When I found my functional health MD here in London, I pushed off from the shore of my disease(s?) in hopeful search of a new frontier of health. Ten months later, I haven't landed on that opposite shore, nor yet is it in sight. I'm kind of floating between the two, unable to really see either. Yesterday, I had another checkup. It was uneventful. I spent another hour inundating Dr. M with a daily chronology of symptom fluctuations, overall patterns noted, and faithful recounts of all the implementations of her recommendations from the previous visit; basically, I told her that while there has been variation from day to day, there has been little or no improvement. And after 10 months on a a changing roster of medications and supplements, and a restrictive autoimmune protocol diet—not to mention the extensive lifestyle changes I keep meaning to write about—I feel thwarted and very, very frustrated. "Longing" is a fairly poetic word with a dramatic flair a bit too pronounced for everyday use. But I am confident that I long viscerally for normalcy and the freedom to not be hobbled by my body's dysfunction. I want to travel, meet friends old a new, get a job on the merits of the master's degree that is currently collecting dust, even just stand up and walk around without either hurting, feeling ill, or both. And I really want my doctor to tell me how much longer this is going to take.

Instead, she tries to reassure me that by no means is she out of things to try. She essentially knows what is wrong, just not exactly which card in the deck is triggering the situation. Together, we have been throwing all kinds of science at this illness, methodically trying one thing at a time to check it off the list. She has a great deal of training and experience in this field of medicine, but it is still a burgeoning area; breaking news never has all the facts up front. Though it's good news that there are still more puzzle pieces to try, as she says, still I'd be grateful to see some little improvement to egg me on, aside from the blood work several months ago that showed my body was halting its attack on my thyroid thanks to lowered inflammatory responses (meaning the diet/supplementation/meds combo was having some of the desired effect—a small but significant win).

This time, I asked point blank if Dr. M was still operating under the assumption that I was going to get better. (I put voice to that scary little whisper in the back of my head that has begun to spout doubts.) She assured me there was no reason to think I wouldn't get better, which was not quite the resounding "Yes!" I was hoping for. And that she wasn't at all discouraged. I asked if most of her patients heal faster or better than I am, and she said not at all. Most of these autoimmune disease-states are brought on by a complex array of highly individual triggers that take time to suss out. Many people are in this for 1 or 2 years before they find the healing combination.

That was slightly reassuring, but I still feel like I'm rowing a boat with toothpicks, and without a compass or a map or any idea at all in what direction I am going.

I came home and researched the new concoctions my doctor has prescribed and was very comforted to find dozens of articles and references to the science behind the latest tweak she has made. It looks as though she intends to support one of the pathways of my methylation cycle to see if that's where the weakness lies, always operating under the assumption that, with a little help, the body will heal itself. (Methylation is a vital metabolic process that takes place over a billion times a second in the body, according to functional medicine guru Chris Kresser, and is crucial for production of ATP, the energy currency of the body.) I was reminded again that my doctor is a fount of knowledge after all. I will have to trust that she has more up her sleeve, trust that she understands far more of the nuanced machinations of the human body than she can explain in the limited hour of our appointment every 3 months. Which, assuming it's true, is a damn fine thing since her branch, functional medicine, is the only branch that has any grip on these sorts of ever-multiplying autoimmune/mystery diseases—chances are you have heard of someone being diagnosed lately with Hashimoto's Thyroiditis (just taking a hormone pill doesn't stop your body's attack, so with this one you're likely to develop another of these diseases at some point), MS, Lyme Disease, Rheumatoid Arthritis, Type 1 Diabetes, Lupus, Celiac, even Psoriasis and numerous other skin disorders—and hers is the only treatment available to me.

Bolstered with a renewed confidence in my chosen medical professional, I recalled that when you are halfway (hopefully) to anywhere, you have to travel a similarly rough road home as you would to keep going forward. Things could be worse; at least I have a boat to float in. So, onward I go, armed with a fresh bottle of liquid phosphatidylcholine and the new foray into acupuncture treatment I'll be testing out next week with the highly recommended lady who has some very odd ideas on where sticking needles will help. (But hey, I'd recite the unabridged collective works of Shakespeare backwards standing on my head in front of the Great Pyramid at Giza while being spit on by a stray camel if I thought it would help.)

I guess this is the point in my journey where I’m meant to cozy up to intangibles; so for now, I'll be steering this boat on faith. Not my strong suit, but maybe that’s the point.