Clean: The Revolutionary Program to Restore the Body's Natural Ability to Heal Itself Read Online Free PDF Page A

everyone’s point of view. It was a truly integrative approach. I had never heard of “integrative medicine” before, but suddenly I was practicing it.
    As I heard the other doctors explain their views on patients and diseases, I was blown away by how much sense they made. Even more impressive were the results I was witnessing from using herbs, acupuncture, diet, massage, chiropractic care, and hands-on healing. These were being used in a subtler way than Western medicine knew—to find the root cause of imbalance in the body and mind, not just put out the fires of symptoms. It struck me that what we were practicing could not be categorized as “alternative” or “traditional.” It was, simply, common sense. On certain occasions a Western medical approach using drugs or surgery was absolutely necessary, and the advanced technology available was life-saving. But this was rarely needed. Given the right support and conditions, the body’s natural healing ability was restored without drug intervention. My mind, which had been rigorously schooled in the paradigm of conventional medicine, was cracked wide open. And meanwhile, my own mental and physical health, though far from optimal, were getting better by the week.
    By the end of my year of volunteering at the meditation school I had erased many categories of medicine from my mind: “alternative,” “traditional,” “Western,” “allopathic,” “Eastern,” “Ayurvedic,” “Chinese.” All these medical traditions and practices blended into one integrative category that I called “openminded medicine.” It was, I decided, the process of bringing the best of Eastern and Western medicines to the table without judgment in order to best serve each and every patient as a unique individual. By the time I returned to the United States, I was determined to bring this new style of practicing medicine into the hospital system—to change it from within. I returned to the States and took a job as an attending cardiologist in a busy practice in Palm Springs, California, with admitting privileges in the four local hospitals.
    Before I knew it I was back in the all-American rat race—personally and professionally. It was much harder to maintain peace and well-being here than it had been at the meditation school. Constant commuting in the car, responding to beepers, and inserting pacemakers and IV drips became my reality. The pressure was on to make the rounds of wards and intensive-care units as fast as possible, to keep the practice profitable. On paper the job was enviable. If I stuck it out, in three years I’d be a partner in a very successful practice. But treating patients this way was killing my spirit. I had no time to listen to my patients’ symptoms or even recognize their basic humanity. They received, on average, seven minutes of attention, and the system treated them like commodities: a way to do more tests, write more prescriptions, and make more money. The patients who came to me were often taking five or more prescription drugs. Neither I nor they completely understood how all these chemicals interacted in their bodies. The system was set up to encourage someone in my position to add more medications to the already full load. This was not the dream of healing I’d grown up with.
    Not surprisingly, the effects of stress, cafeteria food, and late-night dinners piled up again. My own symptoms of irritable bowel syndrome (IBS) and the foggy mental state that before had made me sad now returned. In private moments I had to ask myself if my health was much better than my patients’.
    Things changed abruptly again one day with the arrival of an unannounced visitor. My friend Eric, a stressed-out movie producer, showed up at my Palm Springs house. I almost fainted when I saw him. Ten days before he’d been his usual bloated, overweight, sallow-skinned self. Now a different man stood before me: fifteen pounds lighter, with shiny glowing skin, and with eyes