There are many conversations today about healing, medicine, and what it really means to take care of the body. Through recent discussions with doctors and through my own lived experience, my relationship with surgery has become more nuanced. Not reactive. Not idealistic. More attentive.
I want to be clear from the beginning. I am deeply grateful that we live in a time where surgery exists. In cases of trauma, accidents, severe infections, or life-threatening conditions, surgical intervention saves lives. I don’t question that. I respect it.
What I question is something else: how quickly cutting, removing, or suppressing becomes the first response — even when the situation is not an emergency.
Surgery as an option, not a reflex
When something in the body becomes painful, inflamed, or dysfunctional, surgery often appears quickly as the solution. Gallbladder, tonsils, appendix — these are common examples. The logic is usually simple: you can live without it.
That may be true. But it’s not the question that matters to me.
If the body created something, it likely has a function. When it becomes inflamed or problematic, perhaps the first question shouldn’t be how to remove it, but why this is happening now.
Take the gallbladder. When stones form and inflammation appears, the situation can become dangerous. In acute cases, surgery may be necessary. But in many non-acute cases, the body has been moving toward imbalance for years. Removing the organ may resolve the immediate symptom, but it doesn’t explain the process that led there.
I explored this personally. In 2012, I chose not to remove my gallbladder. Instead, I went through repeated liver and gallbladder cleansing. It wasn’t a one-time decision. It was a process. Over time, not only did the physical symptoms disappear, but my mental clarity, emotional stability, and overall well-being changed as well.
This isn’t belief. It’s experience.
The body as a system, not spare parts
Through studying and practicing Chinese medicine (MTC), I began to see the body differently. Organs are not isolated components. They function as part of interconnected systems — through meridians, nervous regulation, hormonal balance, and emotional patterns.
The gallbladder, for example, is paired with the liver. In Chinese medicine, this pair is connected with movement, decision-making, and direction. When one part is removed, the system adapts. People survive. But adaptation doesn’t mean neutrality. It means compensation.
The same applies to tonsils. They are part of the immune filtering system. When they become inflamed, they are often doing exactly what they are meant to do — blocking and filtering. Removing them may reduce symptoms in the short term, but it also removes a layer of defense. In many cases, the burden later shifts deeper in the system.
I’m not stating this as a rule. I’m describing a pattern that deserves attention.
Signals, painkillers, and silencing messages
Pain, inflammation, dysfunction — these are signals.
They are the body’s way of communicating that something is out of balance.
When we remove an organ without understanding the signal, or when we continuously suppress symptoms with painkillers, the signal doesn’t disappear. It is silenced. The underlying process often continues — sometimes quietly, sometimes by shifting elsewhere in the body.
It’s like cutting a warning sensor instead of addressing what triggered it. The alarm stops, but the condition that caused it remains.
This is not a rejection of medicine. Pain relief and surgery have their place. I’ve used them myself. The question for me is not whether they work, but when they are used — and whether they are the only response.
What “the work” actually meant for me
This became very real for me through my own health.
I have ongoing issues with my back. I’ve consulted neurologists. I know the conventional explanations, diagnoses, and surgical options. I didn’t ignore them, and I didn’t dismiss them as wrong.
What I chose was not to make surgery or long-term symptom suppression my first step.
Instead, I began what I mean by the work — and I want to be very clear what that involved.
It meant exploring other options alongside conventional medicine, not instead of it.
It meant studying and applying Chinese medicine, learning how the body functions as a connected system rather than isolated parts.
It meant working with acupuncture, movement, recovery, and regulation.
It meant changing how I live — how I sit, how I move, how I rest, how I respond to stress.
It meant listening to my body daily, not only when pain became unbearable.
It also meant taking responsibility for patterns I had ignored for years: overload, chronic tension, carrying too much without rest, treating my body as something to push through rather than something to cooperate with.
This wasn’t a technique. It wasn’t a quick fix. It was a process.
What I can say honestly is this: if I had not started this work earlier — years ago — my condition today would be significantly worse. That’s not belief. That’s comparison. I can feel the difference in how my body reacts, how symptoms evolve, and how quickly I recover when something flares up.
I’m still exploring. I’m still learning. Surgery remains an option if it becomes necessary. Painkillers remain an option when pain needs to be managed.
But they are no longer my reflex.
The body as a messenger, not an enemy
What keeps becoming clearer to me is that the body is not trying to sabotage us. It communicates.
When something becomes inflamed or dysfunctional, it often points to imbalance — physical, emotional, or both. When we remove parts of the body or suppress symptoms without listening, we may be ending the conversation instead of responding to it.
Sometimes cutting is necessary. Sometimes it saves lives.
But sometimes it simply ends the dialogue.
For me, responsibility today means something very practical: the ability to respond.
To pause.
To investigate.
To adjust habits.
To support the body before cutting parts of it away.
I’m not offering advice. Every case is different. Experience and diagnosis matter.
I’m only suggesting this pause:
Before we cut.
Before we suppress.
Before we silence signals.
Maybe we can ask what the body is trying to tell us.
