October 2006

Perfectly understandable

by Dr. Will Tickel

"I always thought chiropractors were quacks," said Doris, the bank teller, eyeing my check inscripted with "Dr." and followed by the defining suffix "chiropractor."

"Until...I was totally desperate and a chiropractor altered my life dramatically," she explained. What followed was personal testimony of another chiropractic success. True to habit, I found myself feebly attempting to butt in, to interrupt, hoping to enhance the teller's confession, as in "Oh, we hear these stories every day," or something equally inane.

I've always asked myself why I do that. Is it out of some sense of embarrassment or an attempt to somehow placate the confessors? Or is it about going "one up" on them, thus maintaining a position of seeming control? Whatever the reason(s), there's a better way to handle the situation, as I discovered with Doris.

It takes a different response, one that's sure to make stronger advocates of those rare bird dogs who so often complain their passion for chiropractic somehow seems to fall on deaf ears with their families and loved ones. Here's how to equip them to better tell the story and, therefore, become more effective in referring others.

"The cup overfloweth..."

From womb to tomb, folks are bombarded with the concept of the body's inadequacy to heal itself or to cope with the pressures of life.

Consider, for instance, why a woman needs to visit the obstetrician after that first missed cycle? After all, it's quite likely she's already read the other signs, considered the recent history and knows down deep in her knowables that she's pregnant. She's either looking to be judged fit to create a child or assured that what's she's creating is fit to live. The pregnancy then receives constant vigilance and tampering.

Monty Python did a humorous take on this in the 1960s. The doctors in the operating ‑‑ oops, birthing ‑‑ room respond to the delivering mother who sits up, asking to watch. "You lay back down there," they say, pushing the woman supine. "You're not qualified to watch."

So a child is born. "Quick! Get the silver nitrate drops! Might have concocted gonorrhea somewhere down the pike." Uh‑oh, it's a male, better mutilate ‑‑ er, make those genitals right.

Then comes the "Apgar Rating," confused for a health assessment. British anesthesiologist, Virginia Apgar, had originally intended it to detect the extent of ill effects from anesthesia. A battery of inoculations follows, designed to equip, fortify, or make adequate (the list is growing).

Next, neonatal checks, physicals and modifications to qualify for school, sports, employment, and marriage. And, hey, better not let somebody die with dignity at home. Most likely, there'll be an autopsy and/or coroner's inquest as to culpability.

Yes, from womb to tomb, that cup of inadequacy is filled to overflowing.

Then they bump into you, the chiropractor. Your story is different. You say the body is adequate. Maybe you're even bold enough to say the body needs no help, just no interference. Now watch! Any input you attempt to instill about adequacy spills right over the edge and down the sides of their cups of inadequacy. "No room in the inn."

Here's what Doris the bank teller taught me on a beautiful day to be alive and awake in southern Ohio: "Perfectly understandable."

Ask a question, something like, "Doris, why do you think it is that people who've tried chiropractic swear by it, but those who haven't swear at it?"

Then walk her down the stream of consciousness ‑‑ or unconsciousness ‑‑ with the concept of inadequacy that's been drummed into most everyone in the so‑called civilized world. Describe to her how this cup is filled to overflowing and how you must first interrupt or cause some to be spilled out before any thoughts of adequacy can find room to lodge.

Explain how, until others examine where and why they've come to believe that the body is inadequate, they can never accept any thought that runs contrary, i.e., that they are, indeed, adequate. They're like the guy buried in the newspaper, home after a trying day on the job who might grunt something in response to a child, a wife, etc. but who's not really thinking at all. It takes a jolt of some sort to cause a spill, making room for another idea. B.J. Palmer told us, "In order to get an idea inside another man's head, you must first interrupt what's already in there." He promised, "Get the idea and all else will follow."

My thanks to Bill Esteb of Patient Media for clarity on this concept!

(Will Tickel, DC ‑‑ willtickel@yahoo.com ‑‑ is an internationally known speaker on "things natural." He and his wife, Dr. Pam Tickel, are graduates of a chiropractic college that no longer calls itself such. One son and a daughter‑in‑law are DCs, and two other sons are rapidly pursuing their right to licensure at Life. Dr. Tickel is finishing up a third book on healing, entitled, "Stirrin' it Up! A baby boomer's look at life, liberty, and the pursuit of imperfect bliss." He is available for talks in your area.)