"In Search of a Miracle Cure"


an essay by Abhi Ogale
(c) July 3, 1983



I woke up to a beautiful Toronto sunrise, feeling refreshed and otherwise perfectly normal. As the day went on, however, I started noticing things, which would prove to be the beginning of a very difficult and uncertain life.

I started to write my notes, to find that I just could not write. There was a faint tremor in my right hand. I now know that I had begun to experience my first symptoms of multiple sclerosis.



At first there were severe tremors in my right hand. Within a few weeks these tremors made it impossible for me to do things, which I had taken for granted - everyday things like lifting a cup of coffee.

A neurologist examined me and diagnosed an "intentional tremor". This meant that my hands shook whenever I tried to do anything specific with them. I left the doctor’s office with a prescription for "Inderal", a heart medication, and the belief that my medical problems would soon be over.



That September I drove home to Atlanta from Toronto, to begin my senior year at Georgia State University. I was working towards a degree in business administration with an emphasis in Actuarial Science. I was now facing my final year at the University, with my health on a downhill course. I did not yet know how bad things were going to get.

We were new to Atlanta. Our first order of business was to find a suitable neurologist. One was found. He examined me and almost immediately suspected multiple sclerosis. The next step was to go through a series of tests, from a psychological examination to a spinal tap. The spinal tap was the last test on which my final diagnosis would be based.

As if matters weren’t bad enough, my spinal fluid got misplaced and my doctor had to extract the spinal fluid again. Finally, the bad news was delivered. The diagnosis of chronic progressive multiple sclerosis was confirmed.



Once the shock subsided, I consulted a medical encyclopedia to ascertain exactly what I was in store for. What I read disturbed me. It said my life expectancy would be shortened somewhat and that I would probably find myself bedridden. After having read all the grim news about multiple sclerosis, I decided to further research it because I did not (or did not want to) believe that I had something which would change my life so dramatically.

Fortunately, the medical encyclopedia was published in 1963, exactly twenty years prior. This made me feel a little better. I was sure that medicine had improved significantly in twenty years. A more recent medical encyclopedia was somewhat favorable. Many new drugs and treatments had been developed in twenty years.



My family, especially my mother was heartbroken at the news. My mother talked to many doctors and did a lot of research to find out what the prognosis was. We found that using conventional medicine there was no cure for MS. We thought there was little to lose by trying alternative treatments.

I tried chiropractic and hypnotism, both of which proved unsuccessful. In retrospect, I cannot imagine now how I thought I would be able to write after a simple hypnotic suggestion! I also tried various nutritional supplements-- some based on advertisements, some suggested by practitioners of alternative medicine. I remember taking pills of Bovine Cartilage, Pycnogenol, Zinc supplements. These were very expensive, costing over $200 a month.



As time went on my condition worsened. I now had difficulty eating, holding objects, and walking. I had graduated from a walker to a wheelchair. Even with the best doctors at the Emory Clinic in Atlanta, conventional medicines were not having any effect on the course of my MS.

It was at that time that some friends told my mother about treatments in India. Although this was an expensive proposition, we traveled to India, my country of birth, to find that elusive cure for multiple sclerosis.

In India, my mother and I stayed with my grandparents. They tried to make our stay there comfortable but anyone, who has ever had the chance to visit that part of the world, knows that their customs and way of life are much different than ours. It took some getting used to. We thought we would explore whatever other forms of treatment we could find there. One such form was homeopathic medicine.

My grandparents located a well-known homeopathic practitioner in the town of Satara, some two hundred miles from Bombay. We decided to attempt the two hundred-mile journey by car. Since we didn’t own a car, we rented one. When one rents a car in India, the car usually comes with a driver.



The weather, in that part of the country, is always hot and sunny. It was even more so that day. When the car and driver arrived at my grandparent’s apartment to pick us up, the temperature was already in the low eighties and it was only nine o’clock in the morning. There was no air conditioning in the car. I knew we were in for a long and tiring trip. A two hundred-mile trip in the United States can be done in about three hours, but in India the journey took us the better part of a day.

The highway system, in India, is a far cry from what we are accustomed to here in the States. We first traveled on what was supposed to be a two-lane highway. It was, at best, a one and a half lane highway. Two cars could pass each other, but it would be in the best interest of all passengers to keep their arms well within the car.

The roads are not only shared by motorists but also by every farm and non-farm animal imaginable- everything from pigs, cows and chickens to donkeys and buffalo. The sides of the road are also filled with crowds of people. It was very difficult to maintain an average speed of even thirty miles an hour. Despite the fact that we had to stop the car periodically to fill the radiator with water, we finally arrived in Satara. We were hot and extremely tired.



When we got to the hotel, I was pleasantly surprised. The room was clean and it even had a TV. Television, in 1985, in India, was under Government control with only a single channel available for only a couple of hours a day. The hotel also had a swimming pool and a full service, four star restaurant featuring authentic Chinese cuisine. The hotel truly did not fit its surroundings.

After a good night's sleep, we went to see our homeopathic practitioner. This doctor made an impression on me that I will not forget. He was glib. Not knowing any better, I really believed this man could cure me. The first and only visit consisted of a brief examination, after which he proceeded to tell me that my condition was indeed curable. If I religiously took four of his little white sugar pills daily for two years, I might start seeing a positive change in my health. He warned that if I did not have faith in him and faith in God, the cure would not work.

The doctor, as he called himself, was very confident about his diagnosis and prognosis. He was so confident, that he managed to talk us into buying a three-month supply of sugar pills at a cost of three thousand rupees. To put this in perspective, that is more than an average well-educated person in India makes in a month.

The doctor was heavily into religion. His home, which also doubled as his office, was adorned with pictures of Hindu gods. He claimed to have the ability to communicate with the gods. It troubled me that his diagnosis and prognosis were not based on his own thinking but, rather, on the thoughts of a much higher authority. I believe in God, but I do not appreciate anyone trying to make a quick buck using religion and God as the cause and remedy to all our problems.

We went to India in search of something which might help reduce the ill effects, of the symptoms I was experiencing. All this homeopathic practitioner was offering was a tunnel without a light at the end and padding his own wallet in the process. After this experience we headed back to Bombay.

We arrived in Bombay exactly four days after we had left from our trip to Satara with bags of sugar pills.



Although there is no cure for multiple sclerosis, many alternative medicine practitioners we went to see in India claimed they could cure it. A distant relative, who saw us in Bombay, told us about an acupuncturist in Poona (one hundred and twenty miles away) who had great success in curing obscure diseases.

About one week after returning to Bombay, we left for Poona; but this time we traveled by first-class railroad coach aboard the ‘Deccan Queen’. My grandfather said, "it’s one of the finest trains in India, you’ll love it!"

Poona, at the time, was a city of about four million with modern roads and highways built to accommodate about one million. Now it’s doubled in size.

It was in the hotel we stayed at, right in the heart of the city, where I first encountered the acupuncturist. He was a sight to behold --a short man, five foot four, at best, somewhat portly and dressed as if he were beach bound. He wore no shoes or sandals and carried a small black leather briefcase, that I later found out contained his medical paraphernalia.

When he first came to examine me, he pulled out some needles from his briefcase. I thought that by inserting the needles under my skin, my nerves would be rejuvenated, thus allowing for the uninterrupted movement of messages from my brain to other parts of my body. In retrospect, this was a classic case of wishful thinking on my part. The acupuncture did nothing for me.

We stayed in Poona a few more days visiting family and friends and then it was back to Bombay.

I saw three more "doctors" in Bombay. The first doctor claimed he could cure me by running his fingers up and down my spinal cord. The second doctor was an old Ayurvedic practitioner, who gave me some powders and potions. This ancient form of medicine does have a lot going for it, but a cure for MS was a long shot. The third doctor spent the better part of an hour asking me personal and embarrassing questions, questions which had nothing to do with my illness whatsoever.



These experiences just reconfirmed that there was no point continuing this wild goose chase to find treatment for a disease for which there is no known cure. I now made up my mind to forget about cures and to just enjoy the rest of the trip. But that was not to be.

That last week in Bombay, we decided to go to the beach. It was a Tuesday, exactly one week before we were to leave Bombay and head home. We arrived at the beach along Marine Drive, one of Bombay’s most scenic and beautiful roads. It was very crowded. The beach was filled with street vendors selling all the popular drinks and snacks. I bought a mango milkshake. The drink was delicious but, as it turned out, it cost me much more than the five rupees I gave to the man at the concession stand.

When I woke up the next morning, I had developed a severe case of stomach flu. As the day progressed I began developing a fever. It took a few days for me to recover, but as my trip came to an end, I was mentally drained. I could not wait to come home.



Although the trip was anything but a success, it was a trip that had to be taken. It gave us the belief that we had tried everything. Modern medicine could not give me a cure for multiple sclerosis, so we certainly had to try more unconventional forms of treatment. It was unfortunate that we came across people who either had unwarranted faith in their ability or were interested only in money.

Desperation to find a cure, for what is thought to be an incurable disease, can be fertile ground for the unscrupulous practitioners of alternative medicine. We've also met such practitioners right here in North America.



My trip to India did have some good points. It was a vacation where I got to see some friends and family and I got to see, first hand, living conditions and health care in India. I count my blessings that I live in the United States.

My MS has settled down somewhat. I have been on Copaxone and it has helped. Working with Shepherd Care, I am now on an Independent Waiver program living with my girlfriend, Jennifer, who also has MS.

I now know that expecting a quick cure is like expecting to win a lottery. I have faith in the research that’s going on and I will never give up hope. But when seeking treatments, it’s best to be guided by logic than by emotion.

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