It is ironic that Michael Arditti, the author, began incorporating goat’s cheese into his diet for health reasons.
During his 20s, he dealt with severe depression, spending several years in and out of clinics throughout the mid-Eighties, undergoing various ineffective drug treatments.
He experienced a trial of lithium treatment that caused his legs to swell as if afflicted by elephantiasis.
An inspirational dietary therapist explained to him that toxins in food could lead to toxins in the brain, an idea dating back to Hippocrates, who stated, ‘Let thy food be thy medicine and thy medicine be thy food.’
Michael eliminated meat, wheat, alcohol, tea, coffee, processed foods, and as many E-numbers as possible, alongside abandoning dairy products, which the therapist claimed were ‘no use after you’ve been weaned.’
With this dietary change and psychotherapy, the author embarked on a path to recovery. He disposed of his medication and worked as a theatre critic while writing his first three novels over the following decade.
His exclusion of dairy was specific to cow’s milk products.
He was permitted to consume sheep’s and goat’s cheese, but due to the high cost and lack of flavor in most options, he relied on a friend who brought him stronger-tasting cheeses.
However, some of these were crafted from unpasteurized milk, and one contained a microbe that, in the autumn of 2001, drastically changed and nearly ruined his life.
The initial indication that something was amiss manifested as sharp pains at the base of Michael’s spine. At first, he attributed them to poor posture, a common issue for someone who spent a lot of time hunched over a computer.
When the pain escalated to an unbearable level after a few days, he contacted his doctor.
Despite not having seen him in 14 years, the doctor confidently diagnosed him over the phone, saying, ‘You’re very tall, Michael. Tall people get sciatica. You have sciatica.’ He then prescribed a week of bed rest.
A friend encouraged him to seek help from a specialist team of cranial osteopaths. After the first session, which involved gentle pressure applied to different body points to realign his energies, he noticed a reduction in pain and felt hopeful.
Unfortunately, by the next morning, the pain returned with full force. Following discussions with the osteopaths, he learned that continued treatment would likely be necessary, and indeed it was.
For the next five weeks, the osteopaths visited him nearly every day, offering clear but temporary improvements in his condition.
In hindsight, it seems remarkable that Michael did not voice his concerns, but he was in a vulnerable state, suffering intense pain and eager to trust anyone who could provide even momentary relief. His long-standing skepticism towards medications, stemming from past experiences with harmful antidepressants, made him reluctant to reach out to his doctor again.
When he had to cancel a planned holiday, the osteopaths accused him of being afraid to take risks and creating excuses not to go. In his weakened condition, he accepted their claims—who wouldn’t in his circumstances?
Slowly, Michael Arditti’s health deteriorated until a concerned visitor disregarded his objections and called a doctor, who promptly sent him to the hospital. There, he was diagnosed with discitis, an infection affecting the spine’s vertebral discs.
Due to the delay in treatment, he also developed septicaemia.
For several days, his life teetered on the edge, saved by the competence of the medical team; additionally, because he had not taken antibiotics for the previous decade, he responded particularly well to the substantial doses he received.
The mundane details of his hospital experience faded into a morphine-induced blur, with self-administered pumps necessary to manage the relentless, scorching pain.
The infection obliterated two discs at the base of his spine, leading the vertebrae to fuse. In the words of his consultant, ‘worse than we hoped but better than we feared.’
As a result, Michael faced permanent disability, transitioning into middle age with difficulty, as nothing diminishes the illusion of youth quite like the need for a walking stick.
He gradually reconstructed his life. His mobility and various physical functions remained significantly impaired. He requires help with several simple tasks, such as carrying groceries or making his bed, but he is fortunate enough to continue working.
by David Livingstone
