Let me tell you a story. As a thirteen year old boy, I knew I wanted to be a doctor. Well, I wanted to be a brain surgeon actually, but then again, who doesn’t? I was pretty much bottom of the class though. It is not easy to be schooled if you are at the upper end of ability, because you find yourself so bored. Also, I was smitten with the lure of being a surf lifesaver – and that was really a lot of fun. Then I grew up a bit, and realised I had to work, and so I did. My dream to be a doctor burned. And when I entered medical school I thought all my dreams had come true. I truly believed that medical knowledge was so advanced, there was nothing left to discover. I graduated realising that this was wrong, but still certain that I had entered a profession that valued healing and scientific knowledge above all else. Then two things happened. First, coming back from a very busy day at work, I broke down in teary frustration. For not one single diagnosis I had made that day or treated, for not one single diagnosis could I find a cause. The second thing, about the same time, was when a dear friend challenged me to refute his claim of having a food allergy. At that time I did not believe there were food allergies, and we certainly had not been taught about such things. My faith in the purity of medical knowledge had been challenged, and found wanting. Then the dangerous event happened. I began to think for myself and – here comes the dangerous bit – ask the question “Why?” And with that simple question I began to track down every belief I had nurtured in medicine and, to my horror, I recognised that much of my learning was either wrong, or limited. A whole new world of healing lay at my door, and I had but to open that door, step through, and discover the mysteries of wellness. That, my friends, is the beginning of my medical heresy. Ah yes, 1982 was a good year!