“Putting Out the Fire: A Visit with Dr. Max (AKA My Human Mood Blanket)”

I love a good dramatic entrance, but yesterday I outdid myself. I didn’t just show up with one problem, I showed up like a full-blown medical bingo card: pounding headaches, sinuses staging an occupation, my esophagus auditioning for a bar fight, GERD running the show, cystitis crashing the party, and yes—my old friends asthma and allergies tagging along just to make sure I couldn’t breathe either. If there were medals for overachieving in symptoms, I’d have swept the podium.

I’ve been seeing Dr. Max for 17 years. That is not a flex—it’s proof. Over time you learn two things about a practitioner you keep coming back to:

1. They can tell what you need by listening like the body talks.

   
   

2. They’re allowed to be weirdly exact.

Case in point: yesterday he listened, looked, and said I was on a beta blocker—before I even told him or we’d discussed meds at all. That level of “reads the room” is why I keep coming back.

He didn’t start by tackling each individual mess. He said, plainly, “I’m not going to treat the problems. I’m going to treat the climate.” Translation: stop hosing down the smoke and go straight to the fire.

So he got to work in-office with acupuncture. By the time I left, my internal thermostat had literally dropped. My chest loosened, my head stopped pounding, my body went from siren mode to sigh mode. The fire wasn’t raging anymore.

But Dr. Max doesn’t just treat you on the table—he sends you home with homework. Enter: the infamous swamp-gunk. Not a dainty tea bag, but a whole bottle of herbal powder. Three scoops, two to three times a day, until it’s gone. Imagine drinking a liquefied forest floor with a splash of old shoe, and you’ve got the picture. Yesterday’s session calmed the fire; now the swamp keeps the climate steady.

And yes, I’m only just starting the swamp today. Every gulp is a gag, but it’s part of the package: acupuncture for the immediate shift, swamp tea for the long haul.

What I love about visits like this is how specific it all is. He didn’t prescribe a bandaid for every wound. He shifted the whole environment my body was living in. The difference between treating symptoms and treating climate? One is a quick fix to survive the storm. The other changes the weather.

So yeah, I might gag on swamp-gunk—but I’ll also breathe again. And honestly, that’s a trade I’ll take every time.

✨ A Note on Trauma + Healing ✨

Trauma and PTSD don’t always show up as fear or anxiety. Sometimes they hit the body first — headaches, chest tightness, digestion flares, even breathing struggles. That’s how it shows up for me.

If that sounds familiar, please remember: you don’t have to go through it alone. Reach out to someone you trust, or a medical professional who can support you. If my messy little Swamp Gunk Chronicles blog helps in some small way, then that’s why I share it.

Most importantly, this is your reminder: you can be healed and healing at the same time. Self-care matters. Every scoop, every breath, every choice to show up for yourself counts.