Looking for Answers

Since his diagnosis of multiple sclerosis a decade ago, Dr. Friedman has been searching for a cure for the disease. After years of research, he realized that he had some of the answers right in his naturopathic medicine toolbox, and others, surprisingly, lay in the realm of conventional medicine. Before all of this, he first had to find a diagnosis. Which, when his symptoms were seemingly unrelated, was not easily found.

The following is an excerpt from There’s No Pill for This by Michaël Friedman. It has been adapted for the web.

My “official” journey with MS began in 2009—although, looking back, it’s now clear to me that this disease began to manifest decades earlier in a series of seemingly unrelated symptoms that make sense only in retrospect.

By my mid-20s I had already been hospitalized for episodes of unexplained mental confusion and vomiting. In one of those instances, I was driving a school bus and forgot how to operate the controls. Fortunately, no one was hurt—unless you consider the mailbox I knocked over as I struggled to recall how and where to drive. Despite my explanation of the mental confusion I’d experienced, my doctor concluded that I’d suffered a bout of food poisoning, and he sent me to the hospital for a week.

A decade later I began suffering persistent urinary frequency. I consulted both an acupuncturist and a urologist, neither of whom offered an effective treatment. I realize now why they couldn’t help me: Neither understood that the issue was neurogenic—meaning that it was caused by dysfunction in the nerves or nervous system—rather than an infection.

During the months that followed, I suffered from sporadic, yet profound, fatigue. I was also attending the Canadian College of Naturopathic Medicine in Toronto at the time; certainly, I told myself, the demands of the program could have been taking a toll on my physical health. Perhaps, with enough rest, I could heal up and move on. Even though I slept for 10 hours each night, however, I still required daily two-hour naps. On top of that, I had suddenly developed unexplained chemical sensitivities. When the family doctor I consulted told me they were due to psychological problems, I realized I needed to seek answers elsewhere.

That quest led me around the world, from traditional Shuar healers in Ecuador to Ayurvedic practitioners in India. As I broadened my own learn- ing and knowledge as a naturopathic physician-in-training, I also sought alternative treatments for my urinary symptoms (which, I would eventually learn, were manifestations of undiagnosed MS). In Xi’an, China, I checked into an acupuncture clinic that boasted a 95 percent cure rate for urological issues. I spent a ridiculous amount of money to no avail. My Chinese medical doctor, who accepted only US dollars from his medical tourists, once called me “American Dollar” instead of “American Doctor,” an apt Freudian slip. In Baja California I went to an alternative medicine hospital where—despite physicians’ claims to the contrary—the intravenous “detox” therapies actually worsened my symptoms, caused my liver enzymes to spike, and cost $8,000. This hospital subsequently shut down after officials learned that the “doctor” who owned it had faked his naturopathic medical degree and had adulterated his herbs with drugs. These experiences were a hard lesson for me that some unscrupulous doctors do prey on patients looking for the holy grail who are desperate for a cure and willing to pay extravagantly for it.

I also began experiencing intermittent, sharp jolts in my neck when I turned my head. Again, there seemed to be a good reason: I had been involved in a minor car accident not long before, and my family doctor said it made sense that I would experience some musculoskeletal aftereffects. Because neither he nor any other practitioner seemed able to assemble the pieces of my unique symptomatic puzzle into a complete clinical picture, I reluctantly tried to convince myself that I was just different from all of my friends my age.

Then, when I was 40, I suffered a particularly intense back spasm that lasted several days. I’d moved a heavy piece of equipment several months prior, so it was easy (once again) for me to justify this symptom—especially once it dissipated. Except that the painful jolts in my neck and spine returned, becoming so severe that I had trouble with the simple act of eating: Bending my neck toward my plate resulted in electric shocks of pain I felt down to my toes. So I sought help from a chiropractor, who diagnosed me with “over-firing signals.” Her treatments, including gentle massage, also provided no relief. As you might imagine, I was becoming increasingly frustrated—and discouraged—by my situation and inability to control it: an unsettling feeling for a naturally upbeat person like me whose first instinct is to find the humor in things. None of this was particularly funny.

A month later, while my wife, Sarika, and I were driving to a friend’s house, Sarika asked me a strange question. “Michaël,” she said, “why are you driving on the wrong side of the road?”

I realized that I had no idea. No idea why I was doing it, and worse, no idea which side of the road was actually the correct one to drive on. That frightening episode finally led me to consult a neurologist. He initially thought my symptoms were anxiety-related; surely I was much too young to be experiencing the kind of cognitive impairment most usually associated with Alzheimer’s disease or other dementia. Nonetheless, he ordered an MRI, and the results provided the answer to Sarika’s question. I’d been driving on the wrong side of the road because I had multiple sclerosis.