Cultivating peace and happiness within the experience of loss

Chronic illness is among other things an experience of profound loss. The loss of one’s health necessarily means a host of other losses that can include one’s friends, family, job, home, security, independence, mobility, strength, and stamina – the list can be almost endless. But it doesn't have to include happiness and peace of mind.

In fact we can use the opportunity of illness and suffering to generate something that Buddhists refer to as boundless joy - sometimes called sympathetic joy.

How do we develop such a quality of joy? By rejoicing whenever we see or hear of someone else’s good fortune. We have lots of opportunities to practice sympathetic joy because when we’re sick we often see or hear about other people enjoying life in ways we no longer can.

Of course it isn't always easy to feel joyful especially if we have habits of jealousy or resentment, which most of us do to some degree. This is our chance to become familiar with some of our negative habits and develop positive ones instead. At first it takes practice. In the beginning we have to make some effort but eventually feeling genuinely happy for other people becomes a new habit.

If we notice we’re feeling resentful or jealous that can be a reminder: “oh, yeah, instead of feeling resentment I can use this chance to practice feeling joyful.” Then we flip the negative habit – we drop it – and give rise to  happiness for the person towards whom we were feeling jealous. We smile and feel genuine happiness in our heart that the other person is happy and that good things are happening for them.

Notice that the happiness is in our own mind and heart. It actually feels good! With a little practice we start to automatically feel happy for other people when good things happen for them. We start to develop a happier and more peaceful mind.

This is part of a Buddhist practice called the Four Immeasurables: boundless equanimity, boundless compassion, boundless loving-kindness and boundless joy. They are called “immeasurable” or “boundless” because we cultivate these qualities towards all sentient beings. Since the number of sentient beings is considered to be infinite these qualities are also infinite as we develop the ability to extend them to all beings.

In brief, equanimity is considering all beings including friends and enemies as equal and having no partiality towards those we think of as friends or enmity towards those we consider enemies. Compassion is the desire to free all sentient beings from suffering and loving-kindness is the wish that all sentient beings have happiness.

We can use the opportunity of chronic illness to develop all of these qualities. When we suffer we can think that we don’t want anyone, not even someone we might think of as an enemy, to have such pain. Then we can extend our compassion and think how we would like all beings to be free from suffering. We think how wonderful it would be if all sentient beings were happy; we make the wish that everyone would have everything they need in order to be happy. Then we can practice sympathetic joy by rejoicing when we actually see that other people are happy.

When doing these kinds of practices it’s best to start with those we care about and have some feeling of affection for, otherwise it’s too difficult. Gradually we can extend these practices towards those for whom we have neutral feelings. Eventually we can include people we have difficult relationships with or whom we think of as enemies or have some feelings of revulsion or aggression towards.

In the Buddhist tradition when we do such practices at the end we always dedicate the merit so that all sentient beings have happiness and are free from suffering. These profound practices enable us to generate vast loving-kindness and compassion as well as a happy and peaceful mind.

Illness and the Buddha’s begging bowel

In Old Path White Clouds, Thich Nhat Hanh’s classic retelling of the Buddha’s life, the Buddha explained why he and his disciples begged for their daily meal: begging was a spiritual discipline that enabled the monks to develop patience and humility and because it freed them from having to prepare their own meals they had more time for spiritual practice. Moreover the monks learned not to be overly attached to food and to accept whatever was offered with gratitude – even a small yam or bit of rice was better than an empty bowl.

Because the monks were in daily contact with the lay community they established meaningful relationships with the townsfolk and could share the Buddha’s teachings with anyone who expressed interested. The concept of karma is deeply rooted in India and the villagers, whether Hindu or Buddhist, understood that they accumulated merit and good karma by offering food to the monks. By relying upon the generosity of villagers for their food the monks were reminded everyday of the truth of interdependence – that we are all interconnected and dependent upon each other.

We generally think of dependency as a bad thing. The truth however is that we are dependent upon each other all of the time. The problem is that we don’t usually see let alone acknowledge our interdependence. That’s partly because our culture over-values independence. We have an entire national mythology, a sort of cultural fantasy, of rugged individualism that might be great for our egos but that’s devastating for our development of kindness and community.  Of course we are all unique individuals each with our own talents and gifts. But at the same time we depend upon each other for our very existence.

Illness reminds me daily of my dependency and the truth of interdependence. I have to ask for help cooking my meals, doing laundry, getting to medical appointments, picking up prescriptions, shopping for food. Even the most basic things are often beyond what I can manage. Everyday I rely upon family, friends and even strangers for assistance. Most people are happy to help – it feels good to help another person.

Whenever I do ask for help, perhaps for something as simple as reaching for an object off a grocery shelf, there is a small but profound moment of contact with another human being. In that way illness provides me with opportunities to develop meaningful connections with other people and my community. In turn, my dependency creates opportunities for other people to practice generosity, kindness, compassion and even patience. And that’s a good thing. How else can we develop these qualities?

When we can’t take care of our own needs we can either become bitter and resentful or we can learn to accept our situation. I have to be patient with my situation and with those who are trying to help me. I have to be willing to ask for and accept help even though it's not always easy to do. Illness is my chance to practice and develop qualities of patience, kindness, gratitude, and humility. It's extremely humbling to be dependent which may be one reason, culturally speaking, that we prefer to forget our interdependence.

Humility is not valued in our culture and yet it's extremely important. We tend to think of humility as a kind of weakness but actually it’s a great strength. When we've tamed our ego to the extent that we care as much for and about other people as we do ourselves that is freedom. It's freedom because we've freed our minds, if even just a little bit, from poisonous emotions like jealousy and resentment, pride, arrogance, anger, spite and all the negative states of mind that cause us so much suffering – sometimes far worse than any physical illness. Gentleness, humility, kindness and compassion are true strengths that reflect genuine and unshakable fearlessness. I aspire to such fearlessness.

When I was still healthy I was stubbornly independent and wouldn’t ask for help even when I needed it. That’s not a good way to be in the world because it closes off opportunities to deepen our connectedness to each other and community. Living with chronic illness is not easy but it can be a rich spiritual journey. I can either waste the time I have left feeling sorry for myself or grab this chance to tame my own mind and develop all of the openhearted qualities that are so important. As I see it, illness is an utterly profound reminder of what is truly important and of the truth and blessing of interdependence. I’m reminded of these things everyday as if I too were walking from home to home with a begging bowl.

Suffering and the path of wisdom

It’s something of a joke among Buddhists – and among those who know something about Buddhism – that we spend a lot of time studying, contemplating and meditating upon suffering. It sounds depressing but actually it’s a very pragmatic thing to do because it acknowledges the reality of our situation. We can’t work with suffering effectively unless we have the courage to look at our experience exactly as it is without any sugarcoating. By doing that we get to know our situation in great detail so that we can relate to it with a sense of open-mindedness and sanity instead of the usual close-minded neurotic way we relate to things.

The first teaching the Buddha gave after attaining enlightenment is known as The Four Noble Truths. Of those, the first is the truth of suffering. Why did the Buddha begin 40 years of teaching talking about suffering? Why didn’t the Buddha talk about enlightenment first?

The reason the Buddha talked about suffering first is because we can’t attain enlightenment by ignoring and skipping over the reality of our experience. It isn’t possible to skip straight to enlightenment. We have to begin the journey to enlightenment based upon the truth without glossing over how things are. “This life,” the Buddha told his disciples over and over again, “is suffering.” The Buddha didn’t say that to depress the monks, he said that to encourage them to get real and see things the way they are.

Of course no one wants to hear, let alone acknowledged, that this life is suffering. We want to think that suffering is only a small part of our experience. We want to think that if we just do the right thing, if we exercise everyday, if we eat our vegetables, if we wear a seatbelt, if we say “please” and “thank you” then we can avoid suffering. But that’s not realistic. If we look honestly at things we can see that suffering pervades all of our experiences in obvious and subtle ways. There are obvious forms of suffering associated with sickness, accidents, aging and death. Even those things that make us happy have the seeds of suffering in them.

For example: every spring when fresh strawberries finally arrive (imagine your favorite fruit for this example) the first berry is absolutely heavenly – plump, juicy and luscious – so is the second, third and fourth berry. But at some point we become jaded and the strawberries don’t taste quite as sweet. There’s a subtle dissatisfaction right in the midst of our pleasure. Added to that is the fact that they don’t last, which causes an additional feeling of disappointment. Maybe we eat too many and feel uncomfortable and a little sick of the berries. If we look closely at all of our experiences in this way we will find an undercurrent of dissatisfaction or discontent even in the most pleasant situations. That’s because things are impermanent and changing. Nothing lasts forever. Moreover, things never go exactly as we want no matter how much we try and control them.

It’s said that when we experience suffering so deeply that we want to be free of it, that very desire to be free is the first step on the path to enlightenment. If our life is nice and cushy then there’s no motivation to want to wake up. But when we’re completely sick and tired of suffering we have a lot of incentive to do something about it. When we’re sitting in the nightmare of our situation we want to wake up out of our dream of suffering. That dissatisfaction is a powerful motivation to start to question our experience and begin our journey towards wisdom. Without such motivation we’d never question our life, we’d never want to wake up. Who wants to wake up from a nice dream?

So that’s the good news about suffering. The moment we take a closer look at it we’ve started our journey on the path of wisdom. And what is that path of wisdom? It’s the journey of discovering the true nature of suffering, which is ultimately about realizing the true nature of our own mind. And what is the true nature of mind? According to all the Buddhist masters who have actually realized that nature, the fundamental nature of our own mind is peace, or nirvana. That fundamental nature is freedom from suffering.

It’s said that when we have some realization of the nature of mind then we experience peace right in the midst of whatever is happening. One doesn’t have to be a fully enlightened Buddha to develop some genuine experience of peace or to experience a taste of freedom from suffering. One does, however, need to know something about the true nature of mind and to learn about that we first have to develop a firm understanding of the truth of suffering. Through investigating our own experience we generate a sense of conviction about the truth of suffering and that starts us on the path of wisdom. Otherwise, without such conviction, we’ll never take that first step towards freedom.

For you who consider suicide

Note: This article is for readers who may be having suicidal thoughts now or who have had such thoughts in the past and are not in immediate danger of acting on those thoughts. If you are at high risk of committing suicide please call a crisis line now: click here for phone numbers. If you are an immediate danger to yourself call 911 now.

Living with chronic illness is sometimes an exercise in managing overwhelming grief and despair. Days slip by in a blur of pain and fatigue. Social connections and community ties drop away. Friendships disappear because we don’t have energy to maintain them. Isolation becomes a kind of prison. Everything is hard to manage. Limited resources – physical, financial, mental and emotional – are stretched to the breaking point.

Without support from family and friends our most basic needs may not be adequately met as our collective social safety net is eroded to almost nothing. Because our society places a high value on productivity it is unforgiving to those of us who are unable to contribute in the workforce. If we’re unable to work we may begin to feel that there’s no purpose to our life. Even in the best of situations hopelessness and despair can be frequent companions.

Any or all of these things can snowball until suicide feels like the only, or perhaps best, option. Our world becomes a claustrophobic hell of suffering and we just want out of it. In those darkest moments how can we resist suicide?

Here are four techniques I use:

1. I remind myself (over and over again) that despair and depression are temporary; eventually they recede in intensity even if they don’t entirely go away. No matter how much despair I may be feeling or how many suicidal thoughts I have I don’t act on them. We live in a culture that values action and when we’re suffering we may feel like we’ve got to do something, anything, to make it stop. No matter how strong the impulse I resist the temptation to act on my suicidal thoughts. Instead, I try to sit with and simply be with whatever is happening. I sit with the depression and pain, whether it’s physical or emotional or mental pain, and try to relax as much as possible. By relaxing even just a little bit depression and pain can become more bearable. The more we can relax the more bearable our situation becomes.
2. When I’m having suicidal thinking I reach out to a friend or family member so that someone knows what’s going on. It’s not easy to do but it actually keeps me safer. In the past I’ve asked people to make me promise not to hurt myself. For me that’s been a powerful lifeline. If I make a promise to a friend or family member that I’m not going to hurt myself then I feel a responsibility to uphold that. It’s a bargain I’ve made with someone else that I feel a need to adhere to. It’s important to remember that the person we reach out to wants to be there for us. Our life matters to them even if, in the moment of our worst depression or despair, it no longer matters to us. Eventually we will value our life again and then we’ll be grateful that we reached out for help.
3. Over many years of working with severe depression I’ve learned to think of it as something that is completely impersonal. I try to see depression, to relate to it and experience it, as if it were nothing worse than a temporary weather system that’s set in – a long stretch of gloomy rainy days that will eventually lift and move on. This technique is similar to the first point above because it involves a willingness to simply be with what’s happening, to relax with it and wait it out.
4. Whenever we resist the urge to commit suicide – and instead protect our own lives – it becomes easier for others to do the same. No matter how depressed I am I keep resisting suicide in order to help other people. It’s well known that suicide runs in families and can span multiple generations. As my therapist once said, “suicide is a terrible family legacy.” Suicides often come in clusters within the larger community as well. When a person takes their own life it increases the risk that another person – whether a family member or stranger – may do the same. By resisting suicide we may actually save another person’s life. We may even save the life of one of our own future descendents or relatives. And that’s worth doing.

One day when I was in particular pain and thinking about suicide it occurred to me that if I’m really willing to take my life then I ought to be able to find the courage to face my life. It really helped. I had this sense of fearlessness. Because at that point, when I’m willing to end my life, then I’ve got nothing to lose. So why not continue to live? When there’s nothing to lose that means we’re beyond hope – we’re experiencing hopelessness – but since hope and fear always go together like two sides of a coin that means we’re also beyond fear. We can be fearless. At least for a little while we can experience that. We can have a taste of what that’s like.

When there’s nothing to lose what’s actually left is kindness and compassion. We can experience what it’s like to have a fearless kindness and compassion for ourselves. Love, compassion and kindness have always been the most important things. So we have this amazing chance; we have this precious opportunity to extend kindness to ourselves and to others no matter what’s happening, no matter how sick we may be, no matter how much pain we may be in. What does that look like? It’s just as simple as a smile. Of course we can’t smile all of the time, but if we smile once in a while that’s good enough.

Years ago a friend sent me a card with a famous saying from the Talmud: “And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he [or she] saved an entire world.” The life we save can be our own. Our life, no matter how seemingly ordinary, is a miracle and the smile we share with another may end up traveling around the world. If we aren’t here to share that smile when it’s our turn to pass it along it will never reach the next person who needs it.

My Story: what's wrong with me?

In 1992 I moved to New Mexico to attend graduate school in Albuquerque. I was 32 and in excellent health, or so I thought, but by 1995 I knew something was wrong. My hands and feet burned and tingling, a curious sensation that was especially acute at night when I was in bed. I developed sudden and severe seasonal allergies, had increasing sensitivity to chemicals and fragrances and experienced periodic muscular weakness in my legs.  Stabbing pain in my head made me fearful that I was having small strokes. Looking back, signs of illness were clearly apparent by my late 20s. There were years of drenching night sweats along with swollen and painful lymph glands, insomnia, anxiety and extreme weight loss. When in my thirties the muscular and neurological symptoms first appeared I assumed it was the onset of MS but without medical insurance had no ability to see a doctor.

Despite increasingly strange symptoms I still enjoyed a reasonable level of health. Then, in September 1998, after a day spent rock climbing in Canada and only three days after finishing a 73-mile solo backpack trip, I found myself in a hospital in acute congestive heart failure. My heart was enlarged and seriously damaged with significant left ventricle failure. At the time I was told there was no hope for recovery and advised to get on a transplant list. By a miracle, over the course of several months my heart recovered its mechanical (pumping) functioning with only minor residual damage to the electrical system. It took a year and a half to regain much of my strength but by summer of 2000 I was biking to work. For a couple of years I was able to take long walks, do some modest cross-country skiing and even managed one 40-mile backpack trip – the last I would ever take. 

In early winter 2004 my health took a sudden nosedive. I could no longer bike to work and spent increasing amounts of time on the couch during the weekends. I had episodes of breathlessness and alarming cardiac arrhythmia when walking. By spring I was having problems at work. Most disturbing was the decline in my cognitive functioning. Once mentally agile I was now easily confused. I suffered from memory loss and struggled with word recall; my comprehension was poor and I had difficulty tracking and assimilating information. A tremor that manifested in my early 30s was significantly worse. My gait was unsteady and I couldn’t walk a straight line. When walking the long corridors of my office I bounced off the walls, bumping first into one then overcorrecting and staggering into the next.

By June I could no longer work and had difficulty getting out of bed. All of my muscles hurt. My legs were so weak they shook with the effort of standing. I was exhausted and spent all my time in bed or on the couch. I didn’t have the strength to clean house or do laundry – cooking was nearly impossible. Finally, unable to care for myself, I spent two month living with family. Along with all the other symptoms I had a constant headache, abdominal pain, dizziness and nausea. The tingling and burning in my hands and feet had moved up into my arms and legs and caused constant pain during the day and night. Bright lights and loud noise hurt my head. Curtains were kept closed to keep rooms as dark as possible. I was unable to watch television, read, use a computer for any significant length of time, or even talk on the phone.

Despite the severity of my symptoms I had no identifiable disease. Two doctors diagnosed me with chronic fatigue and fibromyalgia but those diagnoses failed to identify what was actually making me sick. Routine blood tests came back normal. A neurologist assured me nothing was wrong despite severe cognitive problems and the fact that my muscles weren’t functioning properly. Doctors were focused on the scope and severity of my cardiac arrhythmia – a twenty-four hour Holter monitor failed to record one normal sinus rhythm. In August thyroid tests came back positive for Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis. My cardiologist had me on medication for tachycardia and was threatening to do a catheter ablation to burn out the area of my heart that was misfiring. But neither treatment addressed the underlying cause of my illness – a wonky heart and thyroid were mere casualties of a war raging in my body.

Panicked, I spent what little energy I had when I could actually get off the couch scanning the web for clues that might point to what was wrong. I began to suspect an environmental cause and searched, without much luck, for information about mold. The apartment building I lived in was old. There was obvious mold on windowsills and the kitchen fans vented straight into the roof. I even removed electrical plates to peer into walls but without any luck. Unfortunately, information about mold illness was still in its infancy and I gave up pursuing that possibility.

My google efforts eventually lead me to suspect Lyme disease – the only illness I could find that listed all of the symptoms I had. My naturopath ordered a PCR test that came back negative. When I finally realized that doctors were never going to figure out what was wrong with me I quit seeking medical help. In September I moved in with a friend and slowly recovered enough to return to work part-time. By March 2005 I was able to get another apartment and live by myself but my health remained extremely fragile. In July 2005 I had a pacemaker put in.

I limped along until spring 2008 when the research institute that I worked for relocated to another building. Within weeks I started getting sick and suspected that the building was the cause. There was a terrible odor in my office and I kept the window open all the time. Co-workers complained to each other about the building but there was little we could do against a powerful state institution. By May I was in trouble. My cognitive function was deteriorating again. One day I got in the car to go to the chiropractor but when I drove to the end of the block I froze at the stop sign; I couldn’t remember how to get to his office.

In June 2008 I had a complete relapse; all of the old symptoms returned with a vengeance. Once again I was unable to work. I spent most of June in bed and on the verge of having a seizure. Sometimes I’d lie on my bedroom floor and put my head in the closet with a sleeping bag over it just to close out all light and sound. In August I started seeing a naturopath who diagnosed me with Lyme disease. At the time it made sense. I’d grown up in rural north Idaho where ticks were common and had spent years hiking and backpacking. In September I started antibiotic therapy and spent six weeks living with my parents.

In late fall I returned to my apartment and part-time job. Now the office building was even worse. In my absence they’d started a remodeling project. The first day they painted near my office I was exposed to fumes for nearly seven hours. I was so sick I barely made it home. All of my muscles burned, the back of my neck felt like it was in a vice, I had chills and a headache and felt like I was going to projectile vomit. For three hours I saw a blue fog everywhere. My muscles shook and twitched uncontrollably – I thought I was dying and I knew I couldn’t go back into that building.

My supervisor approved a telecommuting schedule and I found an office in another building on campus that I worked from two days a week. I struggled to hold onto my job while being treated for Lyme disease. A year and a half of antibiotics did nothing to improve my health, which continued to deteriorate. By May 2010 my supervisor insisted that I return to the office. Every time I went into the building I got sicker. In June I went on a year-long sick leave but by then my health was ruined. I left Seattle, moved in with my parents and applied for disability. A year later, in June 2011, I officially quit my job.

In summer 2011 I started reading Dr. Ritchie Shoemaker’s book Surviving Mold. In August a genetic test came back positive for one of the worst HLA genotypes for mold illness, the “dreaded” 4-3-53. In January 2012 I traveled to Maryland to see Dr. Shoemaker. Thorough blood tests confirmed biotoxin illness from exposure to mold. All of my symptoms going back nearly 30 years are the result of chronic inflammation caused by mold toxins. Even the cardiomyopathy (heart failure) may well have been caused by inflammation associated with biotoxin illness.

For information about biotoxin illness caused by mold: www.survivingmold.com/diagnosis
See also my previous post:
http://comingbacktopeace.blogspot.com/2012/06/biotoxin-illness-basics.html

Biotoxin Illness: the basics

Biotoxin illness generally occurs when: 1) a person is exposed to a biotoxin; and, 2) has a genetic predisposition or susceptibility. When those two things come together a process of chronic inflammation is set in motion. The basic dynamic of the illness can be summed up simply: exposure to biotoxins plus genetic susceptibility triggers inflammation that results in illness. In addition, and this is extremely important to know: biotoxins directly affect and impair nerve and cell function. Moreover, a sustained or massive exposure to biotoxins may cause illness in people who do not otherwise have a genetic susceptibility.

EXPOSURE + GENETICS = INFLAMMATION = ILLNESS

Exposure

As its name suggests, a biotoxin is a toxin produced by a living organism. People can acquire biotoxins from food, water, air, or insects such as spiders and ticks, and indoor environments. Many types of bacteria produce biotoxins including borrelia burgdorferi, the bacterium responsible for Lyme disease, and cyanobacteria found in blue-green algal blooms. Exposure to mold is by far the most common cause of biotoxin illness. People are exposed to mold (and toxic mold spores) when they live, work or spend any time in a building that has been water damaged. Mold is often invisible. It can be found inside walls, in basements and attics, and in HVAC systems. Mold is a common problem in homes that have a crawlspace with exposed dirt.

Genetics

Genes are like the operating system for a computer; they contain all of the instructions necessary for our bodies to function properly. When there’s a problem with our genetic code there will usually be a corresponding problem somewhere in our body. Think of it as a type of programming error in which the genetic code causes a system malfunction. In the case of biotoxin illness, the genetic problem is found in a certain group of genes known as human leukocyte antigen (HLA) genotypes. The HLA system contains a large number of genes that regulate immunity in humans. HLA regulation specifically relates to the body’s innate immune system and plays a key role in the body’s ability to identify and get rid of foreign molecules (antigens), including biotoxins. There are different configurations of HLA genes, which are referred to as HLA haplotypes. It turns out that 25% of all people have a HLA haplotype that makes us susceptible to biotoxin illness. When those of us with genetic susceptibility are exposed to a biotoxin our innate immune system, which is regulated by the HLA haplotype, cannot properly identify and get rid of the toxin. 

Immune system dysfunction

Antigen detection and presentation – the process by which the innate immune system identifies a foreign molecule and then presents that molecule to the adaptive immune system – is complex. But what’s important to know is that when the innate immune system can’t properly detect and present foreign molecules to the adaptive immune system, the adaptive immune system isn’t able to make antibodies. Without antibodies we have no way to eliminate the foreign molecule (antigen), or biotoxin. The genetic foundation of this immune system failure is the basic mechanism underlying biotoxin illness. HLA genes (HLA haplotype) cause a malfunction in the immune system which then cannot do its job. It’s as if the innate immune system has a faulty program operating system. 

Chronic Inflammation

Inflammation is the body’s first line of defense when it identifies any type of antigen including bacteria, viruses and biotoxins. In a normal healthy immune response the body regulates inflammation until the threat is gone and then the inflammation response stops. In biotoxin illness the body’s inflammatory response doesn’t get shut off. Because of immune system dysfunction – faulty antigen detection and presentation – biotoxins continue to circulate through the body causing ever-increasing inflammation. Under this onslaught, the body’s ability to regulate inflammation is quickly overwhelmed. Chronic inflammation causes damage to multiple systems in the body resulting in a complex, multi-system, multi-symptom illness. See: survivingmold.com/diagnosis/the-biotoxin-pathway

Illness

Dr. Ritchie Shoemaker provides an excellent overview of the illness on his website which includes a list of common symptoms and a 90-minute video. See: survivingmold.com/diagnosis

Resources:

• Surviving Mold: Life in the Era of Dangerous Buildings, Ritchie C. Shoemaker, M.D., 2010
• Mold Warriors: Fighting America’s Hidden Health Threat, Ritchie C. Shoemaker, M.D., 2005
• Desperation Medicine, Ritchie C. Shoemaker, M.D., 2001
• survivingmold.com 
• chronicneurotoxins.com

Disclaimer: This article is a simplification of complex biological and chemical processes. I am not a doctor and this is not medical advice; I am a patient doing patient education. Readers are encouraged to educate themselves and if necessary to consult a medical doctor familiar with biotoxin illness.