To admit you have a problem, it’s generally helpful to know a problem exists. When you think of purging your life of something that is unhealthy, what comes to mind? An abusive relationship? A job where your boss belittles you daily? Drinking too much? What if the unhealthy problem in your life….is you? Your very being itself, your own body that just won’t be good to you.

I don’t share this brief overview of my health history to victimize my experience, make you feel bad for me, or claim that my story is more valid than your story. But, if you’re going to follow my blog –  (which I hope you do) – and if you’re going to laugh at all my humorous anecdotes – (yes, I promise, the jokes are coming) – and actually use some information I give you to improve your wellness, it seems mandatory that you know how I started and where I’m headed.

I was born three and a half weeks late and, evidently, have been running late ever since. My mother says I came out ferociously, pushing out of her walls with all the strength I could muster. When I passed through utero, I contracted Group B Streptococcal Infection which is a fancy term for a bacterial infection that is harmless to the mother, fatal to the baby during delivery. I was not breathing, I was blue, and if not treated, I would have died within the hour.

25 years ago, screening for this infection wasn’t a common practice, but luckily the doctors just pumped my little newborn self full of antibiotics that saved my life. Saved my life, and immediately weakened my immune system, while the Beta B Strep weakened my lungs.

So from infancy onward, being sick was my normal. I suffered from endless fatigue, and every hint of an impending cold would immediately settle in my lungs and cause severe pneumonia. I recall having fevers so high I would hallucinate images onto my ceiling as I shook in bed for hours. I remember birthdays being cancelled, being out of school for weeks on end, and countless nights leaned over a toilet. My mother was so worried about me, once or twice she would take me to the hospital to get blood work done-all came back normal.

No modern western doctor proffered any remedy other than, “here is your antibiotic prescription…for the thirtieth time.” It turns out if I take multiple rounds of antibiotics for twenty years straight, my already fragile immune system has been severely compromised, and as we all know now…antibiotics kill the good stuff and the bad stuff in your gut- reducing my intestinal tracts into swampy, slippery, empty tubes of inflammation dis-ease.

Tack on six or seven years of intense family dysfunction and trauma which weakens adrenal glands, the fact that your gut is the hub of your body’s systems and directly linked to mood, depression, anxiety, etc., and an ever increasing craving for sugar and bread that I fed for years without ceasing… and you’ve got: me. 24 years old, lying on my bed in Chicago, saying out loud for the very first time in my life: “I’m sick. I’m very sick and it’s getting worse, and I refuse to go on like this. I’ve got a major problem…and I need help.”