My sense of distance from medicine has slowly begun to change
For those with chronic illnesses, medicine is a form of wisdom that supports their daily lives, and at times, it can be a great help.
But recently, I suddenly 'remembered' something.
Medicine is something you eventually graduate from—.
Before I became ill, that was a natural assumption.
However, once I started relying on the power of medicine myself, I think I convinced myself somewhere in my heart that 'this is a lifelong commitment.'
Cerebrospinal fluid hypovolemia and my sense of distance from medicine
It has been 15 years since I developed cerebrospinal fluid hypovolemia (leakage). I still continue to have regular follow-ups with MRIs.
However, there is no effective medication for this disease, and I hardly take any medicine myself.
My attending physician places great importance on 'adjusting life itself,' such as exercise, sleep, and fluid intake.
I am prescribed some herbal medicines for when my physical condition fluctuates significantly, but they are not something I take every day.
Of course, when I first developed the condition, I was prescribed several medications as symptomatic treatment.
What the 'too effective medicine' taught me
Among them, the one that left a strong impression on me was a sleep aid.
15 years ago, after I had my first blood patch and was discharged from the hospital, I had days where I couldn't sleep at all.
When I consulted the hospital at the time, they said,
'Sleep is important for producing cerebrospinal fluid. It is better to sleep even if you have to use medication.'
And so, I was prescribed a sleep aid.
——It worked. Surprisingly well.
I would fall asleep 'as if I had fainted' or 'as if I were falling into darkness,' and I could barely wake up in the morning.
My thoughts wouldn't function during the day, and I felt like I was in a state of brain fog.
I got scared and stopped taking it.
(The doctor had told me I could decide for myself, so...)
From this experience, I adopted the stance regarding this sleep aid of
'Keeping it as a charm, but only using it when necessary.'
that I have now.
*There are individual differences in how medicine works. The same state I experienced will not necessarily happen to everyone. It simply didn't suit me.
An 'unexpected remark' at the respiratory medicine department
Apart from cerebrospinal fluid hypovolemia, I also suffer from bronchial asthma.
For the past few years, I have been using steroid inhalers on a daily basis.
When my condition stabilized, the COVID-19 pandemic began, and considering the risk of severe illness if infected, the option of 'stopping' or 'reducing' the inhaler disappeared.
I imagine many people were in a similar situation.
Because of that, my sense of distance from medicine might have become a bit distorted.
In the midst of that, during my respiratory medicine checkup in October 2025, my attending physician suddenly said this.
"Since you are stable, let's consider reducing your inhaler."
"So that you can eventually let it go."
My current doctor is different from the one who first diagnosed me.
I had been told by my previous doctor that "steroid inhalers are for life," so I believed it was something I could never let go of.
When I told the doctor this, they said in a gentle voice:
"We won't stop it suddenly. That would be dangerous.
But now that your attacks are under control, I think it's okay to 'consider stopping it'.
Let's proceed in stages."
It wasn't a definitive statement, but a suggestion that left room for possibility.
——It was an eye-opening realization that such an option even existed.
I was the one afraid to let go
The doctor continued, adding these words:
"Reducing medication might make you anxious. But we will proceed carefully, and if anything happens, please come see me right away. I can handle it."
In that moment, I realized.
I was the one who was more afraid of letting go than anyone else.
I don't mean to suggest anything extreme
Of course, I don't mean to say things like,
"It's bad to keep taking medicine"
"I can heal myself with my own natural healing power"
or anything of that extreme nature.
I know there are medications that are dangerous to stop, and I understand that there are people with illnesses who cannot afford to miss a single day of their medication.
It's just that—like me,
there might be people who actually have the potential to let go of their medication but haven't realized that option exists.
And, if I may say so without fear of being misunderstood,
perhaps there aren't many medical professionals who can offer the flexibility to "propose reducing medication and carefully monitor the progress."
There are responsibilities and circumstances involved, so this is not a matter of good or bad.
That is precisely why,
thinking about your own body without leaving it entirely to others.
Consulting with them and opening up new options.
I realized the importance of this once again this time.
*A patient's feeling of wanting to "reduce" or "stop" medication does not always align with a doctor's professional judgment. You should never stop taking medication on your own, and there is no intention here to recommend doing so.
Gently reconnecting with my own healing power
Recently, with the added physical discomfort of pre-menopause, I have increasingly thought, "Can't I just do something about this with medication?"
However, rather than leaving everything to medication,
I feel that believing in my own healing power and taking action is also an important element.
The journey of reducing my inhalant medication has only just begun.
I don't know how it will turn out.
Even so, by opening up one new option, my perspective has broadened just a little—
that is the kind of event this was.
Thank you very much for reading until the end.