by Dr. Talia Marcheggiani, ND | Aug 30, 2015 | Acupuncture, Addiction, Community, Healing Stories, Health, Human Rights, Listening, Medicine, Mental Health, Motivation, Philosophy, Politics, Psychology, Volunteering
I was recently told that a benefactor would contact me about the work I’ve been doing for the Evergreen Yonge Street Mission in Toronto—I provide naturopathic services to street-involved youth twice a month in the drop-in health clinic. There is a natural health company that might be interested in sponsoring some of the naturopathic services. However, in order to understand where their money is going, they want to hear some success stories before they consider if and how much to donate. Are the services working? They want to know. Since I, more than anyone, appreciate the power of a story and, since I’m trying to raise some money to expand the services I provide myself, I thought I’d tell one. Names and details have been changed.
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A shift at the mission lasts a few hours. Youth sign up for the adolescent medicine specialist and her Sick Kid’s Hospital resident, dental work or me, the naturopath, represented under the heading “naturopathic medicine/acupuncture”. There is no money for supplements—and supplements can be expensive—and the youth I treat don’t have money to buy food let alone a bottle of melatonin. So I do acupuncture.
Eduardo was waiting when it I called him. He was lying face up on the bench in the waiting area, looking at a pamphlet on “dope addiction”. He was wearing sunglasses. When he came into the visit, he didn’t take them off, despite the low-level lighting of the treatment room I occupy. It felt strange to talk to someone’s dark glasses, not making eye contact with them as we spoke. I wondered vaguely if I should tell him to take off the glasses, and then left it alone—his comfort as the patient should take priority over mine. Why challenge his autonomy and further push the power imbalance by telling him to do something that was not fully necessary? I worked around the glasses, moving them aside slightly in order to needle the acupuncture point yin tang, located between the eyebrows. The glasses stayed on. So be it.
Eduardo and I spoke Spanish, as his English wasn’t strong. He spoke of feeling shaky, showing me his tremoring hand to prove it. When did the shakiness start? I inquired. When I overdosed on crack, he explained. Well, that would do it, I thought to myself, although you can imagine my clinical experience with crack overdose was limited—there aren’t that many crack overdoses in Bloor West Village.
As it turned out, Eduardo had a significant dependence on marijuana, smoking 7 grams a day while in his home country. When he bought pot on the streets in Toronto, however, he found one deal laced with crack. He ended up in the hospital after smoking it. Another time, his weed was laced with meth.
He held his hand up. I watched it shake. He told me his whole body felt shaky. This would be exacerbated further if he stopped smoking marijuana, he assured me. Had he ever stopped before? I asked. Yes, he said. Why did he stop? I asked him, taking a de-centred approach while staying curious about preferred ways of being. In this case I suspected he preferred to be sober—after all, something had made him stop.
The cost, he explained.
Ah, that, I thought. Well, it makes sense.
Any other reason? I asked him.
He explained that his family didn’t approve. I asked him why. What might they think of marijuana? What did they see him do when he was high that led to their disapproval. Eduardo couldn’t answer. He changed the subject and explained he’d gone back to weed after quitting it that time because it helped him sleep. Since the episode with the crack overdose, though, sleep was difficult. That’s why he was here: to get acupuncture to help with sleep.
Eduardo spoke in a low voice, often responding with a word or two. Despite the glasses shielding his eyes, he kept his gaze on the floor. When I had him lie on the treatment table, I encouraged him to close his eyes and rest while the acupuncture worked.
After a few minutes, I removed the needles. He thanked me shyly and left. Like many of the people I treat, I figured the odds were high I’d never see him again.
—
I was surprised, then, that a month later, I saw him in the waiting area again.
The visit went pretty much the same way as the first with one key difference. The second time he came in, Eduardo removed his glasses, meeting my eyes for the first time.
I was touched.
His sleep was still bad. His mood was still low. He hadn’t smoked crack for a while. He was living in a shelter; his family had kicked him out because of his addiction to marijuana. He implied great trauma in his home country, however he didn’t say much more about it. He mentioned regretting that his English was poor—it had been traumatic to come to Canada.
He told me he was applying for medical marijuana. It would be a safer way to smoke, he told me.
He was practicing harm reduction on himself. I asked him if he considered this “taking steps.” He nodded. I asked him about any other steps he’d been considering. He mentioned swimming. Swimming had been a passion of his in his home country. I got more details about his goals: how often did he want to swim? Where? He decided that 3-5 times a week at the local pool would be ideal. I asked him what he’d first have to do to make that happen. Check the pool times, he answered.
I asked him if he’d ever considered quitting marijuana. He said no, he needed it to sleep and to manage his anxiety. But, you know, it was expensive. And, of course, he repeated, his parents had an issue with it. That was a problem for him. I asked him why it was a problem.
It’s a problem… he repeated. He said nothing more.
We did more acupuncture. He went on his way.
—
Two weeks later, Eduardo came to see me again. He took his glasses off as soon as he saw me.
He reported his sleep was better. He had been swimming 3 times a week at the local pool. He hadn’t smoked crack in a month. He’d stopped marijuana the last time he saw me. He hadn’t smoked for two weeks. He showed me his hand. It wasn’t shaking.
Do you think these are positive developments? I asked him.
He shrugged nonchalantly but failed to disguise the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. He looked down.
I put in some acupuncture needles and asked him what his next steps might be. He answered that he thought he might call his old boss back and get back to work. Then he wanted to save money so he could move out of the shelter he was in.
He then started to talk a little bit about his brother who was killed in his home country and his friends who’d betrayed him to another gang resulting in him having to flee for his life. He talked about receiving premonitions in his dreams. This made sleep difficult, but it had also caused him to act and avoid harm—he’d learned from a dream that his friends were untrustworthy. We wondered together if this was more than a source of anxiety, but a special skill that kept him safe. Maybe he wouldn’t have to be vigilant if important warnings came to him in his dreams. I wondered if marijuana, along with helping hims sleep had hindered that gift. He thought about that for a while.
When he left he asked me how many more acupuncture treatments he might need. I told him to come in as often as he liked but 8-10 was a good starting point.
Ok, he said, it’s been 3 so far.
Right, I said. It’s been 3.
Ok, he said. See you in two weeks.
He put his glasses back on and walked out into the chaos of Yonge Street. There was a street festival going on.
—
At one point in my time spent with Eduardo, one of the staff at the mission inquired about his mental capacities. Apparently the psychiatrist he’d been working with was considering a diagnosis of mental retardation or severe learning disability–it was taking him so long to learn English and he was often slow to answer questions.
No disrespect to psychiatry: the more I work with mental health, the more respect I have for the utility, albeit limited, of psychiatric assessments and medications. For many people, and when applied delicately and sensitively, these things add powerful meaning and serve as important life savers. However, I want to emphasize the importance of lowering practitioner power, understanding the challenges another person may face in their life and respecting the autonomy, decision-making power and special skills of the individual who seeks health care. In addition, rather than looking for the problem in the person, what success stories are they bringing forth? What goals have been set and what steps have been taken already?
I often comment that the stories I hear and the conversations I have in the work I do are not the least bit depressing. Sure, the youth have dark, complicated, often horrific pasts. However, every individual is a collection of hopes, dreams, goals and personal strengths and abilities. Every person that comes to see me wants something more for themselves and has already exercised an ability to move closer to their preferred ways of being in the world, showing me the incredible capacity for human strength and endurance. The only difference, between the perspective I get to enjoy and the one seen by other health professionals, however, is that I look for stories of strength. Because strength is always there, waiting for a thoughtful question to bring it into the light.
To contribute to the Yonge Street Mission naturopathic services and for more information on the campaign, please click here. Donations are made in USD.
by Dr. Talia Marcheggiani, ND | Jul 20, 2015 | Art Therapy, Community, Creativity, Docere, Education, Emotions, Empathy, Finding yourself, Healing Stories, Health, Medicine, Mental Health, Mind Body Medicine, Mindfulness, Narrative Therapy, Philosophy, Politics, Psychology, Relationships, Self-reflection, Treating the Cause, Volunteering
As a child, I was obsessed with stories. I wrote and digested stories from various genres and mediums. I created characters, illustrating them, giving them clothes and names and friends and lives. I threw them into narratives: long stories, short stories, hypothetical stories that never got written. Stories are about selecting certain events and connecting them in time and sequence to create meaning. In naturopathic medicine I found a career in which I could bear witness to people’s stories. In narrative therapy I have found a way to heal people through helping them write their life stories.
We humans create stories by editing. We edit out events that seem insignificant to the formation of our identity. We emphasize certain events or thoughts that seem more meaningful. Sometimes our stories have happy endings. Sometimes our stories form tragedies. The stories we create shape how we see ourselves and what we imagine to be our possibilities for the future. They influence the decisions we make and the actions we take.
We use stories to understand other people, to feel empathy for ourselves and for others. Is there empathy outside of stories?
I was seeing R, a patient of mine at the Yonge Street Mission. Like my other patients at the mission health clinic, R was a young male who was street involved. He had come to see me for acupuncture, to help him relax. When I asked him what brought him in to see me on this particular day, his answer surprised me in its clarity and self-reflection. “I have a lot of anger,” He said, keeping his sunglasses on in the visit, something I didn’t bother to challenge.
R spoke of an unstoppable rage that would appear in his interactions with other people. Very often it would result in him taking violent action. A lot of the time that action was against others. This anger, according to him, got him in trouble with the law. He was scared by it—he didn’t really want to hurt others, but this anger felt like something that was escaping his control.
We chatted for a bit and I put in some acupuncture needles to “calm the mind” (because, by implication, his mind was not currently calm). After the treatment, R left a little lighter with a mind that was supposedly a little calmer. The treatment worked. I attributed this to the fact that he’d been able to get some things off his chest and relax in a safe space free of judgment. I congratulated myself while at the same time lamented the sad fact that R was leaving my safe space and re-entering the street, where he’d no doubt go back to floundering in a sea of crime, poverty and social injustice. I sighed and shrugged, feeling powerless—this was a fact beyond my control, there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
The clinic manager, a nurse practitioner, once told me, “Of course they’re angry. These kids have a lot to be angry at.” I understood theoretically that social context mattered, but only in the sense that it posed an obstacle to proper healing. It is hard to treat stress, diabetes, anxiety and depression when the root causes or complicating factors are joblessness, homelessness and various traumatic experiences. A lot of the time I feel like I’m bailing water with a teaspoon to save a sinking ship; my efforts to help are fruitless. This is unfortunate because I believe in empowering my patients. How can I empower others if I myself feel powerless?
I took a Narrative Therapy intensive workshop last week. In this workshop we learn many techniques for empowering people and healing them via the formation of new identities through storytelling. In order to do this, narrative therapy extricates the problem from the person: the person is not the problem, the problem is the problem. Through separating problems from people, we are giving our patients the freedom to respond to or resolve their problems in ways that are empowering.
Naturopathic doctors approach conditions like diabetes from a life-style perspective; change your lifestyle and you can change your health! However, when we fail to separate the patient from the diabetes, we fail to examine the greater societal context that diabetes exists in. For one thing, our culture emphasizes stress, overwork and inactivity. The majority of food options we are given don’t nourish our health. Healthy foods cost more; we need to work more and experience more stress in order to afford them. We are often lied to when it comes to what is healthy and what is not—food marketing “healthwashes” the food choices we make. We do have some agency over our health in preventing conditions like diabetes, it’s true, but our health problems are often created within the context in which we live. Once we externalize diabetes from the person who experiences it, we can begin to distance our identities from the problem and work on it in creative and self-affirming ways.
Michael White, one of the founders of Narrative Therapy says,
If the person is the problem there is very little that can be done outside of taking action that is self-destructive.
Many people who seek healthcare believe that their health problems are a failure of their bodies to be healthy—they are in fact the problem. Naturopathic medicine, which aims to empower people by pointing out they can take action over their health, can further disempower people when we emphasize action and solutions that aim at treating the problems within our patients—we unwittingly perpetuate the idea that our solutions are fixing a “broken” person and, even worse, that we hold the answer to that fix. If we fail to separate our patients from their health conditions, our patients come to believe that their problems are internal to the self—that they or others are in fact, the problem. Failure to follow their doctor’s advice and heal then becomes a failure of the self. This belief only further buries them in the problems they are attempting to resolve. However, when health conditions are externalized, the condition ceases to represent the truth about the patient’s identity and options for healing suddenly show themselves.
While R got benefit from our visit, the benefit was temporary—R was still his problem. He left the visit still feeling like an angry and violent person. If I had succeeded in temporarily relieving R of his problem, it was only because I had acted. At best, R was dependent on me. At worst, I’d done nothing, or, even worse, had perpetuated the idea that there was something wrong with him and that he needed fixing.
These kids have a lot to be angry at,
my supervisor had said.
R was angry. But what was he angry at? Since I hadn’t really asked him, at this time I can only guess. The possibilities for imagining answers, however, are plentiful. R and his family had recently immigrated from Palestine, a land ravaged by war, occupation and racial tension. R was street-involved, living in poverty in an otherwise affluent country like Canada. I wasn’t sure of his specific relationship to poverty, because I hadn’t inquired, but throughout my time at the mission I’d been exposed to other narratives that may have intertwined with R’s personal storyline. These narratives included themes of addiction, abortion, hunger, violence, trauma and abandonment, among other tragic experiences. If his story in any way resembled those of the other youth who I see at the mission, it is fair to say that R had probably experienced a fair amount of injustice in his young life—he certainly had things to be angry at. I wonder if R’s anger wasn’t simply anger, but an act of resistance against injustice against him and others in his life: an act of protest.
“Why are you angry?” I could have asked him. Or, even better, “What are you protesting?”
That simple question might have opened our conversation up to stories of empowerment, personal agency, skills and knowledge. I might have learned of the things he held precious. We might have discussed themes of family, community and cultural narratives that could have developed into beautiful story-lines that were otherwise existing unnoticed.
Because our lives consist of an infinite number of events happening moment to moment, the potential for story creation is endless. However, it is an unfortunate reality that many of us tell the same single story of our lives. Oftentimes the dominant stories we make of our lives represent a problem we have. In my practice I hear many problem stories: stories of anxiety, depression, infertility, diabetes, weight gain, fatigue and so on. However, within these stories there exist clues to undeveloped stories, or subordinate stories, that can alter the way we see ourselves. The subordinate stories of our lives consist of values, skills, knowledge, strength and the things that we hold dear. When we thicken these stories, we can change how we see ourselves and others. We can open ourselves up to greater possibilities, greater personal agency and a preferred future in which we embrace preferred ways of being in the world.
I never asked R why the anger scared him, but asking might have provided clues to subordinate stories about what he held precious. Why did he not want to hurt others? What was important about keeping others safe? What other things was he living for? What things did he hope for in his own life and the lives of others? Enriching those stories might have changed the way he was currently seeing himself—an angry, violent youth with a temper problem—to a loving, caring individual who was protesting societal injustice. We might have talked about the times he’d felt anger but not acted violently (he’d briefly mentioned turning to soccer instead) or what his dreams were for the future. We might have talked about the values he’d been taught—why did he think that violence was wrong? Who taught him that? What would that person say to him right now, or during the times when his anger was threatening to take hold?
Our visit might have been powerful. It might have opened R up to a future of behaving in the way he preferred. It might have been life-changing.
It definitely would have been life-affirming.
Very often in the work we do, we unintentionally affirm people’s problems, rather than their lives.
One of the course participants during my week-long workshop summed up the definition of narrative therapy in one sentence,
Narrative therapy is therapy that is life-affirming.
And there is something very healing in a life affirmed.
More:
The Narrative Therapy Centre: http://www.narrativetherapycentre.com/
The Dulwich Centre: http://dulwichcentre.com.au/
Book: Maps of Narrative Practice by Michael White
by Dr. Talia Marcheggiani, ND | Dec 18, 2013 | Evidence Based Medicine, Health, Naturopathic Philosophy, Naturopathic Principles, Politics, Robert Schad Naturopathic Clinic
Nettle tea: a botanical with the potential to treat acne… and not cause sudden death. Sounds like a sweet deal to me.
How does naturopathic medicine treat acne? Well, it’s quite simple, really. We turn our focus to the root cause of disease. Is there a hormonal component? Is lack of hygiene an issue? Are food sensitivities at play? Is an increased toxic load on the body resulting in an elevated burden on the skin to detoxify? Is there a mental-emotional cause or result of this acne?
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by Dr. Talia Marcheggiani, ND | Nov 3, 2013 | Addiction, Alcohol, Health, Homeopathy, Politics, Robert Schad Naturopathic Clinic
As many of you know, Toronto’s mayor, Rob Ford, is in the spotlight again. It seems that the famous “Crack Video” that was reported on in May, 2013, does exist, as confirmed by Toronto Chief of Police Bill Blair, who confiscated it in the drug raid, Project Traveller, a few months ago. From his numerous instances of public intoxication to his controversial, fiery politics, Rob Ford has always been a controversial mayor. He is being asked by colleagues – opponents and supporters alike – and the people of Toronto to step down from his role while he gets his life in order. While the jig seems to be up, he maintains irritatingly steadfast, refusing to take a leave of absence and even refusing to admit that he has a problem at all. It’s clear he needs some nature cure, ASAP.
Turning to one of the modalities of naturopathic medicine, homeopathy, I wonder if there isn’t a remedy that could help Mr. Ford un-stick himself from this awkward predicament and give him the strength to move forward.
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by Dr. Talia Marcheggiani, ND | Aug 23, 2012 | Balance, Colombia, Community, Culture, Emotions, Family, Music, Nature, Photography, Poetry, Politics, South America, Summer, Travel, Travel Stories
The first thing I notice about Bogotá, when descending the rickety stairs of the airplane, is the smell: a strange mixture of damp clay, lush green vegetation and diesel smoke. The altitude provides a lightheaded feeling of well-being and forceful palpitations of your abdominal aorta begin somewhere between your sternum and navel.
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by Dr. Talia Marcheggiani, ND | Jun 7, 2012 | Canadian College of Naturopathic Medicine, Community, Cuba, Education, Family, Ontario, Philosophy, Politics, Protests, Quebec, Student, Student debt
Dear Dalton McGuinty, premier of Ontario
Can you spare me $50,000?
I swear to you that my reasons for asking for it are pure; I just want to heal people. You see, I am studying to be a naturopathic doctor. I want to cure disease and make the world a better place, but in order to do that, I’ll need some cash.
Sure, you guys, the Ontario Government, supply me with a loan of about $11,000 a year. That’s great, thanks for that. However, my tuition alone is more than $20,000 a year and, having to study in Toronto, I also need money for rent and living expenses. Sadly, with the condo market the way it is right now, opportunities for squatting in abandoned factories are slim. Rent prices are a serious matter these days and having to study for 8 years will put my graduating age at 28 (some of my colleagues will be even older) so I unfortunately can’t live with my parents forever. They’ve been paying taxes for a long time and they want to retire in peace one day too.
I would hit the streets banging pots and pans in protest, like my colleagues in Quebec, however with times the way they are right now I barely have enough for a pot to pee in, let alone bang on. My time is precious as well – I commute 3 hours a day (due to the living-with-parents thing) and study for about 8. When I come home I have to eat, work on assignments, walk the dog, do some exercise and eventually sleep. I need to take care of my body a little; I am going to be a naturopath, after all.
I can work in the summer but unfortunately 4 months of work won’t pay the tuition for 4 years of school. I can’t work during the school year for the reasons outlined above and, oh yeah, during the summer I have board exams to study for and preceptor hours to accumulate so my time is precious during those months too. I wish things were like they were back in the ’80’s when a summer of work could easily make enough money for tuition for the following year but, as Bob Dylan says, “The times they are a-changin'”.
Perhaps we could put some of our tax dollars to work. I hear we spend a lot on our military. Could we maybe spare some funds there? I know it may sound crazy at first, but other countries (Costa Rica, Switzerland) have managed to do it. I may not have much training in the realm of politics besides a first year political philosophy course I took as an elective in university, but I’m sure that would help balance the federal budget. I know you’re the premier of Ontario and defense is not really a provincial expense, but maybe you could forward this on to PM Stevie H. for me. I’m positive that Canadians would feel better knowing that the money is going towards supporting our economy and training healthcare practitioners. After all, isn’t heart disease a much greater threat to the lives of Canadians than the possibility of terrorist attacks? What’s more, I always thought that the ritual of spending billions of dollars to murder foreigners would be something we’d have long let go of by now. One would hope that that kind of irrational nationalist BS would have ended back in the early 1940’s. Sigh, I guess we were wrong and it looks like Flower Power still has a ways to go. Maybe one day.
If you don’t like that option, I’m sure there are others. Marketing for the LCBO to get people to drink more alcohol is surely a fluff expense. Last time I checked people didn’t need to be told to drink (in fact we have organizations that help them not do that, but we can discuss that another time) and since when does a monopoly need to advertise anyways?
Ok. Well, I hear that Cuban medical students can sign a contract agreeing to work in rural areas and in doing so receive free medical education. Cuba is a poor country, and a socialist one at that. If they can afford to pay for medical education (not only for their citizens but for the citizens of other developing countries as well) then surely Canada, one of the world’s richest countries, can too. I know that I’ve heard criticism likening this system to a kind of “modern day slavery” – having students sign away a few years of their lives in order to study. However, I also know that “slavery” can be a loose term and, to be fair, I think that the definition of “modern day slavery” should be expanded to include the shackles of student debt. You see, I would rather spend my life providing much-needed medicine to a rural community than forced to pay back my debt by providing acupuncture for facial rejuvenation to the rich. I entered this field to heal people from disease and, according to my textbooks, wrinkles aren’t really a disease, no matter how unsightly we tell ourselves they are.
So, in short, Mr. McGuinty, can you spare me the $50,000? I’ll pay you back one day provided I open a successful practice (I’ll need some money for that too, if you don’t mind) and my patients can afford to see me. You see, times are tough for everyone and I’m assuming my patients will be paying off their student debt as well.
I’ll accept cash, check or credit. I’m not picky.
Thanks a bundle.
Sincerely,
Talia Marcheggiani, BSc(Hons), ND candidate 2014
