My Story – Experiences with Bernie Falk

Paris

In the pockets of eccentricity around the world (Los Angeles, Monte Carlo, Las Vegas, Paris, The United States Congress), all kinds of things go largely unnoticed. Propped upside down in a yoga headstand in the park of St. Germain-en-Laye, a lovely town near Paris, I could see the inverted trees and never thought that this innocent posture would offend anyone.

And so it was on such a day, in May–May, 1878; the lyricist was wrong about “April in Paris”. May is the month. But for the daffodils, April is bland. April suits songwriters and travel agents. May brings the fullness of life, the pleasures of Spring. What better invigoration than a headstand. Or so I thought.

Yoga headstands may not be for the beginner, but whatever, it is what I did. After I righted myself, if that is the term, I felt an unfamiliar pain in my neck. Usually, the return to proper vertical is at once a relief: the re-circulation of the blood must have something to do with it all. But as I walked away, I couldn’t ignore my neck. The pain did not leave.

The Search for a Solution:

For the next few weeks, not just days, the pain persisted. At first it was not a constant pain, tending to subside, then sharpen. Overall, it became progressively worse. Sudden movements were particularly worrisome. I began to avoid moving my neck at all and I must have looked odd holding my head at soldier-like attention. I reached one point where the pain was so overriding that I could not do my work, so I took myself to the company infirmary where there was a bed and kindness of people who tried to understand. Upon leaving, the pain was still there. I left somewhat nervous, not knowing where to turn.

After another week of discomfort, I landed an appointment with one of the most gifted chiropractic physicians in Paris. By now, I could barely hold my head up. I made the half-hour trip to the office sprawled out on the back seat of a car. In this condition, the quiet and tastefully furnished waiting room was of little comfort. I remember it seemed like a living room, so much different from those practical American foyers where one waited, certain that something will be done.

Soon a small man appeared in the doorway and beckoned me into his office. He was wonderful. Explaining my problem was difficult. My French was too slow for him and his was too fast for me. But pain, like l’amour, is a universal language. Undaunted, he held up a mirror in front of me to indicate that my spine was not straight. The center of my forehead, the center of my chin, and the center of my lower neck did not form a straight line. Then, with little warning, this small man threw his arm over my shoulder and around my neck and performed one forceful chiropractic adjustment. Back to the mirror, and everything lined up.

My pain was gone.

But only for a month. Then it started again, in a different place. The symptoms were the same: stiffness of the neck and occasional intense pain with sudden movements. During one of the worst bouts, I visited the little doctor again. There were all kinds of instruments, bottles, needles, and gadgets about. I tried to imagine what they could be used for as I waited for the ‘adjustment’ and ensuing relied. This session was just as memorable as the first one with two dramatic adjustments to align my neck. Then the doctor placed me on a table and inserted needles into my toes and hands. With his deft hands he placed what appeared to be small pieces of cloth into the needles and lit them. My shock was enormous – flaming needles! This, it turned out, was my introduction to acupuncture. In a very short time, the needles were removed and the pain was gone. Again.

I was not dismissed as readily as the time before. The gentle doctor gave me a prescription for deep massage, recommending that I follow his instructions because “your neck is weak”. Me? A weak neck? I, who skied, who played tennis, who bicycled, who was the very yardman of yardmen on my own, castle grounds? I, who had never known pain? And, quite frankly, a “weak” neck seemed an impossibility.

But pain shapes one’s life.

I followed his prescription. I visited on a weekly basis a massage therapist whose practice could be nominated for a Nobel prize when the discipline is recognized. His was an integrated knowledge of massage, pressure points, muscles, and acupuncture. His treatment was essentially a penetrating overworking of my neck. There were occasional chiropractic neck adjustments and some acupuncture of the ear. I still remember his strong hands, the suggestion of incense, his certainty. Each visit ended with an almost overwhelming feeling of relaxation. But the effect lasted only a few days.

During this period I became generally better. My neck did not seem more sensitive with cold, but the pace of my life was such that I was able to ignore minor pains and deal with a major objective: the design of a new computer language, now called Ada. Such innovative projects are, of course, fraught with stress. But, stress, per se, ought not to incur the literal “pain in the neck”. After all, if you want stress, pursue a Ph.D. at M.I.T. I did that. In any case, I often received the advice: “Relax! Forget the pain, it’ll go away! It’s nothing but stress!” To someone in pain, this hurts, not helps.

In October I took a vacation along the French Riviera: Cannes and Nice. There was no stress but there was baggage. Simply carrying luggage nullified all the therapy and chiropractic analysis of the past few months. Indeed, now I was getting worse. The pain was becoming so intense that I could barely hold a pencil or the hand of my three-year-old son.

My case was now somewhere between urgent and desperate.

I found another practitioner who specialized in chronic problems. I was led into a more spacious waiting room of Victorian décor and then to an office where I attempted to explain in French what was now becoming a history of symptoms, data, and theories. The procedure now was to be put in a chair anchored on top if a heavy table. My head and neck were put into a kind of harness and hoisted up a few inches. At this moment, the specialist dashed out to answer the telephone. There I was, suspended – and frightened. How long I was abandoned, I do not remember – probably only a few minutes but it seemed like an hour. When he mercifully returned, he gave my body a quick twist. I heard something release and was let down. And that was all. I left with the same symptoms, data, and theory with which I came.

The next several months were terrible.

My life was an unending series of visits to anybody who might be able to help me. I went to the American Hospital in Paris. They didn’t like the results of x-rays on my back, but they were not sure what to do and prescribed medication. During this period, my second child was born. My pain was such that I could not attend the birth or even hold my new daughter.

I gave up the massage treatments. The relief was now only incidental. Two people who had experienced (they said) my kind of pain recommended two approaches for treatment: a popular osteopath and a renowned acupuncture specialist. I decided to try both.

The osteopath, in particular, gave me new hope. Combined with systematic acupuncture, the spinal adjustments relieved the pain. I was encouraged to participate in mild exercise, not to avoid it. I was even given the go-ahead for a light skiing trip? As I loved to ski, this suited me and I decided to try.

Now a family of four, we ventured off to the French Alps in March, 1979. Bundled up to the neck with scarves and propped with pillows to support my neck, we set off. It was on the trip that I started to have a new kind of pain – back pain.

We were just checking into the resort. I was moving the luggage to the hotel when I felt a sharp pain in my lower back. Now I was really worried. A spinal operation on my lower back at birth had caused me to be rated as unfit for military service. Even as a youngster I had been cautioned about complications later in life. We cancelled the ski trip and returned to Paris as though it was an emergency. It was.

Within a month, I was on a plane to the United States. I left my family in Paris. The pain was now intense and total – neck, arms, shoulders and back. I had to be drugged and lie on the floor of the plane for the entire trip. Within an hour after my arrival, I was admitted to a major Boston hospital. My new medical mentors were two orthopedic surgeons.

After ten days of rest and tests, I learned that I had disc degeneration, a weakened spine, some arthritis, and abnormal curvature (scoliosis) of the spine. More difficult tests were considered, but I left the hospital. The immediate prescription was more rest with more medication. It didn’t work.

I now realized that my problem could affect the rest of my life to such a degree that becoming an invalid was not out of the question.

The pain was constant.

It was not panic that motivated me, but a change of emphasis. I sought the best medical experts that I could find without resorting to the unusual or the occult. I must have made a hundred visits to chiropractors, often in emergency status. Fortunately I was able to seek relief without too much regard to expense.

During this time I saw several therapists and was exposed to considerable exercise. Actually some form of exercise was prescribed by doctors and chiropractors as well as by physical therapists. Five of this, twenty of that. I tried the exercises, often doing much more than asked. Many exercises hurt. None of them really made me feel better.

Recounting all my visits to all the kinds of medical “experts” (including those in France), I saw at least thirty heath specialists. These included three general practitioners, five physiotherapists, two kinesiologists, and three acupuncturists. A few I saw only once, others worked with me for months.

For the most part, the people I saw were terrific, and their skills incomparable, At times there was improvement but certainly not recovery. Swimming was suggested and it did give me some energy. I usually swam for an hour a day, but was still afraid to make any sudden movement. I often left the pool in pain, especially if I bumped into someone in the pool or I slipped the wrong way.

Swimming or exercising notwithstanding, I was learning to avoid physical activity. I avoided playing with the children. I asked other people to open heavy doors. I never traveled more than ten or fifteen miles alone. I even learned what the effects of low pressure weather systems were upon my threshold of pain.

The mundane routines of daily life were almost hazardous:

Lifting ten-pound objects, opening jars, buckling seat belts, looking sideways, and even cutting bread. The house was filled with pillows. I purchased a back brace. I rested hour after hour. I never dared lift the children small as they were. My entire lifestyle was a closed and ordered system of avoiding any activity that would lead to regression. I was simply living to survive.

But I did not give up looking for answers.

On the counsel of a trusted friend, I heard of yet another (another!) approach towards solving my problem. It was almost three years after my French headstand, in January, 1981, that I boarded a plane for Detroit. I had to be taken to the airport, and rested on a bench waiting to board the aircraft. When I was picked up by care in Detroit, I even needed help buckling my seat belt. But soon I arrived at the studio of Bernie Falk.

I did not know it then, but at that moment, in my mind, I began to write this book and its companions.

Continue Reading:

My Story (Part 2)