.” Naturally, this causes a fight that I don’t have the energy to deal with…again.

Boyfriend: You need to take the medication they give you.

Me: It won’t help and it just messes my system up even more.

Boyfriend: [throws arms in the air … like he’s more exhausted than me at this point?!] You’re not a doctor.

Me: I’m going to bed.

Like every time before, the bleeding slowly lets up in the following days. I’m not a prophet, but I can tell you how this story will end: For the next few weeks, I will walk around like the living dead. I will force myself to eat in spite of having absolutely no appetite. The doctor will call to follow up. “Do you want to take birth control now?” she will ask and when I tell her no, “there’s really nothing more I can do for you at this point…” I know this is how everything will play out because history is simply repeating itself. Sadly I have learned to accept it. In another month, or six, or maybe even a year, I’ll be back in the ER and the cycle will repeat itself again. As I write this I’m so faint that I’m debating going back to the ER to test my blood levels again, but resignation is the only emotion I can muster. Not concern for my own health, but resignation that this is as good as it gets so why fight the system?

So, why do hormones matter? Why don’t hormones matter is a better question. Why is this story an acceptable fate for me and so many other women?

This article was first published on Hormones Matter in July 2013.