Healing Back Pain Naturally: The Mind-Body Program Proven to Work - Hardcover

Brownstein, Art, M.D.

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0936197390 ISBN 13: 9780936197395

Publisher: Harbor Press, Inc., 1999

Synopsis

Back pain is the nation's second most common ailment, affecting 7 out of 10 people and costing $100 billion annually. In fact, back pain is responsible for more days missed from work than any other ailment.

About this title

About the Author

Art Brownstein, MD, is a clinical instructor of medicine at the University of Hawaii at Manoa and medical director of the Princeville Medical Clinic in Princeville, Hawaii. A former Air Force flight surgeon, he is also the only American physician to ever receive a diploma in yogic education from the government of India.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter One: The Straw That Broke the Camel's Back

"Art, you're taking this operation too lightly", said Dr. Masferrer, my neurosurgeon. "I'm afraid you just don't understand. I'm going to break your back!"

It was July of 1986 and I was lying in bed at the U.S. Air Force Regional Medical Center with excruciating pain and numbness running down my right leg into my foot and toes. The myelogram, a special X-ray of the spine, showed a large disc rupture between the fourth and fifth lumbar vertebrae. After two weeks of bedrest with no let up in the pain and numbness, it was time to go in and operate.

How did I end up in this mess, me, a doctor of all people? Besides the pain, it was embarrassing to be a patient in my own hospital!

To my best recollection, my back trouble began when I was about 21 years old. I was still in school when I took a job loading and unloading trucks at a large warehouse to help support myself. I put in long, grueling days that involved a lot of lifting. It seemed like the "manly" thing to do, and besides, I was young and strong and enjoyed sweating and doing hard physical labor. I was at that age when I thought I was invincible. I never said no to work of any kind. In fact, I never said no to much of anything, and that, I discovered later, was a major drawback to the future health of my spine.

On the job, one of the games we played in our spare time was King of the Warehouse. In this test of male macho strength, we would stand at opposite ends of the warehouse, lower our shoulders, and charge at each other like human battering rams, trying to knock each other over. Having been a surfer and a football player, I had good balance, timing, and strength. Additionally, I loved contact sports.

My boss, Bob, at 6'5" and 305 lbs, loved to square off against me, even though he could never defeat me. As we charged from opposite corners of the warehouse like a couple of raging bulls, I would come up on him from underneath, flicking my shoulder and smacking into him at the last possible moment. Upon impact, Bob would be sent flying.

One day, however, while playing this game, things didn't quite work out right for me. As Bob and I squared off in opposite corners prior to charging, I was feeling a little tired. When we slammed into each other my timing was slightly off. I knocked him down anyway, but absorbed the entire force of the blow in my lower back. That night I went home feeling a little stiffer than usual.

The next day in chemistry lab at UCLA, while bending over to get my glassware from the bottom drawer of my desk, I felt an electric shock travel clear up through my neck and into my head. It was a sudden, jolting sensation. In an instant, my legs gave out beneath me as I found myself sitting on the floor with both feet splayed out in front of me. There was no strength in my legs whatsoever. Strangely, there was no pain either. I brushed myself off, stood up, and as there were no residual symptoms, I decided to continue on with my activities as if everything were fine. I completely dismissed the significance of this event. To this day, I have never told a soul, not even my doctors.

Less than two years later, while wheeling a half-ton operating room table into one of the operating rooms at UCLA, my back did something funny again. As I returned to a standing position after bending down, I found I couldn't straighten up all the way, as if someone had jammed a broomstick up my hind quarters. It was rather unnerving. "I certainly can't resume my duties in this condition," I thought to myself. I ducked into a vacant room and cautiously backed up to the side of another operating table. Reaching down with my arms, I forced myself into a backbend as far as I could go until I heard a "pop." Miraculously, my back had snapped back into proper alignment. I was both grateful and relieved to find that now I could straighten up and move without any restrictions. Once again I went back to work, resuming my normal duties as if nothing had happened.

Two years later, during my first year in medical school, I found myself alone and isolated in a strange city. Philadelphia, where I was now living, was experiencing its worst winter in 25 years. I was an hour and a half away from school by rail commute and the trains kept breaking down because of the deep snows and sub-zero temperatures. I was also in the middle of a strained relationship that eventually broke apart.

By itself, the first year in medical school is emotionally demanding. With these complications, however, my standing as a first year medical student was in serious jeopardy, especially since I couldn't get to class for lectures and labs. On the occasions that I did make it into school when the trains were running, I worked off the stress by playing basketball.

During one basketball game, while coming down for a rebound, my back went out just like it had done that day in the operating room two years before. This time, however, I couldn't straighten myself up and pop my back into place.

I showered and then grabbed my books and athletic bag with great difficulty. My body was stuck in a bent-over position. Hobbling to the curb outside of the medical school, I reasoned that if I could make it to the library across the street, perhaps my back would slip back into place on its own. I glanced up and saw an elderly woman crossing the street, slowly, but with ease. I was envious of her and at that moment, I felt very old. The bags I was carrying felt like they weighed two tons each. It was horrible to feel so helpless.

Somehow I made it to my seat in the library and while turning to my neighbor, Rob, who was also a medical student, I mentioned something about my back to him. Before I knew it, Rob had brought a wheelchair to my seat, insisting on wheeling me to the emergency room. As I reluctantly got in, I felt embarrassed being wheeled past all the other medical students, doctors, and nurses in the library.

In the emergency room, after a four-hour wait, I had X-rays taken. The orthopedic resident (doctor-in-training), after looking at the films in a back room, gave me all of two minutes of his time. He managed to tell me on his hurried way out of the examining room that despite my being bent over sideways and unable to straighten up, all that was wrong with me was a simple muscle strain. "But I'm sure I slipped a disc or something," I pleaded with the resident. "Then go to another orthopedic surgeon for a second opinion if you don't believe me," he said. In the midst of my pain and confusion, this was all he could offer me.

I refused to believe that all that was wrong with my back was a simple muscle strain. It was way too painful for that. As an athlete, I had experienced many muscle strains before. I had also separated both shoulders and had ruptured an inguinal hernia while lifting weights when I had the flu. I felt I wasn't a sissy and had a fairly good tolerance for pain. The diagnosis that the resident had given me, according to my understanding, did not correlate with my pain. I felt slighted. Either he was wrong, which I was determined to prove, or if he was right, then I was being a big baby about this whole thing. My mind was reeling at a hundred miles an hour trying to figure out what was going on with my body! Why was I in so much pain?

Dr. Hoffman, a professor of orthopedics at my medical school, had a private office not far from our school. He examined me briefly, reviewed my films, and concluded that it was possible that my disc had slipped. Inwardly, I was comforted that now my pain was justified with this more serious diagnosis. "You better take care of yourself or you're headed for an operation," he informed me. I didn't realize how prophetic his words were at the time.

I took a room near my medical school so I wouldn't have to deal with the hassles of the lengthy rail commute and the inconsistent trains. Unable to walk without support, I hobbled to class on a pair of crutches through the snow.

I phoned my father, a psychiatrist at the UCLA School of Medicine, and told him what had happened. "Are you under stress?" he asked. "Dad, I was coming down from a rebound while playing basketball. What the hell does stress have to do with it?!" I retorted angrily. It would take me 15 more years of back problems before I would realize the accuracy of my father's line of questioning.

After about a month, my back slowly improved. With this incident, however, I could no longer ignore my back. I needed to make some changes in my life if I wanted to avoid back surgery.

I enrolled in a yoga class to help bring some flexibility to my body and, in particular, to help me avoid the possibility of surgery. I also needed to deal with the anxiety of medical school and to learn how to relax and manage my stress. My yoga teacher assured me that if I were a sincere and regular student, all of these things were possible. While practicing yoga for the next five years, the condition of my back improved tremendously, and I did learn how to relax.

There were several setbacks during this period, however, as my back went out at inopportune times during periods of accumulated stress. The triggering events were physical traumas that while sometimes severe, could also be quite minor. One time my back went out lifting two full five-gallon water bottles, another time while wrestling with a friend, still another while bending down to pull on a boot. There seemed to be no correlation between the degree of trauma and the severity and duration of the pain. One thing seemed true, however; each time my back went out, it took longer to heal, and this had me worried.

In September of 1983 I entered the Air Force and was sent to the Philippines on active duty as payback for a military scholarship I was awarded during medical school. In this physically demanding environment, I ran 4-6 miles a day, swam 1,000 meters a day, biked 20-25 miles a day, and surfed 5-10 hours every weekend to maintain a warrior's level of fitness. For three full years, I participated in helicopter rescue missions and did extensive flying all over the Far East without any back problems whatsoever.

In May of 1986 however, dark, ominous clouds appeared on my horizon. My mother, brother, and father had all passed away in the last three years, and my wife at the time was at home dying of cancer, where I was trying to take care of her.

We had just purchased an expensive piece of property in Hawaii. The political climate of the Philippines was tense as the Marcos regime was ready to fall. The military was preparing for conflict. It was all too much, and like the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back, my back went out as well.

To take my mind off my problems, I had flown down to a remote outer island with some friends. On the airplane ride back home, while merely turning around to talk to the person in the seat behind me, my back began to stiffen. After an hour or so, I was locked in a deathgrip of painful back muscle spasms and could barely shuZe my way off the plane.

With my back out, I tried to give it rest. The military, however, ordered me back to work. This added to the underlying tensions of being incapacitated. So once again I went into my familiar denial mode, put on a back brace, swallowed some pills, and tried to ignore the pain as I reported back to work like a good soldier.

My back was making its own efforts to heal, but the improvements were too slow for the fast pace of the Air Force. I felt pressured for time. I tried to accelerate the healing process with anything I could get my hands on -- pills, electronic devices such as infra-red lamps, TENS (transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulators), heating pads, traction devices, hanging boots, braces, balms, and plenty of other stuff.

Sitting is the worst thing for an injured back, and having to man my desk for eight hours on end did not help my situation. As a member of the military, there was also the constant stress of war readiness, having to respond to contingencies on short notice.

In the previous three years, when my back had shown improvement, surfing had helped me overcome stress. I headed out to the ocean practically every weekend with a few buddies. Now, however, with my painful back, I found that I was unable to surf. I wondered how I would be able to manage my stress.

After more than a month, as stress kept building, I was eager to get back in the water. My back was still pretty bad, but the call of the ocean and the waves was strong.

On a chance visit to Base Operations, headquarters for all flight operations including the latest weather information, I saw a satellite photo of a huge typhoon that was heading our way. I could tell from the storm's size and direction that the waves were going to be good on the weekend. I couldn't resist. I decided to go surfing.

After a three-hour drive, when I finally got to the beach, my back was stiff and sore. I had no right to be there, but in my sheer pig-headed stupidity, I told myself that this would be good for me. As I carried my board to the water's edge, I told myself that I would be careful once I was in the water.

In the water, lying flat on my board while paddling out, felt good because now all the weight was off my spine. But I had made one fatal mistake. In my haste to get out in the water, I had failed to apply wax to the back part of my board. In the surfer's world, wax is more valuable than gold because it keeps you from slipping on your board.

While standing up on the first wave that I paddled for, my rear foot slid off the back of the board as I did the splits. I experienced intense pain as I heard a popping sound. At that very moment I knew I was in trouble, that I had made one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

The next day my right leg was numb and painful down to the toes. Because of my medical training, I was pretty sure that I had ruptured a disc in the lower part of my spine. It was time to see our neurosurgeon at the Air Force Regional Medical Center, Dr. Roberto Masferrer.

After Dr. Masferrer examined me, I was admitted to the hospital where the myelogram confirmed the presence of a large ruptured disc. My worst fears were true; it was decided that I would need surgery. This is where my story began.

After my surgery, the pain and numbness down my leg was greatly diminished. What a relief! But the pain in my back was excruciating. My back now had a huge hole in it. There was a gap between the rear portions of the two vertebrae where Dr. Masferrer had to cut away the bone to get to the ruptured disc. I thought the removed portions of bone would be rewired back in place. I was wrong. They were thrown in the garbage can and muscle was sewn together to cover the hole. I realized then that what Dr. Masferrer said was true. My back was indeed broken!

Upon release from the hospital, I was instructed not to drive or climb any stairs for one month. Two days later, I was driving my car and got locked out of my office at the hospital, so I had to use the stairs.

At home I had a pair of hanging boots that I used to stretch out my back. Following the axiom "physician heal thyself," I decided that I could give myself traction and get an upper body workout at the same time by hanging upside down while holding small dumbbell weights in my hands. Can you imagine the stupidity? Predictably, I never even made it that far!

Only three days out of the hospital, standing in the checkout line of our base's only department store with 30 pounds of dumbbell weights in my arms, I felt the left side of my back collapse.

As I stood there grimacing in pain, not speaking a word, ...

About this edition

• Publisher: Harbor Press, Inc.
• Publication date: 1999
• ISBN 10: 0936197390
• ISBN 13: 9780936197395
• Binding: Hardcover
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 288