The Art of Getting Well

David Spero, BSN, RN

Fifteen years ago, after ten years of unexplained symptoms, I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis (MS). Before my diagnosis, I ran around like a headless chicken, and not just any chicken. I was Super Headless Chicken, committed to raising two children, splitting housework with my wife, Aisha, working as a nurse, improving my neighborhood, saving the environment, developing a songwriting career, and some more goals I can't remember now. With such divided loyalties, I naturally did a rather poor job at all of them.

In 1989, I developed extreme weakness in my right leg, then loss of vision in both eyes. At first, I tried to tough it out, because I didn't want to change. It took me five years, and two more MS attacks to accept my new reality and start paying attention to my body, but finally, I got with the self-care program.

First, I rested; I listened to relaxation and guided imagery tapes that helped me hear what my body needed. Its message was pretty simple: Do one thing at a time. Get help. Breathe. You can go a long way with those three instructions, and gradually I learned to get moving again, according to my body's rhythms.

Then, I made changes, starting with exercise, a gentle form of yoga, which I now do twice a day, and gradually adding swimming and weightlifting. I cut back to part-time work and started meditating daily. (Fortunately, my family supported me through these changes.)

I got help from doctors. I never used the high-tech injectables that slow the progression in some cases of MS. They weren't approved for my type of MS, and I felt the costs, side effects and hassle outweighed the modest benefits claimed by manufacturers. My neurologist has supported these decisions, even while prescribing those medications for other patients who wanted them. I take one medication to control symptoms, along with supplements and an over the counter medicine (aspirin) that makes sense to me. At various times, I have pursued alternative treatments and used other self-care techniques.

As the years pass, my condition has progressed slowly; perhaps this is because my life is getting better. I have new symptoms, but also new abilities and strengths. I am probably in my best shape ever - admittedly, that isn't saying much - and my days are so full of love and happiness, it's disgusting (at least, most days.) I have learned to forgive others and myself, to accept what life gives, to be more open with people but stand up for myself, even if I sometimes have to do it sitting down. I sincerely believe that my self-care program has contributed to the relative stability of my MS, and that my response to it has improved the quality of my life. I know how lucky I am to be able to say that.

My 25 years as a nurse helped me make sense of my situation and find ways to move forward. In nursing, we're grounded in the scientific approach of medicine, but trained to see that people's health cannot be separated from the entirety of their lives. I wrote a book called The Art of Getting Well, which largely reflects a nursing view, one that gives full importance to genetics and biochemistry, but also to the practical, emotional and spiritual dimensions of individual lives, and the interactions between all of these factors.

Today, in my work as a nurse and health coach, I spend time with hundreds of people with a variety of health conditions. I got the idea for the book when I realized that most of them, at all levels of health, weren't doing nearly as well as they could. Not only my patients, but also my coworkers were living with pain and unhappiness, and often seemed too worn down, angry, careless, or hopeless to take care of themselves.

I wondered how I had come to be one of the most productive and positive people on the job, because I had distinct memories of being miserable much of my adult life. What had changed? Was I doing something right, or was I just lucky? What factors kept my associates and patients from taking better care of themselves? Searching for answers led me to the interviews, studies and stories that make up the body of my book.

In this process, I learned that getting well, or overcoming illness doesn't necessarily mean cure; it doesn't mean living forever. It doesn't mean a list of dos and don'ts, pills to take and foods to avoid. It means improving our condition and gradually making our lives happier, healthier, more fulfilling. How much our health improves depends on the severity of our illness, the conditions of our lives, and the internal and external resources we can bring to bear. How much better we feel, depends mostly on us.

David Spero, BSN, RN is a 51-year-old nurse, journalist and health educator living in San Francisco. He is a health coach, working successfully with chronically ill people to find quality of life where quality has been denied, and discover health when life has been defined by illness. In addition to his book The Art of Getting Well:5 steps to maximizing health when you have a chronic condition, he teaches classes and is a health coach. David is also a practitioner of Acupressure and Interactive Guided Imagery sm. He teaches health classes, gives entertaining, inspirational talks to community groups on wellness, and leads seminars for patients and health professionals.

David remains active in nursing and alternative health organizations. He inspires hope and provides paths over the obstacles that keep so many of us from taking care of ourselves. He has worked closely with people with heart disease and hepatitis, leads Chronic Disease Self-Management groups, and has co-written educational programs for people with arthritis, asthma, allergies, chronic pain, insomnia, and other conditions. You may reach David through his web site at: www.art-of-getting-well.com