How integrative medicine got me back on my feet and changed my life

8 min read

As a physician who has personally lived with several complex medical conditions, I bring two worlds together: clinical training and lived experience.

I know what it is to sit on both sides of the desk.

And I know what it is to reach the end of what conventional medicine can offer — and still feel, deep down, that there must be another way.

I had reached the end of the line

I was 31, a mother of three children under five.

My youngest had just turned one.

And she could walk better than I could.

I could stand for a maximum of 20 minutes at a time. Every step was excruciating. Living as an expat in Geneva with almost no support, and three small girls depending on me, I had very little choice but to keep going.

I remember moving slowly down the long hospital corridor towards the rheumatology ward.

My daughters trailed behind me like three little ducklings following their mother.

I felt a heaviness in my chest.

I knew I had reached the end of the road of what modern medicine could offer me.

There was a quiet desperation in that moment. And guilt. And deep concern about how I was going to continue caring for my children if my body kept deteriorating.

When medicine had no more to offer

The nurses distracted the girls so I could speak to the rheumatologist in private.

It felt as though everyone in the room shared the same sense of foreboding and wanted to soften the blow.

After my third biological immunosuppressive therapy — my last real hope to calm the storm in my body — I had developed a range of opportunistic infections.

With compassion and empathy, the rheumatologist confirmed what I already feared.

I had reached the end of the line therapeutically.

There was nothing more they could offer me.

I could not accept that this was my fate

My husband at the time took a pragmatic approach.

He suggested I accept my fate.

Something in me revolted.

The chronic pain, although constant, was not even the worst part.

The real suffering was the disability.

The inability to:

walk properly
do house work
lift my one year old
push a shopping trolley and carry my groceries
swim or ride a bike
open a heavy door
easily get in out and of the car and use the hand break or close the boot of my car on my own

At 31, I felt trapped in a body that no longer worked.

And I knew, with absolute certainty, that I could not accept that as the end of my story.

There had to be something else.

The talk that changed my life

Two weeks later, while checking emails at my job at the World Health Organisation in Geneva, I found an invitation to a talk about an alternative approach to health.

I cannot remember the exact details now.

But I remember the feeling.

The synchronicity of it.

The strong instinct in my gut that said:

Go.

So during my lunch break, I left the office and went to the lecture.

I listened in awe as the woman in front of me spoke about her own healing journey.

She was not medically trained, yet her understanding of biochemistry, stress physiology, and the body’s ability to change was impressive.

But ultimately, it was not the science that convinced me.

It was her story.

I knew I had to work with her.

Getting back on my feet

A year later, through an integrative approach — working with her alongside several doctors and other health professionals — I was walking again.

Pain-free.

My seronegative spondyloarthritis, previously labelled ankylosing spondylitis, went into remission without medication.

I never looked back.

That experience changed me profoundly.

Not only as a person.

As a doctor.

Returning to medicine differently

This experience led me back to medicine with a completely different perspective.

I began integrating what I had learned and pursued further training in functional and integrative medicine wherever I could.

Over time, I became a doctor people came to when their health picture was complex.

People who had been told:

“Your tests are normal.”

But who felt anything but normal.

People with chronic symptoms, multi-system conditions, fatigue, pain, hormonal issues, gut problems, inflammatory patterns, and nervous system dysregulation.

People who needed someone to help them connect the dots.

What I learned in New Zealand

During my time practising in New Zealand, I realised I had developed a way of supporting people through complex health journeys.

It worked particularly well for people who had already been through the conventional system and knew there was more going on.

But there were two important caveats.

People needed to genuinely want change.

And they needed to be willing to participate actively in their own healing.

This kind of work is not passive.

It is not as simple as taking a few pills.

But the rewards can be profound.

The body is more changeable than we think

The approach itself is not rocket science.

I believe this knowledge should be more accessible to anyone who chooses this path.

It includes looking at:

nutrition
sleep
stress physiology
nervous system regulation
trauma
inflammation
gut health
hormones
immune function
lifestyle
meaning and purpose

There is growing evidence in areas such as epigenetics, psychoneuroimmunology, functional medicine, trauma research, and lifestyle medicine that the body is far more dynamic than we once believed.

For me, integrative medicine is not about rejecting conventional medicine.

It is about widening the lens.

Later diagnoses: Ehlers-Danlos and MCAS

My health journey did not stop there. The autoimmune disease had not explained all my symptoms.

Years later, I was diagnosed with hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, or hEDS — a rare connective tissue disorder that affects far more than just joint flexibility.

It can affect joint stability, pain, the nervous system, the gut, skin, fatigue, injury recovery, and many other systems in the body.

I also experience features of mast cell activation syndrome, or MCAS.

Many people with hEDS report mast cell-related symptoms, although the relationship between these conditions is still being researched and diagnosis can be complex.

These are complex multi-system conditions.

And because the symptoms are often non-specific, poorly understood or rare, diagnosis is frequently delayed.

The loneliness of complex illness and rare diseases

One of the hardest parts of living with a complex condition or rare disease is that you often become the person trying to educate the people who are meant to help you.

Many doctors encounter only a handful of people with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome in their careers. Most doctors have little understanding or knowledge of MCAS and don’t feel confident recognising or managing it.

This leaves many people navigating their health largely alone.

My medical knowledge has been essential in helping me live a full and meaningful life despite these challenges.

It has also made me deeply committed to sharing what I have learned, supporting others with similar conditions, educating colleagues, and advocating for better care.

In my view, complex chronic illness needs an integrative approach.

Not because conventional medicine is wrong.

But because it is often incomplete.

And still, my journey did not end there

In 2020, an abnormal Pap smear revealed stage two cervical dysplasia and HPV-16, a high-risk strain of HPV.

Two years later, my Pap smear remained abnormal, and I was referred to the dysplasia clinic in Berlin.

I arrived feeling relatively relaxed. I had not taken the diagnosis very seriously.

As I began filling out the intake form — listing my many previous gynaecological procedures — something shifted abruptly.

I was overwhelmed by a surge of emotion and broke down in tears.

The intensity of it took me by surprise.

Trauma I had not fully recognised surfaced all at once.

The male gynaecologist was experienced, kind and supportive. I found the biopsy traumatic despite their best efforts to support me through it.

The biopsy results were unfavourable for cervical dysplasia, and surgery was recommended.

I went into avoidance.

This is very common in people with trauma. I did not make the link at the time.

I refused the surgery and opted for close monitoring.

When trauma enters the room

A year later, my Pap smear results had worsened, and the HPV persisted.

I struggled to return for another biopsy, but felt reassured meeting the same competent and empathetic gynaecologist again.

This time, the biopsy was even more traumatic than the first.

A typical re-traumatising experience.

Although we needed to wait for the biopsy results, the recommendation was clear:

Surgery, within twelve weeks.

We both sensed how difficult even this relatively minor surgery would be for me, even if we did it under general anaesthesia.

I was therefore referred for intensive inpatient trauma therapy in preparation for surgery, with a diagnosis of post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD.

This stemmed from multiple experiences:

a traumatic birth with a near-death experience
poorly managed postoperative pain and other medical procedures I'd had
childhood sexual trauma
distressing experiences during medical training and clinical work

An unexpected result

Two weeks into trauma treatment, my biopsy results came back.

The dysplasia had regressed.

Surgery was no longer indicated!

Six months later, I had cleared the HPV completely.

I cannot prove exactly why this happened.

Healing is complex.

But I do believe the integrative approach I had been practising — including addressing trauma and nervous system regulation — supported my body’s capacity to heal.

That experience deepened something I already knew:

The body is not separate from our lived experience.

What I believe now

I believe the body has an innate capacity to move towards healing when the right conditions are created.

Not always.

Not perfectly.

Not magically.

But far more often than we are taught to believe.

The role of doctors, health practitioners, and healthcare systems should be to support that process.

To work in partnership with the person at the centre.

To use the best available evidence.

To carefully weigh benefit and risk.

To remain open to multiple modalities.

To practise in a trauma-informed way.

And to honour the agency, resources, values, and goals of the individual.

Why I work the way I do

My work today is shaped by all of this.

My medical training.

My years in conventional systems.

My own lived experience of complex illness.

My recovery.

My later diagnoses.

My trauma healing.

And the many people I have supported through their own complex health journeys.

And I do not believe that “normal test results” mean everything is fine.

I believe in listening deeply.

Looking for patterns.

Connecting systems.

And supporting people to become active participants in their own healing.

If this sounds familiar

If you are living with complex chronic illness, hypermobility, Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, MCAS, chronic pain, trauma-related symptoms, or unexplained multi-system symptoms — you are not alone.

And you are not imagining it.

Sometimes healing begins with being seen properly.

Sometimes it begins with someone helping you connect the dots.

And sometimes it begins with the quiet but powerful belief that your body may still be capable of more than you have been told.

Medical disclaimer

This page reflects personal and professional experience and is intended for educational purposes only. It does not replace individual medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. If you are experiencing medical symptoms or considering changes to treatment, please consult a qualified healthcare professional.