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

As a physician who has personally lived with several complex medical conditions, I offer a unique perspective that combines clinical rigor with a deep understanding of lived reality.

I was 31, a mother of three children under five — and my one-year-old could walk better than I could. I could stand for a maximum of 20 minutes at a time, and every step I took was excruciating. The responsibility for my three girls living in as an expat with next to no support in Geneva, left me with few options but to keep going.

As I moved down the long hospital corridor to the rheumatology ward, my daughters trailed behind me like three ducklings following their waddling mother. I felt a heaviness in my heart. I knew I had reached the end of the road of what modern medicine could offer me. I felt a quiet desperation, alongside guilt and concern about my ability to continue to care for my children.

The nurses distracted the girls so I could speak to the rheumatologist in private. It felt as though everyone shared the sense of foreboding and wanted to soften the blow. I had developed a range of opportunistic infections following the third biological immunosuppressive therapy I had recently started — my last hope to calm the storm in my body. With compassion and empathy, the rheumatologist confirmed my fears: I had reached the end of the line in what was available therapeutically.

My husband at the time took a pragmatic approach and suggested I accept my fate. I revolted in outrage. The chronic pain, my constant companion, was secondary. My true suffering lay in the loss of freedom — the inability to walk, sleep, lift my toddler, ride a bike, swim, open a door, or close the boot of my car alone. I would rather have died than be trapped in a body that did not work at the ripe age of 31 and just knew there must be something else I could do to get better.

Two weeks later, while checking my emails in my job at the World Health Organisation in Geneva, I found an invitation to a talk in English about an alternative approach to health. I can’t remember the details, but the synchronicity of the situation and the instinct in my gut meant I knew I had to go. During my lunch break, I travelled fifteen minutes north to Coppet — and listened to a lecture that would change my life.

I listened in awe as the woman in front of me spoke about her own journey of healing. She was not medically trained, but her presentation of biochemistry and physiology on stress was impressive, but it was ultimately her personal health joureny that convinced me. I knew I had to work with her. A year later, through an integrative approach — working with her alongside several doctors and undergoing major abdominal surgery — I was walking again, pain-free. The seronegative spondyloarthritis (previously labelled ankylosing spondylitis) rheumatological autoimmune disease went into remission without medication, and I never looked back.

This experience led me back to medicine, integrating everything I had learned and pursuing training in functional medicine wherever I could. I became the go-to doctor for patients with chronic and complex conditions — those seeking a more holistic approach, and those who had been told their tests were “normal” despite feeling far from well.

During my time in New Zealand, I realised I had developed a system to guide people on their healing journey — with two caveats: people needed to genuinely want to get better, and they needed to be willing to do the work required to create change.

It is not rocket science. I firmly believe this knowledge should be accessible to anyone who chooses this path. It is not as easy as popping a few pills, but the rewards are profound. The science of epigenetics, along with thousands of documented cases of spontaneous healing, supports this.

My journey with integrative medicine did not end there. I was later diagnosed with hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (hEDS), a rare genetic connective tissue disorder. Around 70% of people with hEDS also have Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS). These conditions are multisystemic, often presenting with non-specific symptoms, making diagnosis difficult and frequently delayed.

Lack of awareness and clear diagnostic criteria means many people suffer for years without answers. Even after diagnosis, support is often limited. Many doctors encounter only a handful of cases in their careers. People are left to navigate their health largely alone.

My medical knowledge has been key to living a full and meaningful life despite these challenges. I am committed to sharing what I have learned, supporting others with similar conditions, educating colleagues, and advocating for better care. An integrative approach, in my view, is essential for achieving the best possible outcomes.

And still, my personal journey did not end there.

In 2020, an abnormal Pap smear revealed stage two cervical dysplasia and HPV-16, the most aggressive strain. Two years later, my pap smear was still abnormal and I was referred to the dysplasia clinic in Berlin feeling completely composed. As I began filling out the intake form — listing my numerous 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, showing me how we can carry these experiences for years without realising the impact they have on us.The gynaecologist was kind and patient with me, but I still foudn the biopsy highly traumatic. I was advised to have surgery but as a typical trauma response, I went into avoidance and opted for more intense observation and checks and went into denial that there was really anything that serious going on.

A year later my pap smear results had worsened and I still had the HPV. I struggled to present myself for another biopsy in the dysplasia clinic but felt comforted to meet the same competent male gynaecologist as previously. The same recommendation was made - surgery, this time within twelve weeks. We both knew there was no way I could follow through with this, even with a full anaesthetic and so I was referred for intensive in-patient trauma therapy in preparation for surgery for Post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), stemming from multiple experiences: a traumatic birth with a near-death experience, poorly managed severed post-operative pain, childhood sexual trauma, and distressing experiences during my medical training and career.

Two weeks into trauma treatment, my biopsy results came back — the dysplasia had regressed. Six months later, I had cleared the HPV completely.

I believe this outcome was supported by the integrative approach I had been practising — including addressing trauma.

Integrative Medicine