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How and When to Be Your Own Doctor (Isabelle A. Moser Steve Solomon) pdf
Tis a gift to be simple
Tis a gift to be free,
Tis a gift to come down
Where we ought to be.
And when we find ourselves
In a place just right,
It will be in the valley
Of love and delight.
Old Shaker Hymn
Favorite of Dr. Isabelle Moser
I was a physically tough, happy-go-lucky fellow until I reached my late thirties.
Then I began to experience more and more off days when I did not feel quite
right. I thought I possessed an iron constitution. Although I grew a big food
garden and ate mostly “vegetablitarian” I thought I could eat anything with
impunity. I had been fond of drinking beer with my friends while nibbling on salty
snacks or heavy foods late into the night. And until my health began to weaken I
could still get up the next morning after several homebrewed beers, feeling good,
and would put in a solid day’s work.
When my health began to slip I went looking for a cure. Up to that time the
only use I’d had for doctors was to fix a few traumatic injuries. The only
preventative health care I concerned myself with was to take a multivitamin pill
during those rare spells when I felt a bit run down and to eat lots of vegetables.
So I’d not learned much about alternative health care.
Naturally, my first stop was a local general practitioner/MD. He gave me his
usual half-hour get-acquainted checkout and opined that there almost certainly
was nothing wrong with me. I suspect I had the good fortune to encounter an
honest doctor, because he also said if it were my wish he could send me around
for numerous tests but most likely these would not reveal anything either. Morethan likely, all that was wrong was that I was approaching 40; with the onset of
middle age I would naturally have more aches and pains. ‘Take some aspirin and
get used to it,’ was his advice. ‘It’ll only get worse.’
Not satisfied with his dismal prognosis I asked an energetic old guy I knew
named Paul, an ‘80-something homesteader who was renowned for his organic
garden and his good health. Paul referred me to his doctor, Isabelle Moser, who
at that time was running the Great Oaks School of Health, a residential and
outpatient spa nearby at Creswell, Oregon.
Dr. Moser had very different methods of analysis than the medicos, was
warmly personal and seemed very safe to talk to. She looked me over, did some
strange magical thing she called muscle testing and concluded that I still had a very
strong constitution. If I would eliminate certain “bad” foods from my diet,
eliminate some generally healthful foods that, unfortunately, I was allergic to, if I
would reduce my alcohol intake greatly and take some food supplements, then
gradually my symptoms would abate. With the persistent application of a little
self-discipline over several months, maybe six months, I could feel really well
again almost all the time and would probably continue that way for many years to
come. This was good news, though the need to apply personal responsibility
toward the solution of my problem seemed a little sobering.
But I could also see that Dr. Moser was obviously not telling me something.
So I gently pressed her for the rest. A little shyly, reluctantly, as though she were
used to being rebuffed for making such suggestions, Isabelle asked me if I had
ever heard of fasting? “Yes,” I said. “I had. Once when I was about twenty and
staying at a farm in Missouri, during a bad flu I actually did fast, mainly because I
was too sick to take anything but water for nearly one week.’
“Why do you ask?” I demanded.
“If you would fast, you will start feeling really good as soon as the fast is over.”
she said.
“Fast? How long?”
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