Case Study – Appendicitis

The Day My Appendix Taught Me to Trust the Body

A personal story about pain, surrender, symptoms, and the birth of Body Restoration 90

This is not a protocol.

This is not medical advice.

And if you have severe abdominal pain, especially pain that localizes to the lower right abdomen with nausea, vomiting, fever, or worsening pain, you should seek medical care right away. Appendicitis can become serious quickly and should be evaluated.

This is simply my story.

A story about pain.

A story about trust.

A story about listening to the body so deeply that it changed the way I understood healing.

And in many ways, this was one of the experiences that helped shape what I now call Body Restoration 90 (BR90).

The First Signal

I woke up early one morning with that unmistakable mouth-watering nausea and stomach cramping.

Anyone who has ever thrown up knows the feeling.

Your body gives you a warning.

Something is coming.

At first, I assumed it was something I ate. Unpleasant, but simple. My body would purge, I would rest, and by daylight I would be fine.

That is what I told myself.

I went back to bed.

A few hours later, I got up and tried to start my day. I still felt nauseous, but I thought I might be able to push through.

Then I went to brush my teeth.

I did not even get the toothbrush to my back teeth before my body purged again.

That was the moment I knew:

This was not going to be a normal morning.

I canceled my morning and went back to bed.

The Body Took Over

I used the plant medicines I had relied on in the past for gut and immune stress, then went back to sleep.

And I slept.

Through the morning.

Through lunch.

And when I woke up, I was groggy, weak, and still in pain.

I had afternoon patients scheduled, but I could barely lift my head.

I texted my office manager and told her we would have to cancel the rest of the day.

She was already doing it.

My body was no longer asking politely.

It had taken over.

Another nine hours of sleep passed.

When I woke again, the stomach cramping seemed to be gone.

I carefully rolled from side to side.

No pain.

For a moment, I thought the worst had passed.

Then I rolled toward the edge of the bed to get up.

And it felt like something ripped in the area of my appendix.

The pain was immediate, sharp, breathtaking, and localized right where appendicitis classically shows itself — McBurney’s point.

I remember briefly thinking:

Why would anyone want this point named after them?

The pain was that intense.

There Was No Escape From the Message

I struggled to find a position that offered relief.

Nothing worked.

My wife, Sonya, watched helplessly as her doctor husband twisted and flopped in pain.

My mind raced through options.

Including the option that conventional medicine says is often necessary.

But after a lot of movement and some careful pillow wedging, I finally found one position where I could catch my breath.

And there I stayed.

I could not move without activating the pain.

The resting pain was nearly too intense to sleep.

There was no distraction.

No productivity.

No work.

No performance.

No proving.

No pretending.

Just pain.

And the body speaking loudly.

Listening for the Trend

The next 24 hours became a simple routine.

Roll to find the least pain.

Sleep until the pain woke me up.

Shift again.

Take medicine.

Sleep.

Repeat.

My world became very small.

Pain.

Breath.

Pressure.

Position.

Sleep.

But inside that small world, I started listening in a way I had never listened before.

I often ask my patients to pay attention to the quality and quantity of the body’s communication.

Symptoms are messages.

Not enemies.

Not random punishments.

Messages.

And during that experience, I had no choice but to practice what I teach.

I began listening for the trend.

Could I sleep a little longer?

Could I lie in one position a little longer?

Were there more positions that gave relief?

Was the pain slightly less sharp?

Was the cramping less frequent?

Those tiny changes became incredibly important.

They were not dramatic.

But they were signs.

And in healing, signs matter.

The Body Talks

If I had listened only to my head, I might have panicked.

The head tells stories.

It remembers scary outcomes.

It imagines worst-case scenarios.

It tries to protect you, but it often does that by creating fear.

The body speaks differently.

The body speaks in sensation.

More pain.

Less pain.

Sharper.

Duller.

Tighter.

Looser.

More energy.

Less energy.

More breath.

Less breath.

The body was screaming for attention, but it was also giving me information.

So I listened.

After another 24 hours, I could stand again.

I could get to the bathroom.

More positions were becoming comfortable.

Hope returned.

Not because I was pain-free.

I was not.

But because I could feel a trend.

And that trend gave me confidence.

Repair Crews and Seamstresses

At some point, the sensation changed.

It was no longer just sharp pain.

It felt more like churning in one place.

I found myself wondering what kind of repair team the body was using.

Tiny seamstresses sewing.

Construction crews clearing debris.

Immune cells cleaning up.

Lymph moving waste away.

Inflammation organizing repair.

It sounds strange, but when pain becomes your whole world, your imagination becomes part of the conversation.

I began to think of my body not as something broken, but as something working.

Something intelligent.

Something responding.

Something trying to protect and repair me.

That shift mattered.

Because when you believe your body is attacking you, pain feels like betrayal.

But when you believe your body is communicating and repairing, pain becomes a message you can meet with respect.

The Wounded Deer

At one point, I thought of myself as a wounded deer lying in a field.

The deer does not make a five-step productivity plan.

It does not criticize itself for being weak.

It does not apologize for needing rest.

It lies down.

It waits.

It trusts the intelligence of nature.

That image stayed with me.

Because in our culture, we are not very good at lying down.

We are trained to override.

Push through.

Medicate the message.

Suppress the symptom.

Get back to work.

Prove we are strong.

But sometimes strength is not pushing.

Sometimes strength is surrender.

Sometimes strength is listening.

Sometimes strength is trusting the body long enough to hear what it is saying.

The Long Fast

By the third day, I was still fasting.

Only water and medicine had entered my body.

Pain was still my primary sensory experience.

But something else began to happen.

My dreams became vivid.

Then my mind began receiving images, ideas, and visions.

Not in a mystical performance kind of way.

More like the noise of daily life had finally gotten quiet enough for deeper messages to rise.

Ideas about healing.

Ideas about my mission.

Ideas about how to teach.

Ideas about how to serve.

I would wake and type them into my phone.

Then sleep again.

Pain.

Medicine.

Sleep.

Message.

Repeat.

The Confidence Shakes

Saturday was supposed to be the turnaround day in my mind.

But instead, it became the day of bed aches.

My body hurt from lying in one position so long.

The pressure of the bed became its own kind of pain.

Then the appendix pain woke up a bit again — different than before, but still concerning.

That shook my confidence.

Healing is not always a straight line.

Sometimes the trend is upward, then suddenly it gets cloudy.

That is when fear comes back in.

That is when the mind says:

What if this is going wrong?

What if you misread the message?

What if you should have chosen a different path?

I looked up the cost of an appendectomy.

I considered my options.

I prayed.

I asked God for help.

I asked my central nervous system — what I often call Regulation — for help.

I asked my appendix for help.

And then I listened again.

Hunger Returned

After almost five full days, I woke up and felt something different.

Not pain.

Not nausea.

Something else.

Hunger.

It was faint, but it was there.

That was a major message.

My body was no longer fully in purge, shutdown, and repair mode.

It was asking for food.

I got up, and that felt different too.

Less pain.

I could almost walk upright.

I made a small meal — a little potato, chicken, and butter.

I ate a few bites.

Not much.

But it was something.

And then I went back to bed.

Hope returned again.

Thankfulness

Then something unexpected happened.

I started feeling thankful.

Not thankful in a shallow way.

Not “everything is fine” thankful.

My body was still weak.

My voice was weak.

I had lost weight.

I was humbled.

But something inside me felt strong.

It felt like I had just come home from a brutal ropes course designed to push me to my limit and one step beyond.

Only I had not conquered anything by force.

I had not won by fighting.

I had not achieved by doing.

The victory was in trust.

The victory was in connection.

The victory was in listening to Regulation, to the innate wisdom of the body, and to God.

It felt like a spiritual journey coming to an end.

Not because the pain was fully gone.

But because I was changed.

Back to Work, Sort Of

Monday came.

I was not fully ready, but I was prepared to meet the day.

We moved some patients around and created a long lunch break so I could sleep.

I was able to focus on the patients in front of me, with some pauses for cramping.

But I was still fragile.

Very fragile.

And that fragility showed up.

One appointment went badly.

A patient came in wanting to talk about mood, self-criticism, and the feeling of “not good enough.”

Under normal circumstances, I might have had more space, more patience, more softness.

But I was depleted.

I tried to explain the difference between observation and evaluation.

“Not good enough” is an evaluation.

“I ate chocolate every night” is an observation.

But my delivery was not clean.

The moment unraveled.

She left upset and promised never to come back.

And there I was, fresh from this profound healing journey, immediately humbled again.

That felt like part of the lesson too.

Healing does not make you perfect.

It makes you more honest.

And sometimes it shows you exactly where your body, mind, and heart still need repair.

The Trend Continued

Over the next days, the pain continued to lessen.

The intense flashes became less frequent.

My energy slowly returned.

My family was gentle with me.

The kids knew not to jump on my belly.

And when I cringed, they gave hugs and kisses.

I was still tired.

Still tender.

Still cautious.

But I was on the mend.

Appendix and all.

I have noticed something over the years:

Sometimes, after a difficult health challenge, the body does not just return to where it was.

It can return stronger.

More resilient.

More aware.

More reorganized.

That is what I hoped for then.

And it is what I have seen again and again in healing.

The hard season is not always just a breakdown.

Sometimes it is a reorganization.

The First Big Lesson: Trending

One of the biggest lessons from this experience was the power of tracking trends.

If I had not spent years helping patients recognize healing trends, I do not know if I could have endured the pain.

The trend gave me a map.

Not a perfect map.

But enough to know whether I was gaining ground or losing it.

How long could I sleep?

How many positions could I tolerate?

How intense was the pain?

How frequent were the sharp episodes?

Could I stand?

Could I walk?

Could I eat?

Was my body moving toward life?

That is how healing often speaks.

Not in fireworks.

In trend lines.

A little more energy.

A little less pain.

A little deeper sleep.

A little more resilience.

A little faster recovery.

A little more capacity to handle life.

Without the certainty of a healing trend, I may have given up on one of the most meaningful experiences of my life.

The Second Big Lesson: Move Into the Message

We may be missing some of the most meaningful growth experiences of life because we are trained to run away from symptoms.

Of course, symptoms can be serious.

Of course, pain can require medical evaluation.

Of course, wisdom includes knowing when to get help.

But there is another truth too:

Symptoms are communication.

And if we only suppress them, ignore them, fear them, or resent them, we may miss the message.

This was the first time I felt so completely in communion with my body’s messages.

It was just me and pain.

Loud pain.

Softer pain.

Grinding pain.

Pulling pain.

Twisting pain.

Cramping pain.

And inside all of that, there was trust.

There was a knowing that my body was not meaningless.

The pain was not meaningless.

The appendix was not meaningless.

The experience was not meaningless.

It was communication.

And it was transformational.

The Appendix Lesson

Our culture often treats the appendix as useless.

A leftover part.

A disposable organ.

Something you can remove and forget about.

And maybe that is why this experience hit me so deeply.

Because I have often felt that my healing art is treated the same way by the larger culture.

Dismissed.

Minimized.

Seen as unnecessary.

Viewed as something outside the “real” system.

And I realized I had carried a chip on my shoulder about that.

But my appendix did not seem to have a chip on its shoulder.

It just kept doing its job.

Quietly.

Faithfully.

Without applause.

Without recognition.

Without needing culture to validate its worth.

That was a lesson for me.

Maybe the appendix does not need to prove its value.

Maybe it simply has value.

And maybe the same is true for people.

A Culture of Appendixes

So many people feel useless.

Unseen.

Unvalued.

Disconnected from their own innate worth.

Our culture often teaches people to memorize answers, follow systems, fit in, and perform.

But it does not always teach people how to discover their unique gifts.

It does not always teach them how to express their heart.

It does not always teach them how to become a blessing to others in the way only they can.

So people search for significance.

Sometimes by criticizing.

Sometimes by arguing.

Sometimes by making someone else wrong.

Sometimes by proving someone else is “stupid.”

But real significance does not come from making someone else smaller.

Significance comes from improving someone else’s life.

And improving someone else’s life begins with discovering your own innate value.

Your gifts.

Your desires.

Your abilities.

Your talents.

Your heart expression.

That became clearer to me after this experience.

What Was Really Born

Before this appendicitis journey, I already cared about helping people heal.

I already believed in the wisdom of the body.

I already believed symptoms were messages.

But something changed.

I changed.

I felt weaker physically, but clearer spiritually.

More humbled.

More vulnerable.

More cautious.

And at the same time, more passionate.

More willing to be misunderstood.

More willing to be unpopular.

More willing to stand for the purpose I had been given.

Because my purpose is not to help people suppress symptoms and survive.

My purpose is to help people become the strongest, clearest, most alive version of themselves.

To help them stop treating the body like an enemy.

To help them listen.

To help them restore.

To help them rebuild.

To help them reconnect with their innate value and their innate healing intelligence.

That vision eventually became Body Restoration 90 (BR90).

Why Body Restoration 90 Exists

BR90 exists because most people do not need another quick fix.

They do not need another person telling them everything is fine when they know it is not.

They do not need to chase symptoms forever.

They need a way to understand the pattern.

They need help listening to the body’s communication.

They need support rebuilding the systems that create strength, calm, energy, resilience, and repair.

In BR90, we look at the whole person.

Stress physiology.

Gut patterns.

Immune patterns.

Blood sugar patterns.

Inflammation.

Hormones.

Sleep.

Energy.

Lab patterns.

Nutrient weaknesses.

Recovery blocks.

And the deeper message the body may be trying to send.

Then we coach step by step toward restoration.

Not suppression.

Not guessing.

Not fighting the body.

Restoration.

If Your Body Has Been Talking to You

Maybe your message is not appendix pain.

Maybe it is fatigue.

Migraines.

Gut pain.

Skin flares.

Anxiety.

Poor sleep.

Food reactions.

Hormone changes.

Inflammation.

Blood sugar crashes.

Or the feeling that your body is getting harder and harder to live in.

Maybe you have been trying to silence the message.

Maybe you have been afraid of the message.

Maybe you have been told the message does not matter because the basic tests look normal.

But your body is still talking.

BR90 is designed to help you listen to that message, understand the pattern underneath it, and begin rebuilding your body from the inside out.

Because healing is not just the absence of symptoms.

Healing is restoration.

Strength.

Trust.

Resilience.

Purpose.

A deeper relationship with the body that has been trying to get your attention all along.

If this story speaks to you, I invite you to apply for Body Restoration 90 (BR90).

Tell us what your body has been saying.

Tell us what you have tried.

Tell us where you feel stuck.

You may not need to keep fighting your body.

You may need to learn how to listen — and rebuild.