“Take two of these before each meal,” said Dr. Blankety Blank, reaching across his desk. The pink pills in front of him glowed next to neat rows of yellow, green, and blue ones—little colored soldiers ready for battle. He slid a prescription sheet across to the woman awaiting his verdict. “Follow this diet, take the pills, and you’ll lose weight,” he beamed the words at my mother.
I sat there, utterly bewildered. I wanted to leap up and shout, “The emperor has no clothes!” What’s wrong with us? How can someone confidently dispense treatments without truly knowing a person’s metabolism, history, fears, emotional chemistry? Why do we accept the same cookie‑cutter approach for everyone?
That moment planted a seed. Years ago, when my mother sought help, nothing I said mattered—yet it mattered to me. I watched her become entranced by authority: prescriptions piled up, mental health issues multiplied, but her fears and pain remained unhealed. I learned that you can't change someone else—you can only offer an opportunity for change. True healing must be chosen by the individual.
My first job after nursing school was on a med/surg unit. Whenever new orders popped up, I’d walk in with the Physician’s Desk Reference (PDR)—a thick book detailing every aspect of a drug: actions, side effects, long-term risks. Not a single patient wanted to read it. “My doctor knows what’s best,” they’d say.
Four months into nursing, I was injured by a patient. I was given an IV of Robaxin, a muscle relaxant. It was administered repeatedly. Once the haze cleared, I grabbed the PDR and scanned the long‑term effects. Heart issues?! Of course. The heart is a muscle. My response? I felt furious: Why hadn’t anyone told me? I wanted to throw that book at the doctors: at 19, I realized the power of information—but also the danger of silence.
Sixty years later, I still hear about patients whose symptoms linger—or even worsen—after “heavy artillery” like drugs and invasive surgery are rolled out too quickly. I recall a WWII Frontline nurse I once learned from, who said:
“Invasive procedures of all kinds—surgery, and drugs—should be last resort, not first option.”
I wish this wisdom would guide all modern medicine. The integrated and functional medical license, which is the second license for some medical doctors, believe that natural help is at least as important as medication and surgery. Naturopathic medicine, licensed in many states in the US, is a system that uses natural remedies to help the body heal itself.
We often worship technology and draw bold conclusions without the benefit of long‑term study. Next time you reach for an over‑the‑counter drug, remember: the FDA does not use a guideline of a full generation.
Now some medications are fast‑tracked in six months. Those usually are considered emergencies yet many do not know the full story at that point. That’s insufficient to detect genetic or developmental side‑effects. During my time at the international women's writing guild teaching I met and became a close friend to a woman who had been a have to now Thalidamide baby. She was permanently in a wheelchair, with missing limbs.
Consider Linus Pauling—Nobel laureate and vitamin‑C crusader. He studied the complex of roses for 70 years. Even after his acclaim, he humbly acknowledged many unanswered questions. One conclusion stood clear: Vitamin C complexes can be very safe—and possibly highly effective—for maintaining health.
As a medical intuitive, I recognize that true answers unfold gradually—like petals opening in spring. Healing isn’t a one‑size‑fits‑all; it’s a personal resonance. Each person must feel aligned—with both healer and treatment—for real change to happen.
So yes: homeopathy may have a place in your family’s toolkit—along with massage, reflexology, aromatherapy, meditation, intuition, writing, playing, singing, vitamins, and organic foods. Yoga, past‑life regression, and your own soul‑guided daily rituals—these can support health just as much as any prescription.
Living by your inner compass first, before tuning into external noise, enables calm, rational choices.
May we—all of us—live in gratitude and encouragement. May we open ourselves to divine energies flowing through all things. And may we embrace this grand adventure called life—with love, respect, and devotion.
Nancy
