Michelle 2014 USA

One month ago, I couldn’t . . .
ZIP My own pants, DRY off after a shower, POP the top of a pop can, UNSCREW the cover of my truck’s gas tank, TUCK under the ends of my bed sheets, TICKLE my black lab’s ears, WASH my own hair, DO the dishes, MAKE supper, DIG in my garden, CLAP for my son’s baseball team . . .

Over the last six months, I couldn’t . . .
TEACH those 8th graders nearly as well as I wanted, THINK my way out of a small room with five open doors, QUALIFY for short term insurance benefits because of my Raynauds, ACCEPT the ever-increasing likelihood that my six-year evolving disease most likely was scleroderma, STAY out of the hospital when the circulation in my fingers just quit, STAND to look at the dry gangrene at the tips of my aching fingers, IMAGINE a day without morphine or fentynol . . . I couldn’t get out of bed . . . couldn’t enjoy summer vacation . . . couldn’t be a dependable mom . . . couldn’t imagine going back to school in the fall . . . couldn’t do anything but feel like I was in a room where the sides of the room were coming in and the roof was caving down and I was stuck forever in the middle . . . Until . . .

I ordered an informational book from on scleroderma. At that time, Amazon recommended another book — Henry Scammell’s book The Proven Therapy that Can Save Your Life. Being too sick to read either, I was surprised at work one day to get a phone call from my teary-eyed husband who had just finished Henry’s book. Up until that point, my husband was unaware of the cruel possibilities of scleroderma, and we both were unaware of the politics involved in the research to the cure for this disease.

At this point, I couldn’t believe the world-renowned medical facility where I had been a patient for five years had kept this all a secret from me.

Thank goodness I had just enough energy left to search out this web site, soak up all your encouraging posts for the past two months, travel to Iowa, and begin AP one month ago today.

Today, my list of “couldn’ts” is getting shorter. After my initial 5 days of IVs and subsequent daily minocycline, I can dig the potatoes from my garden and even look forward to returning to school in two weeks. Morning is no longer an enemy and within one week of starting AP, I dumped my morphine and threw away my fentynol pain patch. Can’t call me a narcotics-junkie anymore.

To my frightened husband and son, this is nothing short of a miracle and I thank each of you for responding to my posts along the way. When I told my husband that Henry Scammell even posted, he told me to pass along his ever-grateful thanks to the great author who opened our needy eyes to the only theory that makes sense and has a proven track-record to boot.

I’m jumping for joy. Thank you Henry Scammell, the RBF, all you encouraging BB posters, my caring Iowa doctor, and the ever-tenacious Dr. Brown who teaches me never to buckle under adversity. I feel so lucky to be heading down the road and to have my life back. Watch out 8th graders. Your teacher is coming back with renewed spirit and the conviction that ALL people need to know how to research, think for themselves, and work hard for what they want. The consequences of sitting back, blindly trusting all people in authority can be bleak.

May you all be blessed as we continue down this road together.

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