A partir del día 14 de junio de 2015, domingo, este blog dejará de ser actualizado como se ha venido haciendo hasta la fecha. La primera idea fue la de cerrar el blog, pero el deseo que que cuanto aquí se ha publicado pueda seguir siendo útil en el futuro, nos hace que mantengamos abierto el blog. Si tuviera alguna duda o quisiera hacer algún comentario, no tema hacerlo: seguiremos publicando cuantos comentarios se hagan y seguiremos contestando a las dudas que puedan surgir.
Gracias y hasta siempre.
Andrés Guerrero Serrano

domingo, 27 de noviembre de 2011

Little pill, big trouble

(Extraído de telepgraph.co.uk)

To some, it’s a life-saver. To others, it’s a con trick played on the sick and vulnerable. But what’s the truth about homeopathy?

By Will Storr

Over and over again, the doctor told her she was being silly. But Gemma knew there was something wrong. She’d fall asleep on the sofa and couldn’t be woken. She’d see strange shapes and colours. She was having difficulties remembering things in the office. And yet every time she saw the doctor, he would say the same thing: you’re just a young girl, panicking.

Eventually, they found tumours on her brain, and they grew and spread. They tried chemotherapy. She felt sick. She gained four stone in four weeks. Her hair fell out over one weekend. She had to lift her eyelids with her finger to see. She had a wheelchair, a stick. Her bowels stopped moving. Her sight was so bad she couldn’t watch television or read. So she just lay there.

Then, in October 1995, the oncologist visited her hospital bed. “These are your options,” he said. “You can stay here, you can go to a hospice or you can go home.” Gemma was groggy; confused. She thought, well, let me think: sick people go to hospital, dying people go to a hospice, fit people go home.

“I’ll take home.” “Well,” said the doctor. “You’ve got those little pills and you’ve got Him up there. Make sure you have a happy Christmas.” It took Gemma a while to realise that this was her doctor’s way of telling her the cancer was, in fact, terminal.

Despite her dark prognosis, she carried on taking the “little pills” her oncologist had mentioned with a gently patronising smile. They’d been given to her by a homeopath recommended by her sister-in-law – she went out of politeness, really. But the more she took, the better she felt. At Christmas, her eyelids opened up. Her sight returned. A year later, she saw her oncologist. He wrote in his notes: “Gemma has made a remarkable recovery. Her case will remain a mystery.” But it wasn’t a mystery to Gemma, who has been telling me her story in the front room of her modest Sutton Coldfield house over the past hour. Gemma Hoefkens believes those little homeopathic pills had not only saved her life but changed it. She’s now a practising homeopathist who claims not to have been to the doctor for years.

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