On Airconditioning and Sanity
When I was sick with Corona, I found myself remembering the doctor who led me onto the path that cured me of the medical nightmare of my late twenties and early thirties. Two decades later, I reached out in the fog of illness to see if he was still practicing. My case of Corona was mild, but I still suffered from the one chronic “ailment” that has haunted me for my entire adult life—I run cold.
Dr. Morton Teich is an unconventional conventional doctor. He’s affiliated with Mount Sinai, but he’s a maverick. The doctor-patient relationship he fosters is something akin to a collaborative treasure hunt. His favorite saying is: “Everybody’s different.” Patients aren’t technical puzzles to him. Yes—he runs tests, and prescribes medicine. But the heart of his practice is dialogic. It’s I-Thou.
My first process with him gave me my life back. By the grace of whatever it is you believe in and thanks to the wisdom of this good man—I have been symptom free for twenty years.
Our second collaboration was less successful. I still run cold. In most airconditioned spaces, my system goes into high alert, waiting for the first chance to exit. I can power through, but I’m not my best self. I still get cold spells that only a hot bath or touch can alleviate. But I’ve made progress in tracking the things the exacerbate the worst of it. And I’ve begun to reframe it and to change my life accordingly.
Everybody’s different. Running cold isn’t a disease. All things being told, and thanks to the awareness I began to come into under Dr. Teich’s guidance, and again–grace–I am one of the healthiest 50-somethings I know. I get my vitamin D from the sun. I protect my sleep hours and bedroom as sacred time and place. I pay attention to food, continually adjusting habits as my body changes. I listen to its responses—to food, to light, to air, to situations. I avoid moldy environments. Within reason and at a huge price, I avoid commitments that will subject me to hours under cold air.
Most importantly, I’ve learned to tune out the noise of those who call me crazy for this and other ways in which I am different.
It is possible that my intolerance for cold is psychological. I grew up in Israel, then went to college in the Northeast where my homesickness often took the guise of desert fantasies. I’ve been told by more than one healer that in a former life, I or one of my relatives might have frozen to death. And the first time I remember pushing back on thermostat settings was in the army. My military service was traumatic on multiple levels; it’s possible that airconditioning triggers those memories.
It’s also possible that the culprit is the decade I spent on hormonal contraception.
And– my only abiding “malady” may not a problem at all! Millions of people—many but not all of them women—suffer day and night in workplaces and homes with thermostats set to support someone else’s body. Millions of commuters, library patrons, theater goers, congregants, and hospital patients shiver under bone-chilling air no amount of layering can overcome. And millions are called crazy when they speak up.
In 2020, when I found myself in the minority of those who doubted the wisdom of lockdowns, the gaslighting was familiar from the decades I’ve had to defend myself in a world of warmer bodies. It was familiar, but the shock threw me beyond anything else I have endured. The judgement. The intolerance. The erosion of liberties I thought we all cherished—so quick, so universal, so uncontested.
I’m still recovering, but I’m grateful to be alive, and after a blissfully quiet summer in the desert—my college dream finally come true!—I am as well as I’ve been in a long time.
Thank you Dr. Teich and all wisdom healers who have helped me along the way. Sorry it took me so long to find these words.
May the memories be blessings, and may the living choose life!