Finding Balance:

The Art of Getting Well

David Spero, BSN, RN

In old Japan, a priest was winning many followers by performing spectacular miracles. One of these followers was walking with a Zen monk along a river. “Our master,” said the disciple, “can stand on one side of the river, and write the name of the lord in letters of fire on the other side.”

“My miracle,” said the Zen guy, “is that when I’m thirsty, I drink, and when I’m tired, I rest.” The Gateless Gate

No miracle beats living with simple grace, and recovering from long-term illness calls on our creative powers to help us live in peace, like the monk by the river. Perhaps you didn’t know you were an artist, but in the process of getting well, you will discover the ability to turn your life into an ongoing work of art, capable of fulfilling your potential, promoting your health, and enhancing the lives of others. The elements of this art are rhythm, balance, and flexibility. These qualities can be applied in an enormous variety of ways, physically, mentally and spiritually. The creative energy for this art comes from consciousness of our limits.

Limits and Creativity

The great saxophonist John Coltrane went through a period where he played jazz that was completely free form. He produced amazing noises that appeared to come directly from his soul, unmediated by any rhythmic or melodic structures the audience could discern. A few fans adored this music, so much so that some of them started a “Church of Coltrane.” Most, however, left this music alone; it was just too hard to understand.

When Coltrane played with trumpeter Miles Davis’ group, however, the great saxman had to blend with the rhythms, melodies and harmonies of other brilliant musicians. He strained against the limits imposed by Davis’ music, but the creative tension of working within those limits inspired some of the best jazz ever recorded, music that has moved millions of listeners. This kind of story happens repeatedly in the arts, usually in a scenario where a star leaves a successful group, for a solo career which bombs. It turns out he or she needed the limiting force of the group to create successfully. Limits bring out our creativity; without them, we tend to wander around dabbling in different things, accomplishing little that has meaning to others.

One of illness’ little tricks is the way it shows us our limits. We always had them, of course, but most of us preferred to ignore them, choosing to live as if we were not only immortal, but also possessed of super powers. That unrealistic attitude dissipates our creative energy. “Should I do this, or that, or this other thing? I want to do X, but I’ll do something else, what difference does it make, I have the rest of my life, which is forever.”

We don’t have forever though, and illness shows us that with symptoms, disabilities, and scary predictions of the future. It requires us, in the face of irrefutable evidence of our mortality, to change, adapt, grow, and create. Bob Lawrence tells how twelve years of living with AIDS have affected him:

Being confronted with my own mortality...I learned about living with the end in sight. Knowing that I have a finite amount of time here and the power that comes from realizing you’re not immortal. “I’m living with a limited amount of time. I don’t have forever to do the things I want to do, so I better do them now.” That’s the best thing I’ve learned.

As we will see, Bob, like others who deal successfully with illness, responded creatively to the challenges of his condition. We all have the potential to respond in this way.

The wide tightrope

If getting well is an art form, balance is the part the audience sees. The concept of balanced living is nothing new. It goes back to the Bible (“to everything, there is a season”), the wisdom of Lao Tzu in China, and the writings of Roman physician Galen. The serenity prayer: “Grant me the courage to change the things I can change, the serenity to accept what I cannot change, and the wisdom to know the difference,” is a prayer for balance.

As children, we were told about balanced eating along with developing physical balance. But living in peace involves a deeper sense of equilibrium. We must find the balance between our own needs and those of others, between living for the moment and for the (uncertain) future, between dependence and independence, and between acceptance, grief, anger, and constructive denial.

I think of getting well or living well with illness in terms of the Japanese tea ceremony. The ritual of making tea is of focused concentration on the apparently simple task of making and serving tea. Moving slowly, fully experiencing each step, the practitioner of tea ceremony turns the process of tea into a meditation on grace and beauty. If we move at our own speed and find our balance, our lives can take on some of this measured beauty as well.

Warning: all that grace, beauty and rhythm will fall apart if we try to follow others’ tempo. I can walk pretty well at two miles per hour, but if I try to keep up with friends going faster, my gait will fall apart; I’ll stumble around. The Chinese have a saying that no one can move gracefully when they hurry, so I don’t hurry. Those friends just have to wait for me, and I have to stay ready to be left behind if necessary.

A lot of people quit exercise programs after bad experiences trying to keep up with the aerobics instructor. Others never even try; they look at Tiger Woods and say, “I can never play golf like that, so why bother?” As we age, or become ill, we may hurt ourselves with comparisons to our younger, healthier bodies. The pain of such loss and frustration is real, and we must allow ourselves to feel it, but not to let it stop us. Ideally, we use the pain to get out there and work on getting better. Finding balance is largely about finding our own speed, our own best ways to do the things we have been given to do, not comparing ourselves to some ideal, or to those who are, or seem to be, doing better. Those others have their own problems.

How long is the future?

When we face our mortality and limits, we tend to become more aware of how valuable each day, hour and moment is. We tend to agree with Nancy Birmingham, a nurse with lupus, who remembers: “I used to try to be all things to all people. I was rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. If I hadn’t gotten sick, I wouldn’t have spent one minute living in the moment. I would have missed my whole life, not realizing that it is so precious.”

We want to live in the moment, which is all we have, but we have no way of knowing how long that moment will be. So we have to find a balance between living for today and living for the future. With creativity, we can do both. Bob Lawrence had to decide how long “now” was going to be, when he was diagnosed with pneumocystis (PCP), an AIDS complication which, in those days, usually meant less than two years to live, if you recovered at all. What was he going to do with that time?

I was born in the SF Bay Area and lived here my whole life. I thought, “I want to see the rest of the country.” I had been waiting, trying to get someone to go with me. I had a nice motor home, but I couldn’t find anyone who wanted to go. After the PCP, I took off.

My grandfather had a little tear drop trailer, and I always remember him saying: “one of these days, one of these days....” and he died about 10 years ago, and never even left the state with it. And I’m running along looking for other people’s approval, and my dad said, “I don’t want to see you sitting around here in 10 years saying “one of these days....”

What I learned is, if something is important to me, I need to be out there doing it. I also thought, though, I don’t want to learn all this stuff, and have it be wasted. Have it get stuck in my brain, which may at some point stop functioning. So I took my computer with me and wrote these massive travel diaries and sent them out on the net, e-mailed them to all my friends, what I’d seen, what I’d experienced, what it felt like. Hopefully, I’ll turn it into a book, but anyway, it’s out there.

Bob didn’t abandon the future. He came back from his trip when he needed more support for his health. When the protease inhibitor drugs came out, he started them, and is now studying for a college degree, as well as volunteering to counsel and teach others with AIDS. The fact remains that he decided to take his trip, living as if now was all he had, and he is still alive, where nearly all his friends from the time he contracted AIDS are dead. People who have seen his travel diaries tell me they are very glad to have read them.

Dependence vs. independence

Like all the two-way balancing acts in this chapter, dependence and independence are both necessary characteristics. In fact, all of us are dependent on others to a large degree, and independent to a similar degree, and generally, we want to stay close to that middle path. Different cultures, and different situations in life call on us to tend more to one side of the line or the other. Being very young or very old, or having significant physical or emotional health problems or disabilities, push us toward the dependency side, and that is all right. Being adolescent, or having unfulfilled abilities, values, or desires squashed by a too-close family structure, may call for more independence. That is OK, too.

I don’t know how many times I have asked clients whom they could call on to help them shop or cook or walk, only to have them reply, “I’ve always been independent.” Well good for you, but does that mean independence 100% of the time? That’s a ridiculous goal. But how do you know where to draw the line?

A general rule is to keep doing what we can for ourselves, if we don’t compromise our health, safety, or quality of life in the process. But if we really can’t read the numbers on our insulin syringe, we just have to get someone else to do it, or find ways (like syringes with much bigger numbers) to adapt. We don’t want to act like the senior citizen in the old joke, who says, “My neck is too stiff to turn my head; my eyes are shot, my hands shake, I don’t react like I used to, and sometimes I get confused. But, at least I’ve still got my driver’s license!”

Creativity and the use of supporting aids can help maintain independence. I have friends who have trouble walking, but don’t want to use a cane, walker, or wheelchair because it makes them feel dependent and embarrassed, “like I’ve given up.” So they just don’t go places they’d like to go. That is really giving up! There are catalogs full of great stuff to help people with various disabilities do almost anything. Sometimes it’s not equipment, but just listening to what disability activist Susan Haight-Liotta says: “Disability doesn’t mean giving up doing things. It means finding different ways to do them.”

Finding different ways to do things is called problem solving; keep reading for some examples. The process involves brainstorming possibilities, possibly with friends, family, or health professionals, then picking one and trying it out for a week or so, to see if it works, and modifying it as necessary. If it doesn’t work at all, pick another and try again.

Hundreds of tips, strategies and techniques have been developed for getting things done with disabilities and/or reduced energy. Books with lists of helpful hints are given in the resource section. Other advice is available from physical therapists, rehabilitation counselors, nurses, occupational therapists, support groups, and anyone who has limitations similar to our own.

Others and ourselves

The balancing point between others and ourselves is hard to find; some of us feel guilty for taking any time away from others. Others never think about anyone but themselves. Some cultures expect extreme devotion to family, above personal needs, especially from women. Some social psychologists have said that women, in general, tend to err on the side of excessive concern for others, while men tend to go the other way. I wouldn’t argue with that.

We reach balance when we take all the time we need to maximize our health, without jeopardizing the health of loved ones. For example, we cannot take a two-day retreat in the country, no matter how much we need it, if it means leaving children alone in the apartment, or spending the baby’s immunization money. But when we skip our daily relaxation because Aunt Pauline wants a ride to the store for cat litter, right now, we have gone too far the other way.

Sometimes balancing competing needs calls for creative solutions. Say we want to get a massage. But it costs $60, money we have budgeted for our kids’ Christmas presents. Three possible solutions would be: bartering some service to the massage therapist instead of paying cash, making something for the children instead of buying, or getting the money from somewhere else, by asking for help or using savings. A better answer might be going to the local massage school and getting one for free from a student! Maybe we have a friend or relative who enjoys touching and could give us a decent rubbing.

A really important lesson is learning to let others live their own lives. We really cannot afford to take on the problems of others who are capable of taking care of themselves. We can coach, advise and support, but they must make their own decisions and take the consequences. It’s sometimes hard to apply this rule, especially with our own adult children, but we can save a lot of heartache on both sides by letting go.

Finding balance between visiting others and having alone time makes a big difference for me. Too much time with people, even with Aisha, can wear me out. I really treasure the days I can spend alone, but that’s because I don’t get them very often! For many of us, too much loneliness is the bigger problem, but for all of us, the key is finding the right balance, the mix that feels good to our bodies.

Anger, acceptance, denial, grief

By now, most of us have heard of the “stages of grief,” by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross: denial, anger, grief, bargaining, and acceptance. Most of us, though, have the misconception that we go through the process, and then we’re done with it. That may happen when we are dead, but most of the time, we have all these emotions simultaneously, and repeatedly, and we face the task of finding balance between them.

With or without illness, a certain amount of denial is necessary for proper function. We may have a major health problem, but we don’t want to think about it all the time. We need to face our mortality, but facing it constantly could make us kind of a drag to be around. If we are facing a loss too great to bear all at once, some denial can keep us going until we are ready to handle it. Perhaps the saying, “God never gives us more than we can handle,” really means, “We only recognize as much of the truth as we can deal with.”

Grief is also good, but not all the time. As discussed before, crying, intensely feeling loss and pain, will enable us to get moving again. It also allows us to fully experience the joy and beauty of life. Personally, I probably do some serious crying at least once a week. That’s what keeps me so annoyingly cheerful and positive the rest of the time. Since life is full of sorrow and loss, if we suppress sadness, it will dampen our ability to feel. We may lose the capacity to feel joy, and eventually the ability to function. When dealing with an ongoing health condition (such as life), new losses will come, or old losses recur when we least expect them, and we find ourselves needing to grieve again.

Anger also plays a role in getting well, though too much of it can be deadly. If you have a chronic condition and have never gotten angry about it, you don’t understand the situation. Darlene Cohen, in Finding a Joyful Life in the Heart of Pain, talks about shattering a jam jar against the refrigerator when her arthritic fingers couldn’t open it. She says her anger gives her the energy to do the exercises and other health practices she needs to get and stay well.

We all have reasons for anger. Perhaps discrimination has limited our opportunities in life, or money problems keep us living in an unhealthy situation. Maybe we were born with some bad genes or raised with poor health habits. Or possibly we are angry with ourselves for not making smarter choices, or with others who have treated us poorly. All this anger does for us is raise our blood pressure and destabilize our hearts. Used properly, though our anger can help us.

In Chinese medicine, and in modern psychology, the purpose of anger is thought to be energizing us to make a change. The trick is using our anger appropriately, instead of letting it use us. For example, if Darlene had thrown that jar at her husband’s head, she would probably have been out of balance there. If we get cut off on the highway, we can stew in anger, allowing rage to build as we think all kinds of destructive thoughts about the other driver. Doing that, though, only hurts us, because there is nothing to change. The intended target isn’t getting hurt; he’s not even aware of our rage, unless we commit an act of violence against him. In this case, it’s better to have a soothing thought ready, like “He’s probably under a lot of stress,” or just to scream once and let it go.

Sally, an HLCC participant demonstrated an effective use of anger, after her rheumatologist gave her a series of drugs that caused stomach ulcers without helping her joint pain, and told her that her spine was going to deteriorate, and nothing could be done about it. She finally said, “the Hell with this.” She stopped all her meds, stopped seeing the specialist, (but not her personal MD), started taking supplements her husband found, and started flexibility and stress reduction exercises. Now, 15 years later, she still has some pain, but is fully functional, stands tall, and has an active, positive life.

Acceptance is where we want to be most of the time. Life feels better, uses less energy, and is easier to change, when we accept it as it is. As discussed before, though, we usually have to go through grief and anger to get to acceptance, and even then, it is not a permanent state. It’s something we need to work at, and sometimes, something we need to let go of temporarily, giving ourselves permission to feel our painful emotions. Or forget the whole thing for a while and spend a few hours, days or weeks (depending on our condition) in denial. That doesn’t mean, “just one night on the town” for an alcoholic, or an equivalent piece of self-destruction, of course. We have to take responsibility, but we can still maintain a degree of emotional freedom.

Self-help or self-torture?

Self-help books (including this one) can make us crazy, because they are too full of things to do. Reading them, we wonder where we’ll ever find the time to carry out all these wonderful prescriptions for our happiness. By this point, if you’ve read straight through, you’ve been told to get more pleasure, find more meaning, and spend more time and energy on self-care. Yet, we have limited time and energy, and most of us have other work to do.

Balance is the key element here, also. We tend to take an idea that sounds good, like exercise or relaxation, and treat it as an absolute requirement, a crucial responsibility, when it is just a tool. We see 30 ideas of things to do, and feel we need to do them all. When you feel that way, stop! We can gradually move into a healthier flow if we remember that no one role, job, relationship, health practice, or interest dominates our entire life. Take it one thing at a time.

Rhythm is life

Pretend you’re a car. Would you do better cruising down the freeways, your wheels maintaining a steady beat, with a steady foot on your accelerator? Or would you rather be stuck in stop-and-go city traffic, speeding up, slowing down, never getting a chance to run smoothly? Which way would you get better mileage? Which way would your engine last longer?

People depend on rhythm much more than cars do. Each body has its “biorhythms,” optimum patterns of wake and sleep, activity and rest, which we usually ignore. Living in a regular pattern allows us to flow along like a car on a freeway, or like the elders who seem to go on and on, sustained by little except habit. This section advocates getting into a bit of a rut: learning and following cycles that are right for us, that feel good and use less energy. Of course, we need variety, too. The goal isn’t to have every day exactly the same, but to live easily, whatever we do.

Rhythm makes everything better. Beginning jugglers often struggle until someone turns on music. Music or a recorded drumbeat can help people with Parkinson’s disease, multiple sclerosis, or stroke to walk better. Drumming has become a valued social activity in senior centers, because it improves functioning in Alzheimer’s disease and arthritis, and promotes social interaction. Drumming and music therapy have both shown benefit for autistic and emotionally disturbed children, as well.

Neurologist Oliver Sacks, who wrote Awakenings, says, “I regard music therapy as a tool of great power in many neurological disorders – Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s – because of its unique capacity to organize or reorganize cerebral function when it has been damaged.”

You can actually see this organizing effect on brainwaves, on EEG tests. Connie Tomaino, Director of the Music Therapy Department at Einstein Medical Hospital in New York, reports, “People who had irregular or weak background brain rhythms became more organized, and the rhythms became more pronounced and higher in frequency when more rhythmic music was played.” The EEG improvements were usually accompanied by functional improvement.

Music therapy has proven effective in all manner of psychological and physical conditions. According to Marc Ian Barasch and Caryn Hirshberg, “In nearly all cultures, music and rhythm have been used as forces of healing…Shamanic healing ceremonies almost invariably feature music and drumming.” Usually, the drum beats at the tempo of the theta waves in our brains, the waves associated with imagination, dreaming, and creativity. Frequently, the gods of healing are the same as the gods of music, as with the Greek Apollo.

The benefits of music should come as no surprise. Our bodies have their own flows: heart rhythms, four different brain wave patterns, and muscle contractions. We all know the benefits of regular bowel (and bladder) function. The more rhythm we get into our lives, the easier things tend to go. For example, we can play upbeat music when we are feeling fatigued, and gentler sounds when we need to relax. Rhythm means much more than music. It relates to the way we live.

Daily practice

Bodies like to get up at the same time and go to bed at approximately the same time. Rotating shifts at work (especially the aptly named “graveyard shift”) have been found to decrease life span and increase rates of illness. So we want to find a way of life that will allow a reasonably regular schedule of sleeping. Of course, there will be special occasions, but before and after these exceptional days, we want to get back to normal. We also want to eat at fairly regular times.

Self-care is the focus of this book, and I strongly recommend setting regular times for our health practices, whatever they are. I do stretching and meditation first thing in the morning, before anyone else knows I’m up. This plan works for a lot of people.

A wonderful health practice in much of the world is the siesta, usually an after-lunch nap, at the hottest time of the day. In cooler climates, another time might be better. An after work nap may fit best in most of our schedules. If a nap doesn’t interest us, or doesn’t fit into our schedule, we should still consider taking breaks between work and home responsibilities. A shower, a short walk, five minutes of focused breathing, reading the comics, or any kind of break helps us relax before facing the family or whatever waits behind our doors.

It is good to schedule in time with our family, time for activities we love and the other things we need to do. Getting our day organized is covered in the self-help section, but the main point is to have days we can live with, not to wear ourselves out scheduling a million activities. We have to follow our basic personal rhythm, the activity/rest cycle.

Your Activity/Rest Cycle

Remember the activity/pain cycle? That is the pattern in which we push on until pain, fatigue, or some other symptom makes us stop. Even if we don’t have major physical symptoms, we all have optimum periods for activity, and exceeding those periods will leave us feeling worse, sometimes for days. We want to convert to the activity/rest cycle, working, playing and resting in the pattern that fits our bodies’ needs.

All of us tend to push our limits, but we really need to save that behavior for times when something really good or important is at stake. Otherwise, we wind up with worse symptoms and even worsening disease processes. We tend to believe that we can’t take a break because we have so much to do, but as we get more fatigued, our efficiency drops off, anyway. It is more effective to take breaks and come back refreshed.

Susan Haight-Liotta works and raises a child, despite severe diabetes and chronic pain. She says we have to be flexible about our time:

Allowing yourself the ability to have bad days is a big thing. It’s very hard, but it’s a step that you have to take. It’s OK if I’m in the middle of a task to go lay down for an hour to get my reserves back up. It’s OK to push myself because I’ve got this deadline, even though I may pay for it tomorrow. It’s like when you get out of high school and you go to college, you have new time management skills that you have to learn.

How do we start a workable activity/rest cycle? Since every body is different, we can get valuable information by timing ourselves. At what times of day, or after how many minutes of different kinds of activity, do we get tired, pained, irritable, depressed, or whatever our symptoms are? How much, and what kind of rest or relaxation do we need to get back to full strength? Different kinds of activity can be fatiguing in different ways. After housework, we may need to lie down, while our best recovery after tough mental work might be a walk.

A two-minute stretch break every half-hour, for example, helps a lot of workers, but that schedule may not be right for you. Experts on workplace health now emphasize taking “micro-breaks,” a few seconds of stretching, relaxing, and breathing, every few minutes. Typically, we also need longer breaks to get through a full day. The pattern of working or conversing through lunch, or changing activity and calling it a break, often leads to decreased function and increased symptoms as the day goes on.

NeelAnne Keith, a woman whose Chronic Fatigue Syndrome has not dampened her positive attitude, recommends setting an alarm to remind us to take our breaks. Once we learn how long a stretch of housework or reading or playing with the children is best for us, we can set an alarm for 15, 30, 60 minutes or whatever is appropriate. Then take the needed time to really rest, possibly including a relaxation exercise or a nap. It’s OK to let the kids watch TV or put the dishes off until later so we can get our rest. For more difficult demands, such as a confused elder or severely disabled child, of course, we have to get some help.

Weekly cycle -- Remember the Sabbath

God apparently wants us to rest one day a week. Remembering the Sabbath day is one of the Ten Commandments, and working on the Sabbath is among the dozens of offenses punishable by death in Old Testament law. Come to think of it, consistently working seven days a week without a break will, in fact, tend to make you die sooner, so maybe it all works out.

Religious counselor and author Wayne Muller says the Sabbath is a day to “delight in creation, and to give thanks for the blessings we may have missed in our preoccupation with our work. It is a time to remember and celebrate what is beautiful and sacred.” Taking a weekly Sabbath day to rest and renew is like leaving a field fallow to renew its productivity. It sets us up for the week ahead. We may also want to move towards an annual pattern of living with the seasons, e.g. resting more in the cold and dark of the winter, avoiding overheating in the summer, and starting some new activities in the spring, when the new plants are starting to grow.

Able-heartedness

Some final points on the art of recovery follow. When psychologist Joanne Lemaistre developed multiple sclerosis, she lost most of her ability to walk, and some of her speech, a difficult problem for a psychotherapist. She persevered and wrote two books on living with chronic illness (what is it about MS that turns us all into writers?) In Beyond Rage, she developed the concept of “able-heartedness”: “The truly handicapped of the world,” she says, “are those who suffer from emotional limitations that make it impossible to use the capacities and controls they possess. If you have a chronic disease, you need not be emotionally handicapped if you continually strive to become able-hearted. Able-heartedness is within the grasp of all of us.”

Humility

If we don’t want to be panicked by our limitations, especially our mortality, we need to recognize that the world doesn’t really need us to do all its work. A wonderful feeling of peace comes over us when we realize life will go on just fine after we’re gone, as it did for a million years before we got here. We can’t do everything; the world doesn’t revolve around us, and our “to do” list will still have things on it when we die. We might as well relax and heal.

The Green Triangle

This bit may sound preachy, but I’m going to say it anyway. I believe the amount of grace in our lives is often inversely proportional to the amount of driving we do. Ernest Callenbach promoted the concept of the “green triangle,” with the points of the triangle being health, money, and the environment. Generally, living in ways that are better for the environment, will save us money and improve our health. For example, drying clothes on the line instead of in a dryer saves on utility bills and conserves nonrenewable natural gas, and gives us some good exercise (as well as being easier on the clothes.) Not driving is the prime example of this concept; you save a ton of money, eliminate the most stressful activity in most people’s day, and help the environment. Try taking the bus, walking, or at least carpooling.

“We’re dancing inside our shells”

A lovely children’s book by James Stevenson called, “Clams Can’t Sing,” tells the story of two clams who surprise their shore-dwelling neighbors by participating in the local talent show. They endure insults and doubts about their ability, but manage to come up with some kind of performance – blowing bubbles and making whooshing sounds, mostly. The crowd (of birds and crabs) loves it. At the end, all the creatures are dancing, and a crab comes over and says, “Too bad clams can’t dance.” They reply, “We are. We’re dancing inside our shells.”

“I couldn’t tell,” says the crab. The clams answer, “That’s not our fault!” And that pretty much sums it up. It’s not our fault we have to live in these shells; everybody does, to some extent. But it is our responsibility to make our inner clam count, not the outer shell. With that said, let us rejoin the world of the vertebrates, and start developing our self-care plans!

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