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whatsoever constitutes a violation of copyrights.Triumph Over Disease 
by Fasting And Natural Diet 
 
 
 
 
Dr. Jack Goldstein (D. P. M.) 
 
 
 
 
Arco Publishing Company, Inc. New York  
  
Published by Arco Publishing Company, Inc. 
219 Park Avenue South, New York, N.Y. 10003  
Copyright © 1977 by Jack Goldstein  
  
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data 
Goldstein, Jack. Triumph over disease-by fasting and natural diet. Bibliography: p. 237 1. Ulcerative colitis-Biography. 2. Fasting. 3. Vegetarianism  
4. Goldstein, Jack I. . RC862.C6G64 616.3'4 76-44863 
ISBN 0-668-04138-2 (Library Edition)  
  
   Here is the inspiring, controversial, true story of a man who was 
treated medically for six years for a debilitating disease, ulcerative 
colitis , which under standard medical care by qualified and respected 
physicians progressed to a point close to death. In the course of his six-year ordeal, Dr. Goldstein changed from a happy, successful, and 
confident man with everything to live for to a wasted, drug-infected, 
despairing man whose only hope, he was told, lay in agreeing to submit to one of the most radical and drastic operations known to medical science--a total colectomy, or complete removal of the large intestine and rectum. For the rest of his life he would be forced to wear 
a bag attached to his abdomen for the collection and elimination of waste. At this point, tortured by the thought of becoming a physiologic 
cripple and even contemplating suicide, he was led to a natural way of 
life which incorporated fasting and a vegetarian diet that actually 
allowed his body to heal itself. Dr. Goldstein gives a detailed account of a six-week fast he undertook in a controlled environment and under 
the supervision of a doctor--which lit erally saved his life. He also 
records the day by-day physical and mental changes, which occurred, and describes his new way of life ba sed on the principles of natural 
diet. It is an amazing, almost unbelievable, story that offers hope and 
inspiration in addition to sound advice on how to achieve your natural radiant good health. Contents  
Introduction 
Beginning of the End 
Downfall 
The Agony 
Discovery 
My Six Week Fast 
Breaking the Fast 
A Return to Life 
The Magnificent Power Of The Body--  
Case histories I've observed 
A Glance at Fad Diets and Food Additives 
Natural Living--Where It's At! Recommended Reading and Bibliography 
 
       Dr. Jack Goldstein was born in 1930 in Detroit, Michigan, and now 
resides in Oak Park, Michigan. He attended Wayne State University in Detroit, and received his D.P M. (Doctor of Podiatric Medicine) 
degree, with honors, in 1952 from the Illinois College of Podiatric 
Medicine in Chicago. After serving with the army in Korea during the 
Korean War, 1953-1954, he began private practice of podiatry and foot 
surgery in 1954, and is currently practicing in Livonia, Michigan. He is a member of the Michigan State P odiatry Association, the American 
Podiatry Association, and the American Association of Hospital 
Podiatrists. He is also a member of the National Health Federation, 
Consumers For Pure Food, and is on the board of directors of 
Americans United To Combat Fluoridation. He is a member of the American Natural Hygiene Society and has served on its board of 
directors and is currently president of the Society. He has lectured 
throughout the United States and Canada and has appeared on many 
local and national radio and television programs. Nature understands no jesting. She is always true, always serious, 
always severe. She is always right and the errors are always those of 
man. She despises the man incapable of appreciating her, and only to the apt, the pure and the true does she reveal her secrets. GOETHE  
  Dedication:  
   How does one thank those who are res ponsible for his returning to the human race 
and to life? It cannot be expressed with words, but my deepest gratitude and thanks 
are given to: 
   My dear friend, Carol Leib, who introduced me to the right path; My dear friends, 
Dr. and Mrs. Robert Gross, both of whom guided me along that path, picked me up 
when I was down, helped me when I needed it and showed such an understanding and 
compassion toward me that there was no other way but to recover; and my dear wife and soulmate, Corinne, whose encouragement, optimism, persistence, nagging (Thank God! ), devotion and understanding enabled me to take the path. She gave me the 
strength to go on. My book is a result of the efforts of these people. It is an experience in living--an 
enlightenment. It does not have an ending, because it is a beginning! The story you are about to read may seem unreal, exaggerated, and even 
unbelievable. But whether you like it or not and whether you believe it or not, this is the way it happened. It is truth--every word of it! Truth is, in fact, stranger than fiction! Introduction  
   It seems the basic tools of the medical profession are the needle, the knife, and the 
prescription pad. Treatment appears to be, for the most part, symptomatic: injecting of 
drugs (to do what? ), cutting out of parts (end results of disease processes), and the 
dispensing and prescribing of drugs (almost a ll drugs are poisons). None of these tools 
supply the requisites of life. Symptoms are masked; problems are palliated. The 
patient receives no knowledge or understanding of how to achieve vital health and maintain it. Causes are not removed; and as long as causes remain, then disease, suffering, and agonizing death will continue. The fact that modern medicine has become very effective in the treatment of specific symptoms does not mean that it has 
become more beneficial for the health of the patient. Certainly there is a need for qualified  surgeons, emergency care physicians, etc. There are times when surgery is necessary as well as the use of life-saving techniques 
and drugs. There is also, because of removal or non-functioning of the thyroid, pancreas, or various other glands, the necess ity for the substitution of these secretions, 
the lack of which would result in death. A doctor is also a teacher; yet how many patients, all of whom have the God-given 
right to knowledge about their bodies, are ever taught by their doctors the function of 
their bodies. It seems that the function of one's body is kept secret--a mystery. Why? So many people have told me they've gone to their doctor only to come away with such instructions as, "Get this prescription  filled and take the medicine as directed." People are not taught basic prevention of disease (which, as far as I'm concerned, is 
the raison d'etre  of the medical profession), but are taught to expect disease as they 
get older and to "learn to live with it." But good health is normal and there should be 
no compromise. Many of the health problems of today are the result of apathy, lack of interest, lack 
of knowledge, and a disrespect and misunderstanding of the marvelous innate and built-in wisdom and needs of the human body. Most people today want instant cure. They don't care how or why they became sick. They just go to their doctor and say, "Doctor, I'm sick. Cure me!" It just cannot work. The body must of necessity eventually break down when it is neverendingly poisoned 
with drugs. When the doctor tries to improve upon nature, it's the patient who takes the risk. It is indeed a strange "science" which teaches us that substances (drugs), which 
make us, sick when we are well should be taken when we are sick to make us well. Nature is slow. It takes years to cultivate ill health because the body can take much 
abuse, but it also may take years to undo all the damage heaped upon the body by 
"normal" living. Nature is slow, but nature is sure. One must have patience, knowledge, and understanding. People have a right to know that there is another approach to health; and this is the 
purpose of my book. The story can apply to anyone, and anyon e can identify and 
relate to the story. My particular disease is not important; rather it could be almost any 
other disease, afflicting anyone. My story depicts the gradual downfall, deterioration, and hopelessness of a person 
under medical care, with reasons why it happened, and the dramatic recovery when a 
plan of living was followed (after abandoning the medical gamut) which is in 
harmony with natural physiologic laws as applied to the human being. You will learn what is good for your body and what is bad for your body. You will 
learn a way of living that will enable you and your children to enjoy life--a life of simplicity, free of complication, a life abounding in physical and mental well-being, a 
life filled with something most people do not seem to enjoy--HEALTH. Therefore, this book is dedicated to the untold thousands of people who have 
suffered, are suffering, and may suffer in th e future, regardless whether it is ulcerative 
colitis or another disease, in the hope I can share an experience that could end their suffering, prevent future suffering, and let th em enjoy their birthright--vibrant health. It is my fervent desire that, after y ou have read this book, those of you who have 
health will understand how to maintain it; those of you have lost health will 
understand how to regain it; and those of you who have never had health will have learned how to experience it. After all, what good is life without health? Chapter 1 -- Beginning of the End  
   "I'm dying!" I was gripped with a sickening fear as I suddenly realized I was dying. What does 
one do when the doctor pronounces the sentence? What does one say? How does one 
react? It was early in 1964. I was 34 years old. I had a lovely wife, two fine children, a 
good practice as a podiatrist and foot surgeon and was a member of recognized state and national accredited groups of my profession; but I was a damned sick man! I had run the medical gamut of treatment and by all medical standards there wasn't 
much hope. I had reached my physiologic limitation as a result of ulcerative colitis, a 
severe and debilitating disease of the colon or large intestine, marked by severe 
diarrhea, intestinal spasm, bleeding, dehydration, weakness, weight loss, and a host of other symptoms. It is one of the chronic digestive diseases, which, according to the 
National Center for Health Statistics, are the number one cause of hospitalization and 
rank second as the cause of disability due to illness. The cost of these ailments is 
estimated at $10 billion annually, making them the leading cause of economic loss from chronic human illness. About 100,000 new cases are diagnosed each year. Ulcerative colitis is a pre-cancerous state, and it was at this point the doctor granted 
me two choices--namely, that if nothing was done I would die, or a drastic operation 
could be tried, a total colectomy (complete removal of the five or six feet of large 
intestine and rectum), with a bag being attached to the abdomen for the collection and 
elimination of waste matter (ileostomy), which would have made me a permanent 
physiologic cripple, and of course could not guarantee my survival. So how does one react when there isn't much hope? I reacted with a calmness, with a feeling bordering 
on apathy. I almost didn't care. I thought pe rhaps it was for the better because soon it 
would be all over. Soon it would end. No more suffering. Eternal peace. But I didn't 
realize that I was destined to make a deci sion that was to change the course of my 
entire life, the lives of my wife and children, and the lives of thousands of people with whom I would cross paths. I was going to hang on to precious life. I was going to defy 
all the doctors. I was not aware of it at the time, but I was, in a sense, going to be reborn. I had a mission in life! We have to go back to 1958. I was 28 years old, separated from the army for four 
years after serving in Korea during the Korean war, had been in private practice only 
three and one-half years and was trying to make a new start with my wife of two 
years. It was at this time that it all began--an occurrence which was to become a 
nightmare and make my life a living hell for the next six years. My wife, Corinne, and I were relaxing one evening after supper, when suddenly and 
without warning came a feeling of pressure and discomfort in my lower abdomen, 
accompanied by strong urge to have a B.M. (bowel movement; the letters "B.M." will 
be used throughout this story). It happened so fast, there was no time to reach the 
lavatory and I found myself sitting in a small pool of blood, the sight of which worried and frightened me. After the initial shock wore off, I decided to do nothing for the present. After all, I 
didn't seem to have any other particular h ealth problems; my diet was the normal run 
of-the-mill American type that lacks nutrition (doesn't everyone enjoy a package of 
cookies and a quart of milk as a meal, with a candy bar or two for dessert? ); and of 
course I was a worrier, a pessimist, and a pe rfectionist with an emotional inability to 
cope with stressful situations--but then don 't we all have these "normal" hang-ups? Normal? I wonder now, as I'm writing this and looking back. Anyway, I waited three weeks before I worked up enough nerve to see a doctor. During that time, diarrhea developed, accompanied by bleeding and intestinal spasm. This frightened me enough to seek out a doctor who came highly recommended (his 
real name will not be used for personal reasons, as will not the other doctors who 
"cared" for me, with the exception of the doctor who finally led me out of the 
darkness, Dr. Robert Gross). The initial examination consisted of the usual history taking, blood and urine tests, 
and physical examination. These things being concluded, I was ushered into a room 
and told to "hop up" on the table, drop my trousers, and bend over. Dr. Leopold 
informed me he was going to insert a stainl ess steel tube up my rectum to visually 
examine part of the colon (large intestine). I took one look at that instrument, which 
looked to me like a short stainless steel broomhandle, and asked how he was going to get that thing into me. He said, "Just relax and bear down." But I had built up such a 
fear and anticipation that it was impossible to relax, and when that cold steel tube 
(why are doctors' instruments always cold?) touched my sensitive parts and I 
tightened up every muscle in my body, I knew there was no way he was going to pass 
that tube into me. He pushed and I sweated. The more he pushed, the more I tightened 
until finally he gave up and referred me to Dr . Price, an expert in conducting this type 
of examination. Did he get that instrument into me? You can bet on it! It was probably one of the most enervating experiences I had had to date, and it was to be the 
first of dozens of this kind of examination over the next six years. However, Dr. Price 
taught me how to relax during this procedure, which is called a proctosigmoidoscopy, 
and soon I became an old pro at it, which was to make it easier on me in the years to come. The diagnosis had been made--ulcerative colitis. A horrible name for a horrible 
disease. In fact, one of the most debilitating afflictions of man. Treatment began. If only I knew then what I know now, the agony of the next six 
years could have been prevented--the agony of a physical, emotional, and spiritual deterioration. Part of the treatment was to find a cause, so blood samples were drawn, 
urine samples were taken, and I was given a dozen or so small boxes in which to 
deposit stool samples each week for analysis. Everyone was looking for a germ of 
some type which was assumed to be causing the disease. None were found, for rarely, 
if ever, will they be isolated at the beginning of disease because contrary to popular belief--and this may stun you a little--germs are not generally a primary cause of 
disease. They are ubiquitous and ever present and we cannot rule them out, but their 
role is secondary. They will grow and thrive in a medium conducive to their 
propagation, and that medium is an unhealthy body, an enervated body, which mine 
eventually became. Germs generally won't grow in a vitally healthy body, a body properly nourished and having the highest degree of resistance and immunity, a body 
that is functioning as it should. After all, what is health? It is merely a state where the 
body's 25 or 30 quadrillion cells (give or take a few) are all doing their job. I'll go into 
this later. Much of the treatment was based on the destruction of germs whether they were 
present or not. Another aspect of treatment is the assumption that those with 
ulcerative colitis are supposed to have varying degrees of emotional problems. This is 
far from always being true. In fact, it is a sick body that usually causes depression and 
emotional problems as a secondary manifestation. At this point I was started on drugs, and for the next six years I was to take some 
forty different types, sometimes gulping down combinations of half a dozen varieties, 
which when mixed together in my bloodstream caused reactions and crises that made the ulcerative colitis look like child's play. The drugs first prescribed were Azulfidine, 
for some type of effect on the intestinal tissues; Theragran, a multiple vitamin to 
replace those lost from diarrhea and the body's inability to absorb the nutrients from 
food; Pro-Banthine, to dry up secretions such  as the fluidity from diarrhea; Trasentine, 
to relax spasm in the intestinal musculature; Metamucil, to absorb water from the 
intestines and create a form of soft bulk; and Erythromycin, an antibiotic for an 
infection that hadn't yet occurred. Diet was of course regimented. A lo w-residue type was instituted that avoids 
roughage, which irritates the large intestine. No raw fruits, vegetables, or nuts. Instead, I used mostly cooked, canned, and pureed foods along with certain meats. This is what I call a diet of foodless foods. Later on you will learn why this type of 
diet cannot maintain health, much less help recover health. You will also come to 
understand why drugs do not cause one to get well and that if one recovers health 
while taking medication, he usually gets well in spite of, not because of, the 
medicines. After a number of months my condition grew steadily worse, not so much bleeding 
now but more diarrhea, intestinal spasm and pain, dehydration, and some weight loss. It was at this point Dr. Leopold decided to hospitalize me. I was there for two weeks, 
during which time I was given the low-residue and high-protein diet. There were 
some new drugs administered: Robanul, to hope-fully reduce fluid content of B.M.s; 
Lomotil, to reduce intestinal motility; Sulfathalidine, for further extermination of the non-existent germs; Belladenal, to sort of calm everything down; penicillin, for what 
was called infection; and Amphojel, to combat the stomach upset and indigestion 
caused by the other drugs. I was also started on one of the most dangerous. of all 
drugs--prednisone (part of the cortisone fam ily). This is a great masker and suppressor 
of symptoms while the disease, almost unknown to the patient, worsens. (I'll discuss in more detail later, as I take more and more of these steroid drugs,why they are so 
dangerous to life.) But what did me the most good was the bed rest. This was my first experience in being hospitalized and it left a rather bad impression 
on me after the following occurrence. My hospital roommate was operated on for 
gallstones. He was quite seriously ill due to cirrhosis of the liver, and the surgery was 
quite involved. Soon his drain was pulled out, but it was too soon, so he drained 
internally until he was taken back to the operating room for more surgery. He returned to the room unconscious and with an intrav enous feeding tube attached to his arm 
while a nurse adjusted the flow from the bottle to what was supposed to be the proper 
drip. But it was much too fast for safety so  I rang for the nurse, since he was sedated. When she didn't show, I got out of bed and adjusted it for him. When the bottle was 
empty, a new one was attached and a new needle inserted into his vein. But it was, by 
mistake, inserted into his arm muscle. I noticed, as time went by, his arm was almost 
as big as a football. I rang for the nurse. She didn't come. So I got out of bed, pulled the needle out, 
applied a tourniquet and inserted the needle into the vein where it belonged. No one ever knew. While I was hospitalized, I underwent the usual blood and urine tests, stool 
analyses, and proctosigmoidoscope exams. But now I was to undergo another diagnostic procedure known in the trade as the upper and lower GI (gastro-intestinal) 
series. This test is done on two separate days. One day is devoted to the upper, where 
a glass or two of barium meal is swallowed while standing behind a fluoroscope 
screen as the radiologist watches the substance passing through the upper digestive 
system outlining the stomach and upper intestines and showing any discrepancies in 
the anatomy. No abnormalities appeared during this phase of the examination. The 
next day I was given the second half of th e series called the lower GI or barium 
enema. This is preceded, as was the upper GI, by taking castor oil and taking an enema the night before. Do you have any idea what happens when, in suffering from 
intestinal spasm and diarrhea, you swallow castor oil and take an enema? Let's for the sake of brevity, call it an intestinal explosion. The lower GI phase now takes place, 
which is the infusion of barium by enema, enough to fill all six feet of the large 
intestine. I was instructed to "hold it all in" while being turned in various positions for 
fluoroscopy and x-ray studies. If I were to make a short list of the most difficult things 
I have had to cope with in life, trying to hold in that barium while the diseased intestine was going into spasmodic contraction to force it out would rank high on that 
list. The physical, mental, and emotional battle that went on during this examination 
left me totally weakened and exhausted for two days, which further aggravated my 
condition. The results of the lower GI examination showed conclusively the presence of 
ulcerative colitis. The colon exhibited the.ty pical stovepipe appearance, the loss of 
haustrations (saculations), and resembled a narrow, straight tube. Ulcerations of the 
intestinal lining were apparent, as were  a few polyps (small outgrowths that can 
become cancerous) which were fortunately able to be snipped out through a subsequent sigmoidoscope procedure. After the two weeks in the hospital, there was some improvement, but we must 
remember that when one is young enough and the disease is in its early stages, there is 
periodic improvement coupled with periodic flare-ups, until eventually there are more 
flare-ups than improvements and the disease becomes chronic and crippling. This is why colitis or ulcerative colitis is termed a disease of remissions and exacerbations, 
and medical treatment is symptomatic treatment. The body is poisoned with drugs. Causes are not removed and the body is ne ver left alone, never given the proper 
environment to heal itself. Remember that healing is not an art but a biological 
process that takes place from within the body and nothing from the outside will heal. The body, through its innate power, constantly strives at all costs to maintain 
homeostasis (balance of all body functions in  spite of anything that tends to disturb 
these functions). Therefore, the more interference with bodily function, the quicker is 
the approach of the chronic debilitating and crippling diseases of man. Now came a period of apparent improvement. There were ups and downs through 
the balance of 1958 and into 1959 and 1960, and in my mind I thought soon the 
disease would abate. How wrong I was! It was a pseudo improvement--the calm before the storm. I was seeing Dr. Leopold regularly every few weeks. Minor dietary changes were 
made at intervals, but I was still in the realm of "baby food." The doses of the many 
drugs were adjusted from time to time--sometimes lowered, sometimes increased--but I continued to take them to maintain a constant level of these drugs in my blood. There was, so far, a modicum of normalcy in my family, professional, and social 
life. The disease had not created that debility  as yet. I still exercised a fairly decent 
control and probably was "running" anywhere  from two to six times per day. Of 
course, when I had the "urge" it had to be heeded and this began to bother me a little 
psychologically. I didn't know it at this point, but the disease was to become a 
veritable curse. I recall an incident one night in the winter of 1960. I awoke suddenly. A wave of 
fear came over me. My heart was skipping beats and pounding erratically. It felt as though it would come through my chest. I became light-headed and found myself 
gasping for breath. I fought hard to avoid unconsciousness. Could this be the end? Is 
this the way it feels? There was no pain. It was about 3:00 a.m. and I seemed to 
remember stories of people I had known who had heart attacks. They always 
experienced them about 2:00 a.m. or 3:00 a.m. As my fear increased, I decided to call my doctor. I apologized for waking him and told him what was happening. He 
instructed me to call a cab and get right over to the hospital. "Don't even take time to get dressed," he ordered. "I'll call the hospital and tell them you're on your way and they'll have everything 
ready, so don't worry," he added. "Don't worry?" I laughed to myself. Ho w does one not worry about something like 
this? The cab driver was at the door. I told him I'd be right out. I said goodbye to my 
wife. She couldn't go with me since things had happened so fast and there was no way 
to have someone stay with our infant son. Corinne was calm. She had an intuition 
(and her intuitions turned out to be right over the years) that I was not having a heart 
attack, and that, at least, made it a little easier for me as I walked out the door. It was a bitter cold night and snow was falling. A hell of a night to go out in 
pajamas and bathrobe, I thought, as the cab started up. We were speeding, but time 
dragged and it seemed we would never get to the hospital. Once there, I was led to a reception area where after some fifteen minut es wait (this seems typical in emergency 
situations) I insisted on someone doing some thing. No sooner said than done. I was 
ushered into another room resembling a business office where I came face to face, across a desk, with an efficient looking woman dressed in white. She coldly inquired 
as to my type of medical insurance. I got the vibrations that a lengthy interview was 
forthcoming and I wanted no part of it at that particular time, so I asked to be taken to 
see a doctor. The lady in white stated she had to have certain information and then I 
would be able to see the doctor, so she proceeded to obtain my address, profession, phone number, mother's maiden name, religion, and answers to a dozen or so more 
questions. I almost thought she would ask me why I was there. More precious minutes 
ticked away and finally the two giant swinging doors opened exposing an orderly who 
guided me into an examining room and onto a table. At last, I thought, the doctor will 
see me. Sure enough, about fifteen tension-filled minutes later a very young-looking intern strolled in and asked a battery of questions. He proceeded to examine me and 
decided to give me an EKG ( electrocardiogram ) ; but guess what? That's right! There was no EKG unit in the room. So out he went to locate one. More nervous 
minutes passed until he returned with the apparatus. He proceeded to put the jelly on 
the various parts of my body where the electrodes would be hooked up. After connecting me, he was ready to begin. The machine was plugged in, the switch was 
thrown, but nothing happened. The intern jiggled the switch and made a few 
adjustments, but still nothing happened. He went to get help while I became more 
upset with the entire idea. Finally he returned with a young female intern and between 
the two of them the EKG unit was finally activated, but they could not get the machine to record on the graph. They played with it for a number of minutes--the 
blind leading the blind--until finally I could not contain myself any longer and got up and showed them how to work it, then I put myself back on the table while they made 
the test. The results were negative. No evidence of any heart problem. Everything was 
normal. But after a careful history was taken,  it was determined that the entire episode 
was due to the effects of all the various drugs in my system, each one potentiating the action of another, interfering with normal body function. This incident reminded me of the story of the man who, when he regained 
consciousness in his hospital bed, asked the doctor standing over him what had 
happened. The doctor told him that all of his tiny time pills went off at once. The point of this whole experience is the frightening prospect that if I, in fact, was 
having a heart attack, I could have easily died while running the gamut of hospital-
medical red tape and laxity most likely due to "routineness." I'm sure this is not always the case, but I wonder how many people have died "waiting"? My drug doses were of course reduced  and altered on subsequent visits to my 
doctor, but I was ordered to continue ta king drugs. Soon I began to experience some 
nausea and severe general itching as reactions to these drugs. I was then ordered to 
take two more drugs. One was Dramamine, which was used for nausea, and the other was Periactin, which was used for the itching. Neither of these did much good and 
there were many other signs of actual poisoning making themselves manifest, some of 
which were drying of the mouth and mucous membranes, headaches, blurred vision, nervousness (for which the doctor prescribed phenobarbital), mental slowness, and 
fuzzy mind--probably due to the phenobarbital. There were other signs, but these will 
give you some idea of the dangers of drugs. This is known as iatrogenic disease, 
doctor-induced disease, from the so-called "cure," which is usually worse than the 
disease. In fact, I consider it a small mir acle that my infant son, born in December 
1960, and my other son-to-be, who would be born in December 1963, were completely normal and had no genetic damage as a result of my system being loaded 
with poisonous drugs, including one of the most dangerous--cortisone. After a few more months of treatment, my condition worsened to a point where I 
began losing weight. I dropped eight or ten pounds from my average 170 pounds. This 
was of course due to increased intensity of diarrhea, thereby causing dehydration and 
loss of nutrients. There was also a decreased capacity to digest and absorb food. There was chronic, low-grade fever present, accompanied by malaise and weakness. As the 
drugs were continued, they caused an alteration in the normal intestinal flora 
(beneficial bacteria that produce vitamins and are an integral part in the digestive 
process), creating more diarrhea, vitamin and mineral deficiency, bleeding with 
subsequent anemia, putrefaction of bowel contents, and resultant gas formation, etc. All of the preceding problems contributed to what was to be a form of malnutrition--
another problem I didn't need. A sick body needs rest. A body that does not have the power to carry on proper 
digestion needs rest. A body that is weak needs rest. Rest was one necessity that was 
not supplied. My body was too busy working trying to digest food and detoxifying or 
making harmless the many drugs being poured into it. How could the body possibly 
heal itself under these circumstances? The factors necessary to maintain and restore health were never supplied. You will become very aware, later on, of the nature of 
these factors. The sad part was that I was a llowed to deteriorate as far as I did with 
none of my doctors being truly aware of the conditions necessary for health. From 
here on it becomes a veritable nightmare. After two and one-half years Dr. Leopold finally gave up. He referred me to Dr. 
Evans, early in 1961, who was rated as a "big specialist" with a broader knowledge 
and experience in treating ulcerative colitis. So I began all over again with blood tests 
and stool samples, which showed a type of anemia (low hemoglobin in my red blood 
cells), and the upper GI series and barium enema, which showed worsening changes--
and which made me sicker afterward. After all the above tests were completed, Dr. Evans had me come into his office for 
a proctosigmoidoscope to "see what's going on in there." He was quite concerned with 
what he saw internally as well as my generally run-down external appearance and 
decided I needed some additional drugs. So he started me on Donnatal to quiet things 
down inside; Combex with C, a multivitamin; Betalin-S injections, a B vitamin which 
was supposed to give me an appetite; Equanil, a tranquilizer; Haldrone, a member of the cortisone family; and calcium carbonate, to combat the indigestion and stomach 
upset caused by these other drugs. Of course  he cut out most of the drugs that had 
been prescribed by Dr. Leopold. My diet was now rearranged. Dr. Evans allowed me the similar mushy foodless 
foods, but in addition he advised a very hi gh protein consumption. This consisted of 
much eggs, milk, meat, and whole wheat bread, which are notorious allergens to 
many people. A weakened digestive system cannot possibly handle this type of food 
without having it ferment, rot, and further poison the body. So what happens when a 
person with ulcerative colitis ingests these? Severe reactions occur such as increased 
intestinal spasm and diarrhea, mucous form ation, and much gas from putrefaction of 
these foods. I was also allowed coffee, which is a stimulant to the intestinal tract, and 
I needed that like a proverbial hole in the head. You can see the inconsistency in medical treatment thus far, which continues as 
time goes on. Harmlessness should be the watchword, but it was the exception rather 
than the rule. I saw Dr. Evans approximately once a week for the year of 1961. I was 
31 years old but felt twice my age and almost looked it. The proctosigmoidoscopy 
was done twice at each office visit and was becoming a most uncomfortable and enervating procedure now because diarrhea was increasing to about 12 to 15 times a 
day, the rectal area was becoming extremely sore, and painful hemorrhoids were 
developing due to the constant spasms from the diarrhea. This meant it was difficult 
for the doctor to push that scope past the hemorrhoids. I could feel myself beginning to crack emotionally. There were periods of apathy 
and deep depressions accompanied by nervousness and irritability, making it most 
difficult for my wife to cope with me. In f act, the strain was beginning to show in her. She felt so helpless to do anything for me. She could only watch the gradual wasting 
away of a once happy and healthy human being. Since the hemorrhoids were becoming quite painful, Dr. Evans decided to use 
injection therapy to destroy them. This is a treatment, or should I say torture, where a needle is thrust directly into the hemorrhoids to be destroyed while a strong drug is 
deposited therein. I thought I had experienced pain before in my life, but this was the ultimate thus far. This I thought was the acme of pain--but I was wrong. I didn't know 
it then, thank God, but there was still worse to come in the near future. My fever seemed to be more severe  at various intervals. It was becoming 
increasingly difficult for me to maintain my podiatry practice, to maintain a social 
life, and even a family life. But I remained with Dr. Evans for another few months 
until early in 1962. He didn't seem concerned I was running an almost constant fever, 
that there was infection in the colon area, and that I was becoming weaker and more debilitated. He just went on seeing me once or twice per week and "scoping" me twice 
at each office visit until I became so abused physically that I could no longer tolerate 
being under his care. When he began using ultraviolet light tubes by inserting them 
into the rectum and up the colon, I decided enough is enough and quit. Being without a doctor was somewhat frightening, but then being with one was also 
frightening. So where do I go from here? Should I take my chances and try living 
from day to day without medical help? Or should I seek. out another doctor, even though I had built up a fear of them, who might be able to come up with some sort of 
miracle? I really did not know what to do until some friends of ours, who knew how 
sick I was, recommended I my third doctor-to-be. He had the reputation of being the 
"best," but he was also the straw that broke the camel's back--he was my downfall. Chapter 2 -- Downfall  
   It took some time for me to make up my mind to see my next doctor, Dr. Kale, 
because after all, when you get burnt once and then a second time, you become a little 
leery about the possibility of a third time. However, an appointment was made to see 
him. That was like going from the frying pan into the fire for the next two years, until 
the middle of 1964. So I began all over again with the blood tests and stool samples which gave similar 
results as the previous tests except these results showed a general worsening. I was 
feeling very sick the day of the initial examination. There was a fever and colon infection present, which was probably why I was so weak. Being malnourished from 
inability to properly digest and absorb nutrients from the food was also a contributing factor. Dr. Kale gave me a rather long and extensive sigmoidoscope examination. It was 
quite uncomfortable, to say the least, because I was nervous, tense, and the 
hemorrhoids formed a slight interference to the entry of that cold steel tube. What does one think about while this tube is pushed deep into the rectum and colon 
and moved around at different angles for best viewing? I didn't know what others 
thought, but I'm sure it was similar to mine . I didn't think of pleasant things and I 
didn't think of unpleasant things. In fact, I had but one thought: "When is he going to 
take that damn thing out?" Dr. Kale was quite concerned upon completion of this examination. No, he was 
more than concerned. He was alarmed. Alarmed that anyone could have allowed me 
to reach this present stage without having the common sense to have placed me in a hospital. He informed me that not only was I running a high fever but that a massive 
infection was present in the entire ulcerated large intestine and was spreading. He 
said, "I want you to go right home and pack a suitcase and get over to the hospital 
immediately. I'll phone the hospital and inform them to admit you as a medical 
emergency." The hospital had no openings for admissions, but the medical emergency 
had priority. It was one of the few times in my sick life I had "status." Upon admission I was put to bed and antibiotics were administered for the infection, 
and aspirin for the fever. The body is trying to eliminate something through a fever. It 
is part of a remedial process and should not  be suppressed by aspirin. Many times, 
suppression of a fever will result in some unhealthy manifestation elsewhere in the 
body. Also, the ingestion of aspirin has been proven to cause pinpoint bleeding and 
even ulcers of the lining of the digestive tract. So why was it given to me? Was that logical? I must attribute my increased bleeding; during the first few days in the 
hospital, to the always dangerous aspirin. I consider myself most fortunate the ulcers in my colon did not perforate into the abdominal cavity and cause my demise. My food was called a low-residue, high-protein diet, which is supposed to build the 
body and yet not leave too much bulk after digestion to irritate the colon. Most of the food was cooked and pureed, leaving it nutritionally wanting, but this is all I could 
handle. Put a healthy person on a diet of only cooked foods and eventually his health 
will deteriorate into disease. I was advised to have double orders at each meal, if it was desired. That meant 
double steaks, eggs, hamburgers, chops, chicken, and bacon. Also included in this 
menu were milk, white bread, coffee, cereals, sa lt, white sugar, etc. For one thing, as 
mentioned previously, a sick body does not have the ability for normal digestion and 
becomes weaker from expending energy in trying. Meat is not good for the body, but 
is much worse for a diseased intestine. Bacon and eggs are too difficult to digest. Milk generates mucus and creates allergic mani festations. White bread, cereals, and white 
sugar are highly chemicalized foodless foods and are responsible for many diseases. Salt (table salt, as it is known) is a powerful irritant and has no place in the human 
body. You know what happens when salt is put on a cut; well can you imagine what it 
does to a person who has ulcerative colitis. Coffee is a diuretic and stimulant which also has no place in the human body, much less a sick one, and coffee elevates the 
fatty acid level of the blood while it can also trigger a low blood sugar 
(hypoglycemic) reaction. I'll try to cover the important aspect of diet in another 
chapter. A varied regimen of drugs was instituted during the first week in the hospital. Treatment was always a hit and miss affair, going from one drug or modality to the 
next and always seeking, always hoping, but never finding. I was going to spend five 
long weeks in the hospital. Five weeks away from my family and from my practice, which was already 
suffering. Five weeks filled with hope--but it was false hope. Megavitamin therapy began along with a battery of potentially dangerous drugs. There was Sulfasuxidine for infection, Crystalline B-12 injections to combat the 
anemia, Codeine for pain, Librium for tranquilization, Plaquenil (an anti-
inflammatory and antiparasitic agent), Sorboquel to inhibit motility in the intestinal tract, and Maalox for the ever-present indigestion and upset stomach due to ingestion 
of all these drugs and inability to handle the volume of food. There were ups and downs the first two weeks, but nothing to indicate any general 
improvement was forthcoming. Diarrhea was increasing to between 12 and 20 times 
per day, much of it being just intestinal spasm and bleeding. This, coupled with the 
poisonous effects of the drugs (nausea, indigestion, blurred and double vision, 
dizziness, headache, dryness of mouth, and rapid heartbeat), sent me into deep depression, fear, anxiety, and other psyc hological hang-ups. I was becoming old at 32 
years of age and had not enjoyed life for the last four years, at a time when I should 
have been planning for the future. Instead, the outlook was bleak. I could only foresee 
a futile struggle to exist--my wife having to work to support us, my physical and now 
psychological debility worsening until I became a complete invalid (if I lived that 
long), and a deteriorating family life. It was at this point in my hospitalization that Dr. Kale began the use of steroids--the 
cortisone family of drugs. I had already taken small doses for a short time, as 
mentioned earlier. Thus began probably the most dangerous phase of my treatment with these hormones, the reasons becoming ev ident, as you will soon learn. Massive 
doses were given to me by injection and with in a few days I began to feel better. The 
intestinal spasms and diarrhea became less frequent. The migrating joint pains, which 
can be common in advanced ulcerative colitis, subsided. I began to feel "on top of the 
world," but these were false feelings of euphoria brought about by the action of the 
hormones. My appetite was stimulated abnormally and I was able to eat unlimited 
amounts of food, which was harmful to an already weakened digestive system. I began to put on some weight, but it was a dangerous and unhealthy weight, as will be 
seen. The severe inflammation throughout the intestinal tract subsided, or so it 
seemed. But what occurred was a blocking of the body's mechanism to relay the 
normal inflammatory response, thereby giving the impression of improvement when 
in reality the inflammatory process was still going on, although I was not aware of it. In other words, while I was feeling marvelous and beginning to "live" again, I was 
actually dying inside. A very deceptive mask ing of symptoms was taking place. It was 
this symptom treatment, or masking of symptoms, that formed the basis for all my 
medical treatment. After about a week of these injections, they were discontinued and replaced with 
tablets called prednisolone (similar to the hormone prednisone I took with Dr. 
Leopold three years before), which I took in very large doses. I was still taking the other previously mentioned drugs with the addition now of Ananase, which is used as 
an anti-inflammatory and also reduces swellings. One of the dangers of taking steroids (prednisolone, etc.) is the delay of wound 
healing or the opening up of old sores. So you can see the problem I was up against. I 
was damn lucky the ulcerated colon didn't break down and allow me to hemorrhage to 
death. With this potential danger, I could not understand the rationale for using this 
drug. The final two weeks in the hospital were spent trying to rest, adjusting drug 
dosages, taking blood tests and lower GI (bar ium enema) tests, and of course being on 
the receiving end of the always-cold steel tube (the sigmoidoscope ) . It was sometimes difficult to break the monotony of the five weeks in the hospital, 
but I read and made friends with many patients on my floor, played chess with some, 
and even took daily wheelchair rides up and down the hall while pushed by one of my 
new-found friends. To make the ride even more interesting, I took along my remote 
control switch from my hospital television set and as we passed each room I activated 
the switch which changed channels in each room. I could hear various patients trying 
to get their channels back by cussing and by clicking their remote control units as I 
went up and down the corridor changing channels. No one ever discovered what 
happened, but I knew the mystery broke their monotony. Kind of a ridiculous thing to do, but I guess I was getting a little "stir" crazy. These corridor rides were frowned 
upon by the nursing staff, which put a quick end to an otherwise pleasant daily occurrence. I recall several other incidents that I look back on now as humorous. It seemed that 
whenever my hospital roommate would be in the lavatory either shaving or 
"relieving" himself, that was the time I got the "urge." When I got that urge I had to move fast  or it was too late. After all, I was having 
from 12 to 20 B.M.s a day. There were many times I had to get him out fast with his pants down. Can you visualize me running in and him running out at top speed and 
making this quick exchange without bumping each other as we passed through the doorway? Anyone watching would have wondered what the hell was going on. This particular roommate was to have a sigmoidoscope examination performed in a 
few days and he was petrified and built up a fear bordering almost on hysteria. He 
knew I had gone through that test dozens of times and he respected me as an expert. He asked me to give him pointers on how to cope with this cold steel tube. After all, I did know the secrets of these rear-end matters. So I proceeded to coach him in the art 
of proper mental, physical, and hind-end relaxation. This is the secret of it all. So 
there we would be, the coach and the student going through the training sessions with 
him carrying out my instructions. What would the neighbors think if they had 
overheard the conversation? The day came for him to undergo the sigmoidoscope. He was shaking as he was wheeled out of the room, but I reminded him again to follow 
my instructions. An hour or two later he was brought back to the room. He was all 
smiles. He approached me, shook my hand, and thanked me. He said if it wasn't for 
me, he could never have done it. A simple thing, yes, but it made my day. Then there were times (it occurred twice) my medicine was brought in while the 
nurse stood by to make sure it was swallowed. I glanced at the pills and said to the 
nurse, "These aren't mine." She answered, "These are your pills. I prepared them myself. Your doctor ordered them so please take them." I knew what my pills looked 
like and these were totally unfamiliar, so I refused to take them until she checked with 
my doctor. The nurse left the room and was back in five minutes with an apology. "Those pills were for the patient in the next room. Here are yours." Do you know 
what might have happened if I had not known the difference and swallowed them? They could have killed me. I've often thought of that incident over the years, because 
it is a common occurrence that takes place every day. There was a rather pathetic incident I experienced before being discharged. There 
was an 11-year-old boy across the hall who had such an advanced case of ulcerative 
colitis that he had to be fed intravenously 24 hours a day. He looked so small, so frail, 
and so frightened. I tried to spend a little time with him each day, but I could see he 
was growing weaker. He was wasting away to skin and bones and his doctors 
recommended a total colectomy--a complete cutting out of the large bowel, with a bag 
provided to collect the waste matter from a permanent opening in the abdomen. This 
is one of the most drastic types of surgery. I couldn't see how that shell of a boy, who was listed as critical, would survive whether he had the surgery or not. After leaving 
the hospital, I tried to get him out of my mind and could not. However, I did not keep 
in touch. I guess, subconsciously, I was afra id for him and for myself: "There, but for 
the grace of God, go I." My assumption was that he didn't make it. I almost hoped, for his sake, he did not. At the end of five weeks, Dr. Kale decided to discharge me. He said, "I'm pleased 
with your progress." I eagerly awaited news of the medication I had been taking, one 
of which was the hormone drug prednisolone which I was to take in rather large doses 
for an indefinite period of time, with eventual hopes of reducing the dosage until the 
drug was stopped. This tapering was to avoid some very damaging and dangerous changes that could take place in my body. I was also instructed to call Dr. Kale in 
about two weeks to resume regular treatments, which were to be at approximately 
two-week intervals. For the next month or two there seemed to be some improvement, or more 
accurately, a slight remission. There was ne ver really improvement. But I went along, 
taking my medication and hoping that my bouts With diarrhea, which had decreased 
to about six to ten times a day, would eventually return to normal and also hoping I 
would feel better generally. With this seemingly slight improvement these few months, I became somewhat 
optimistic and elated. But my elation was short lived because soon the diarrhea increased to about 15 times a day; weight loss was apparent and I was becoming dehydrated from the loss of fluid. I was beginning to run a low-grade fever. Some of 
my drugs were discontinued and replaced by  others, such as tincture of opium for 
diarrhea (which affected my equilibrium a nd thinking), Sulfaguanidine for some type 
of effect on the intestine and bacteria, and Chloroquine for who knows what or why--although it has been used in malaria. The combination of all the medicines was playing havoc with my stomach, the 
worst effect being indigestion--severe indigestion. Contributing to this was the hormone prednisolone which I had been taking in rather high doses for a number of 
months. This drug causes an increase in hydrochloric acid in the stomach. So to 
counteract these effects, another drug called Gelusil was given. Is it any wonder why 
normal digestion could not take place even if the ability was there? The symptoms of drug poisoning were beginning to make themselves evident again: 
dry mouth, nausea, dizziness, blurred and double vision, fluctuations in mood from 
deep depression to extreme euphoria, blood cell changes, blood pressure deviations, 
palpitations of the heart, occasional hot flashes, etc. The double vision made it 
extremely difficult and frustrating for me to do my surgical work, which was, many times, confined to very small areas on the foot. As the diarrhea increased, there was more weight loss. There was also loss of 
minerals, particularly calcium, which cont ributed to muscle cramps. For this I was 
given calcium gluconate, which helped somewhat. Dehydration was always a problem 
and I could feel myself getting weaker. I was drinking large amounts of water. When the dose of prednisolone was gradually lowered, with eventual complete 
eradication always in mind, there would be exacerbations to such a degree as to 
necessitate increasing the dose again. I had been taking these hormones for several 
years, and very subtle changes, dangerous changes, were taking place in my body. Weight gain was one of them. I had dropped down to about 155 pounds, but now I was noticing an increase. I thought perhaps I was on the road to health. That made me 
quite happy and optimistic. With this weig ht gain I experienced alteration in heart 
rhythm and severe muscle spasms and cramps in my arms and particularly my legs. This was beginning to occur with greater regularity and often with such intensity as to 
cause my legs to contract and double up. I could not straighten them and I could not 
tolerate the pain. It would happen. anytime and anywhere. The longer one takes these steroids or hormones, the greater is the threat to life and 
risk of death, under certain conditions. I was becoming a victim of steroid poisoning. The weight gain was an unhealthy gain due to sodium retention, and we know that 
sodium holds water. There was also a potas sium depletion which was responsible for 
the severe muscle spasms and irregular heart rhythm. For this I was given potassium 
chloride pills to try to replenish my potassium reserves. Other signs of this poisoning were moon-face, buffalo hump, and general bloating. The moon-face is a severe rounding and puffiness, which changed my appearance to 
the degree that many people I knew could not recognize me. The buffalo hump was deposits of water and fat along the back of the neck. This made me look even more 
distorted, as did the general body puffiness and swelling. Eventually I reached a 
weight of 190 pounds. My maximum weight had never been over 170 pounds. I 
dreaded shaving in the morning because I knew I had to face that monster in the mirror. This situation continued for a number of months. Right along with it was the 
continual indigestion which many times kept me awake all night. But it was not just the stomach or colon that was involved. It was the entire body that was now sick; the 
small intestine, the liver, and other genera l bodily functions were suffering. What is 
sometimes overlooked is the fact that the body is one unit. One cannot isolate a part 
and say this is the sick portion. When a part is diseased or ails in some way, the body is sick and suffers as a unit, even though it is always trying to maintain a balance. The liver gave me quite a problem. There was always much tenderness in that area. After all, this organ was being taxed beyond its call of duty. One of its many functions 
is to detoxify poisons in the body. I was loaded with poisons and there was a constant 
level of these drugs in the blood over the six years of medical treatment. I feel damn 
lucky I didn't develop cirrhosis of the liver just as an alcoholic might. Just to make 
sure, Dr. Kale sent me to the hospital for liver function and gall bladder tests. That meant more castor oil, enemas, and drugs--an additional burden to an already 
enervated, depleted body. After a number of months, Dr. Kale became quite concerned of potentially 
dangerous changes occurring and decided to gradually, but very gradually, reduce my 
steroid dosage. When one has been on steroids as long as I had, and at my dose level, 
it becomes critically important that this reduction in dose be accomplished over a fairly long period of time. Why? So that the possibility of my dying from shock can 
be prevented. After all, I've come so far, why expire now! I feel it important to briefly explain the rationale of this most delicate phase of 
steroid reduction. One of the secretions of the pituitary gland in the brain is ACTH 
(adrenocorticotropic hormone). This mobilizes cortisone from the adrenal cortex (a 
gland lying on each kidney) which is important in carbohydrate and protein 
metabolism and also in inhibiting ACTH, where each acts as a check and balance system. Another important function of the cortisone is in stress or emergency 
situations, as I mentioned above. The adre nal cortex also secretes sex hormones. Now, when this steroid is taken into the body from an outside source over a period 
of time, the adrenal cortex does not have to produce it, so it becomes smaller and we have what is known as adrenal cortex atrophy. Obliteration of this adrenal cortex can 
result in death. If at this point of atrophy the exogenous source of the steroid is abruptly stopped, then a most critical situation exists. If a stress or emergency 
situation should arise--surgery is considered  a stress situation--then death can occur 
from the resultant shock and low blood pressure unless the body receives the hormone 
from an outside source, giving the body what it cannot obtain from the adrenal cortex. This was not meant to be a treatise on the subject, but just an awakening for you; to 
make you aware of the tremendous importanc e of gradual reduction of steroid dosage 
so that the gland will "come back" and again begin to produce on its own until it can function normally again when the exogenous source is completely stopped. You see, 
there are thousands of people like myself who have been in this situation and it 
behooves us to understand what happens to our precious bodies. I'll tie this in, later 
on, with an incident that happened to me while I had adrenal cortex atrophy. My daily intake of prednisolone had reached a peak of 40 milligrams--eight five-
milligram tablets--which is quite high. The tapering down was something like one-
half tablet every five days to a week. It was a very slow process, but my grotesque size and weight were gradually returning to normal. But as the drug dosage was 
reduced to several tablets a day, the intestinal spasms increased as did the diarrhea. I was "running" up to twenty times a day. The other drugs I was taking were not 
doing much good regardless of how the dosages were manipulated. Dr. Kale did not 
want to increase the steroid dosage, so he added another drug to my collection called hydeltrasol--a liquid steroid that I was to dilute in water, suck up into a bulb syringe, 
and administer by rectum. In this way only the colon area was exposed to the steroid, 
and we would not have to worry too much about systemic effects. Anyway, I couldn't 
hold it in long enough to do much good or bad. With so much back-end involvement, 
some of my friends began calling me the "rear admiral." Not much was funny to me at that time, though. This method did seem to help to a degree, but it was only symptomatic treatment 
which was not lasting. The double vision from the other drugs was getting worse, 
making it extremely difficult for me to perf orm foot surgery and other intricacies of 
my profession of podiatry. In fact, it was becoming more difficult to participate in the 
normal activities of day-to-day living. My life now was completely revolving around 
my problems almost to the exclusion of anything else. Whenever my wife and I would go anywhere, my first objective was to locate the lavatory and stay within close range. I was living in constant fear and under heavy stress because of never knowing when 
or where or how fast the "urge" would strike. I didn't live from week to week, day to 
day, hour to hour or even minute to minute. I lived from second to second. Chapter 3 -- The Agony  
   The months slipped away into late 1962 and early 1963, but I was no better. My 
weight came down to about 150 pounds. Here I was, 33 years old in February of 1963 
and never had I felt so weak and debilitated. The point had been reached now where 
the diarrhea would go as high as 30 times a day, accompanied by much colon spasm 
and continual but varying degrees of bleeding--a classic example of ulcerative colitis. There were days when I could not go in to work. There were days when I was in my 
office and did not have the strength to stay more than a few hours before I found it 
necessary to go home and drop into bed. There were also days where I awoke in the morning and could not get out of bed. But some of the most taxing problems occurred 
in my office, in the car, and at public functions. These problems would have driven 
any weak-willed or average-willed person to the brink of insanity, and when I look 
back I wonder how close I did come to joining the "club." Yet as pathetic and mind-blowing as were these incidents, they did have an almost morbidly humorous side. These things didn't just come and go, but were regular and continual happenings in 
my life for many months. For example, in my office, I would walk into the treatment room and greet my patient. I would no sooner sit down when the "urge" would strike 
and I would have to give some excuse for leaving. I'd return, begin to work on the 
patient and then I'd have to "go" again. So  I'd render another excuse and fly out. This 
would happen with almost every patient. I' ve always wondered what some of them 
thought as they saw me dashing about like a wild man. I don't believe many knew just how ill I was. It was this type of episode which caused me the most frustration and 
depression, since some of the times, when I had to exit speedily from the room, I didn't make it to where I was headed. I'll leave that to your imagination. I developed a fear and apprehension about driving my car because there were many 
times when "nature called" and the usual gas station couldn't be found or the spasm and "urge" came on so fast that it all happened right on the spot. I may be the only 
person in the world who ever had a B.M. while driving a car at 70 miles an hour. I can laugh at it now, but it was sheer hell then. It was tough enough to have my podiatry practice and professional life suffer, but it 
was even tougher to watch what was happening to my family and social life. I was 
short on temper and patience. I was extremely irritable and depressed. There were 
many arguments and misunderstandings, all ill-founded, with my wife and three-year-old son. I had changed; changed because my physical debility wa s finally affecting 
my emotional, mental, and spiritual well-being. But the pathetic part was that I almost didn't care. I remember one hospital administrator, a friend of mine, who observed me at staff 
meetings over the years. He remarked to me one day, "Jack, you look like death 
warmed over." Needless to say that remark didn't do much good for my psyche. I wonder how many people with whom I came in contact had similar thoughts? The simple act of going out to a movie or  dinner became an ordeal because, first of 
all, I didn't want to go. When I finally consen ted, the strategy had to be planned, such 
as in what area in the theatre or restaurant would I sit where I'd be close to the 
lavatory. I wasn't anxious to socialize with  friends. In fact, I tried to avoid social 
situations. But when my wife and I did go to the homes of friends, I searched out the 
location of all lavatories so as to have a place to escape when the need arose. I was becoming a recluse. This affected my wife, who needed a social outlet and 
was also pregnant with our second child who would be born in two or three months, 
December 1963. She was also teaching in public school three times a week. How Corinne coped with all these stresses without an emotional crack-up still amazes me 
to this day. A most remarkable woman, as you will come to learn. Over the years, I have come in contact with many very sick people and heard them 
utter a statement such as, "I wish I was dead." I didn't have much respect for a person 
who could make a remark like that. Too dramatic, I thought.
Triumph_Over_Disease_by_Fasting_And_Natural_Diet_by_Jack_Goldstein.txt
Summarize the following text section accurately and concisely. Maintain specific details and numerical information, and use anti-repetition mechanisms:

        Soil and Health Library
This document is a reproduction of the book or other copyrighted material you
requested. It was prepared on for the exclusive use of Oriana, whose email address is
orianaoriana@gmail. com. This reproduction was made by the Soil and Health Library only for the purpose of
research and study. Any further reproduction or distribution of this copy in any form
whatsoever constitutes a violation of copyrights. Triumph Over Disease 
by Fasting And Natural Diet 
 
 
 
 
Dr. Jack Goldstein (D. P. M. ) 
 
 
 
 
Arco Publishing Company, Inc. New York  
  
Published by Arco Publishing Company, Inc. 219 Park Avenue South, New York, N. Y. 10003  
Copyright © 1977 by Jack Goldstein  
  
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data 
Goldstein, Jack. Triumph over disease-by fasting and natural diet. Bibliography: p. 237 1. Ulcerative colitis-Biography. 2. Fasting. 3. Vegetarianism  
4. Goldstein, Jack I. RC862. C6G64 616. 3'4 76-44863 
ISBN 0-668-04138-2 (Library Edition)  
  
   Here is the inspiring, controversial, true story of a man who was 
treated medically for six years for a debilitating disease, ulcerative 
colitis, which under standard medical care by qualified and respected 
physicians progressed to a point close to death. In the course of his six-year ordeal, Dr. Goldstein changed from a happy, successful, and 
confident man with everything to live for to a wasted, drug-infected, 
despairing man whose only hope, he was told, lay in agreeing to submit to one of the most radical and drastic operations known to medical science--a total colectomy, or complete removal of the large intestine and rectum. For the rest of his life he would be forced to wear 
a bag attached to his abdomen for the collection and elimination of waste. At this point, tortured by the thought of becoming a physiologic 
cripple and even contemplating suicide, he was led to a natural way of 
life which incorporated fasting and a vegetarian diet that actually 
allowed his body to heal itself. Dr. Goldstein gives a detailed account of a six-week fast he undertook in a controlled environment and under 
the supervision of a doctor--which lit erally saved his life. He also 
records the day by-day physical and mental changes, which occurred, and describes his new way of life ba sed on the principles of natural 
diet. It is an amazing, almost unbelievable, story that offers hope and 
inspiration in addition to sound advice on how to achieve your natural radiant good health. Contents  
Introduction 
Beginning of the End 
Downfall 
The Agony 
Discovery 
My Six Week Fast 
Breaking the Fast 
A Return to Life 
The Magnificent Power Of The Body--  
Case histories I've observed 
A Glance at Fad Diets and Food Additives 
Natural Living--Where It's At. Recommended Reading and Bibliography 
 
       Dr. Jack Goldstein was born in 1930 in Detroit, Michigan, and now 
resides in Oak Park, Michigan. He attended Wayne State University in Detroit, and received his D. P M. (Doctor of Podiatric Medicine) 
degree, with honors, in 1952 from the Illinois College of Podiatric 
Medicine in Chicago. After serving with the army in Korea during the 
Korean War, 1953-1954, he began private practice of podiatry and foot 
surgery in 1954, and is currently practicing in Livonia, Michigan. He is a member of the Michigan State P odiatry Association, the American 
Podiatry Association, and the American Association of Hospital 
Podiatrists. He is also a member of the National Health Federation, 
Consumers For Pure Food, and is on the board of directors of 
Americans United To Combat Fluoridation. He is a member of the American Natural Hygiene Society and has served on its board of 
directors and is currently president of the Society. He has lectured 
throughout the United States and Canada and has appeared on many 
local and national radio and television programs. Nature understands no jesting. She is always true, always serious, 
always severe. She is always right and the errors are always those of 
man. She despises the man incapable of appreciating her, and only to the apt, the pure and the true does she reveal her secrets. GOETHE  
  Dedication:  
   How does one thank those who are res ponsible for his returning to the human race 
and to life. It cannot be expressed with words, but my deepest gratitude and thanks 
are given to: 
   My dear friend, Carol Leib, who introduced me to the right path; My dear friends, 
Dr. and Mrs. Robert Gross, both of whom guided me along that path, picked me up 
when I was down, helped me when I needed it and showed such an understanding and 
compassion toward me that there was no other way but to recover; and my dear wife and soulmate, Corinne, whose encouragement, optimism, persistence, nagging (Thank God. ), devotion and understanding enabled me to take the path. She gave me the 
strength to go on. My book is a result of the efforts of these people. It is an experience in living--an 
enlightenment. It does not have an ending, because it is a beginning. The story you are about to read may seem unreal, exaggerated, and even 
unbelievable. But whether you like it or not and whether you believe it or not, this is the way it happened. It is truth--every word of it. Truth is, in fact, stranger than fiction. Introduction  
   It seems the basic tools of the medical profession are the needle, the knife, and the 
prescription pad. Treatment appears to be, for the most part, symptomatic: injecting of 
drugs (to do what. ), cutting out of parts (end results of disease processes), and the 
dispensing and prescribing of drugs (almost a ll drugs are poisons). None of these tools 
supply the requisites of life. Symptoms are masked; problems are palliated. The 
patient receives no knowledge or understanding of how to achieve vital health and maintain it. Causes are not removed; and as long as causes remain, then disease, suffering, and agonizing death will continue. The fact that modern medicine has become very effective in the treatment of specific symptoms does not mean that it has 
become more beneficial for the health of the patient. Certainly there is a need for qualified  surgeons, emergency care physicians, etc. There are times when surgery is necessary as well as the use of life-saving techniques 
and drugs. There is also, because of removal or non-functioning of the thyroid, pancreas, or various other glands, the necess ity for the substitution of these secretions, 
the lack of which would result in death. A doctor is also a teacher; yet how many patients, all of whom have the God-given 
right to knowledge about their bodies, are ever taught by their doctors the function of 
their bodies. It seems that the function of one's body is kept secret--a mystery. Why. So many people have told me they've gone to their doctor only to come away with such instructions as, "Get this prescription  filled and take the medicine as directed. " People are not taught basic prevention of disease (which, as far as I'm concerned, is 
the raison d'etre  of the medical profession), but are taught to expect disease as they 
get older and to "learn to live with it. " But good health is normal and there should be 
no compromise. Many of the health problems of today are the result of apathy, lack of interest, lack 
of knowledge, and a disrespect and misunderstanding of the marvelous innate and built-in wisdom and needs of the human body. Most people today want instant cure. They don't care how or why they became sick. They just go to their doctor and say, "Doctor, I'm sick. Cure me. " It just cannot work. The body must of necessity eventually break down when it is neverendingly poisoned 
with drugs. When the doctor tries to improve upon nature, it's the patient who takes the risk. It is indeed a strange "science" which teaches us that substances (drugs), which 
make us, sick when we are well should be taken when we are sick to make us well. Nature is slow. It takes years to cultivate ill health because the body can take much 
abuse, but it also may take years to undo all the damage heaped upon the body by 
"normal" living. Nature is slow, but nature is sure. One must have patience, knowledge, and understanding. People have a right to know that there is another approach to health; and this is the 
purpose of my book. The story can apply to anyone, and anyon e can identify and 
relate to the story. My particular disease is not important; rather it could be almost any 
other disease, afflicting anyone. My story depicts the gradual downfall, deterioration, and hopelessness of a person 
under medical care, with reasons why it happened, and the dramatic recovery when a 
plan of living was followed (after abandoning the medical gamut) which is in 
harmony with natural physiologic laws as applied to the human being. You will learn what is good for your body and what is bad for your body. You will 
learn a way of living that will enable you and your children to enjoy life--a life of simplicity, free of complication, a life abounding in physical and mental well-being, a 
life filled with something most people do not seem to enjoy--HEALTH. Therefore, this book is dedicated to the untold thousands of people who have 
suffered, are suffering, and may suffer in th e future, regardless whether it is ulcerative 
colitis or another disease, in the hope I can share an experience that could end their suffering, prevent future suffering, and let th em enjoy their birthright--vibrant health. It is my fervent desire that, after y ou have read this book, those of you who have 
health will understand how to maintain it; those of you have lost health will 
understand how to regain it; and those of you who have never had health will have learned how to experience it. After all, what good is life without health. Chapter 1 -- Beginning of the End  
   "I'm dying. " I was gripped with a sickening fear as I suddenly realized I was dying. What does 
one do when the doctor pronounces the sentence. What does one say. How does one 
react. It was early in 1964. I was 34 years old. I had a lovely wife, two fine children, a 
good practice as a podiatrist and foot surgeon and was a member of recognized state and national accredited groups of my profession; but I was a damned sick man. I had run the medical gamut of treatment and by all medical standards there wasn't 
much hope. I had reached my physiologic limitation as a result of ulcerative colitis, a 
severe and debilitating disease of the colon or large intestine, marked by severe 
diarrhea, intestinal spasm, bleeding, dehydration, weakness, weight loss, and a host of other symptoms. It is one of the chronic digestive diseases, which, according to the 
National Center for Health Statistics, are the number one cause of hospitalization and 
rank second as the cause of disability due to illness. The cost of these ailments is 
estimated at $10 billion annually, making them the leading cause of economic loss from chronic human illness. About 100,000 new cases are diagnosed each year. Ulcerative colitis is a pre-cancerous state, and it was at this point the doctor granted 
me two choices--namely, that if nothing was done I would die, or a drastic operation 
could be tried, a total colectomy (complete removal of the five or six feet of large 
intestine and rectum), with a bag being attached to the abdomen for the collection and 
elimination of waste matter (ileostomy), which would have made me a permanent 
physiologic cripple, and of course could not guarantee my survival. So how does one react when there isn't much hope. I reacted with a calmness, with a feeling bordering 
on apathy. I almost didn't care. I thought pe rhaps it was for the better because soon it 
would be all over. Soon it would end. No more suffering. Eternal peace. But I didn't 
realize that I was destined to make a deci sion that was to change the course of my 
entire life, the lives of my wife and children, and the lives of thousands of people with whom I would cross paths. I was going to hang on to precious life. I was going to defy 
all the doctors. I was not aware of it at the time, but I was, in a sense, going to be reborn. I had a mission in life. We have to go back to 1958. I was 28 years old, separated from the army for four 
years after serving in Korea during the Korean war, had been in private practice only 
three and one-half years and was trying to make a new start with my wife of two 
years. It was at this time that it all began--an occurrence which was to become a 
nightmare and make my life a living hell for the next six years. My wife, Corinne, and I were relaxing one evening after supper, when suddenly and 
without warning came a feeling of pressure and discomfort in my lower abdomen, 
accompanied by strong urge to have a B.
Dr. Jack Goldstein
Who is the author of the book "Triumph Over Disease"?
Ulcerative colitis
What was Dr. Goldstein's diagnosis with?
He was started on a low-residue, high-protein diet and a series of medications, including Azulfidine, Theragran, Pro-Banthine, Trasentine, Metamucil, and Erythromycin.
What was the initial treatment plan for Dr. Goldstein's condition?
The treatment did not lead to any significant improvement in Dr. Goldstein's condition, and he continued to deteriorate.
What was the result of Dr. Kale's treatment plan?
The treatment plan was symptomatic, aiming to mask the symptoms of the disease rather than addressing the underlying cause, which led to further complications and worsening of the condition.
What was the purpose of Dr. Kale's treatment plan?