Some Days Remind Me…

Chemicals = Neurodegeneration

Some Days Remind Me Exactly Why I Do This

Some days in medicine are about protocols.

Some days are about peptides.

Some days are about lab results.

And then there are days like today... where three new warriors walk through our doors, each carrying a story that conventional medicine couldn't explain.

Oh... and somewhere in the middle of all that, we were trying to cool down an 85-degree clinic because our central air decided it wanted an early retirement. Thank goodness for our amazing maintenance guy, Aaron, who kept us going while Wisconsin reminded us what 95 degrees feels like. I even snuck in an outdoor workout because apparently I enjoy sweating twice in one day.

But it's the patients that stay with me.

Warrior #1: "There's no evidence..."

A 66-year-old Wisconsin farmer.

Decades of spraying chemicals.

Grease and solvent exposure.

Climbing into moldy grain bins until he would come home sick, throw on sweatpants, sweat all night, shower, and do it all again the next morning.

Now?

He can't tell the difference between his keys and his ChapStick when he reaches into his pocket.

His balance is failing.

He has fallen.

His reflexes are gone.

He's biting his tongue while eating.

The response?

"No evidence of demyelination."

My response?

Not yet.

We wait until nerves die before we call it disease.

I don't.

I ask what has been poisoning those nerves for the last 40 years.

Wisconsin has some of the highest rates of Parkinson's disease, multiple sclerosis, and dementia in the country.

Why?

We grow food.

We make paper.

Farms and paper mills.

What's the common denominator?

Chemical exposure.

Sometimes the body whispers long before it screams.

I want to listen to the whisper.

Warrior #2: The little boy who just wants to be a kid again

Ten years old.

Dad looked at me and said something that absolutely gutted me.

"He would have been the most athletic kid in the family."

Instead...

If he swims for two hours...

If he plays football...

If he runs around with his friends...

He crashes.

Flu-like symptoms.

Body aches.

Sore throat.

Extreme fatigue.

Days of recovery.

He missed 90 days of school.

The days he did attend, he could only make it through half the day.

Now he'll be homeschooled.

He hates it.

Over ten specialists.

Every test.

Every referral.

Every explanation except the one that mattered.

"It's anxiety."

"It's functional."

"Maybe he's just worried."

Or...

Maybe a child shouldn't develop post-exertional malaise after infections.

Maybe mold matters.

Maybe Lyme matters.

Maybe immune dysfunction matters.

When I told his parents that I believed we could get him healing...

Everyone in the room nearly cried.

That's why I do this.

Because sometimes what families need most isn't another diagnosis.

It's someone who says,

"I believe you."

Medicine is changing.

We're learning that inflammation begins years before disease.

That environmental toxins matter.

That infections don't always disappear when the fever does.

That the nervous system remembers.

That mitochondria matter.

That the body is always trying to heal—if we remove what's standing in its way.

So yes...

Today was hot.

The AC struggled.

The workout was sweaty.

The inbox is overflowing.

But I wouldn't trade it.

Because somewhere out there is another farmer being told, "Everything looks normal."

Another child being told, "It's probably anxiety."

And maybe...

Just maybe...

They're one conversation away from finally finding someone willing to ask a different question.

Healing begins the moment someone believes your story.

That's the kind of medicine I hope never goes out of style. ❤️