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Let me preface all of this by saying that I grew up with 2 doctors. Grown-ups always said dumb stuff like, "Well, I guess you'll be a doctor someday, too, huh?" No. Absolutely not. The hours suck. The stress is outrageous. The ego-trip is unbearable. Nope. Negative. Not for me.

I was also jaded by sometimes painful, sometimes careless experiences and a one time near deadly one. My birth experiences were less than mother-centered. In short, I have a less than cozy relationship with Western Medicine. And still I was a little skeptical about iridology.

But Curious swore by it. She wouldn't shut up about Dr. Hill. Her kid has had near constant ear infections since birth. He's had surgery after surgery and finally experinced hearing loss. He's 9. She took him to Dr. Hill who has a Ph.D. in Alternative Medicine. He practices at a desk in a Health Food Store in a little country suburb of Pensacola. He has cured Curious's son. For the first time in his life he doesn't have fluid in his ears and has just passed a hearing test with perfect hearing. Wow. OK. I'll try it.

Since I don't have health insurance and haven't been to a doctor in almost 3 years, I figured a healer was as good as I was going to get anyway. What the hell.

To say that I am astounded, sold, in love with Dr. Hill is a total understatement. He is a miracle worker and an angel on Earth. BECCA LOVES IRIDOLOGY.

It went like this. I got there and sat next to him at his little desk. He asked me nothing. NOTHING. He looked in my eyes using a magnifying glass and a pen light. He "mapped" my eyes out on a chart. This took about 15 minutes or so.

SPOILER ALERT: If you don't want to hear about my medical history, stop reading now.

He sat back, looked at the chart and said, "Tell me about the trouble with your breasts." OK. I was diagnosed with Juvenile Papilomitosis when I was a teen-ager. That's just a fancy word for fibrous masses that come and go with your menstrual cycle. He said that he could see several small ones in my left and 1 big one in my right. And that is correct, ladies and gentlemen.

Then he said, "What happened to your right hip?" I was quickly becoming a believer. Well, after carrying 2 very large babies in my relatively small body, my hip comes out of joint on a regular basis. He asked me how much pain this caused me. I kind of shrugged, as if to say whatever or not enough to slow me down.

And then he said a phrase that will stick with me for quite a while. He looked me right in my eyes and said in a very sincere and calming voice, "Pain is pretty relative for you, though, isn't it?" I knew by the way he looked at me and the way that he said it that he knew. He knew about my tallest mountain. My greatest obstacle. My Herculean task. I started crying and he handed me a Kleenex.

He said, "Were you hit with a baseball bat or a car?" I kind of laughed. He said, "It had to be something like that. It's the worst back injury I've ever seen in anyone that can still walk." So I told him. When I was 15, I fell down a flight of stairs. I did one flip and then bounced all the way down on my butt. He said, "Is that how you broke your tailbone?" I told him that I had never broken my tailbone. Dr. Hill smiled and said, "Yes, you did. And now you have a bone spur where it healed improperly. That bone spur has rubbed away the coating on your sciatic nerve. It's exposed now." And that all makes sense. Why the pregnancies were excrutiating at times. Why sitting for any length of time or standing for any length of time is very uncomfortable. Why sleep comes only in spurts.

He got out anatomical charts and showed me exactly what is broken, for lack of a better word. He explained why I hurt where I hurt. He spoke to me in English and not the medical jargon mumbo jumbo bullshit that I've been hearing for 15 years. He hugged me, cried with me, and took my face in his hands and promised to help me.

I came home with a bag full of vitamins, herbs and supplements. Dawn helped me organize and label everything when I got here. I'm ecstatic. Naysayers, keep your mouths shut. I don't want to hear it. This is the only ray of hope I've had in at least 6 years. I promise to keep you updated. And I promise to hear you out if I don't get better or God forbid, I get worse.

Send good vibes my way, Friends. Hope. After walking around in near constant pain for 15 years, Hope feels really good.

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