I was only eighteen when I got sick myself and experienced severe kidney issues. First my left kidney, but soon also my right kidney started to fail.
After many examinations, the doctors concluded that my left kidney had to be removed immediately, and my right kidney should be removed soon thereafter. Out of desperation, I asked for a second, third and fourth opinion in other hospitals in Khorramshahr, Abadan and Tehran, only to have the terrifying conclusion reconfirmed.
Apparently, my kidneys could fail at any moment, which would evidently be fatal. One of the surgeons I spoke to in Tehran told me about another young adult, only 24 years, with similar kidney issues to whom he also advised to immediately remove his kidneys. This young person delayed his surgery, and apparently died one week before my arrival in Tehran. The doctor told me this story to emphasize the importance of his recommendation to immediately undergo a surgery.
But what are my odds if I were to remove my left kidney? Would the right kidney recover? No, they said. Would I recover? Maybe, but probably not. I would at least live a few months longer.
I was young, ambitious, and was not ready to leave the world with so many unfulfilled hopes and dreams. The presented options were unacceptable to me and so I asked him about the most renowned hospital in the world on kidney treatment. He referred me to one in London, and so I decided to get there as soon as possible. My lovely brother gave me all his savings for this journey, for he could not think of a better investment than in his brother’s recovery.
News quickly spread in my hometown and my deteriorating health worried everyone. Relatives and friends hugged me, cried with me and were devastated about my inevitable destiny. An old friend whom I once apparently borrowed 15 Rial, which was worth only a few cents, rushed to me to pay me back. The last thing he wanted was to owe a dead person. Similarly, another old friend whom I once unintentionally injured while playing football, strangely begged for my forgiveness for that incident. He was repeatedly kissing my hands, sobbing, and in desperate need for a reassurance that I do not have a grudge against him for that incident.
I was already feeling bad, but this well-intended remorse from my friends and family made me only feel utterly desperate. So, before my departure to London, I decided to do what was customary for desperate and terminally ill Iranians: I visited the holy city Mashhad to prey at the tomb of Imam Reza.
After I underwent several tests and x-rays in the Royal Northern Hospital in London, my only hope soon vanished like the wind when the medical professionals reconfirmed that the left kidney had to be removed and that my right kidney is in a very poor state as well.
I had done everything I could. As ignorant as I was about my medical condition, all I could do was to listen to the expert advice of the medical specialists. I got to a prestigious hospital, and have talked to people with the highest level of knowledge of the present science. If they tell me that surgery is the only option left, then who am I to doubt that?
As I was looking for a way to comfort my mind, I asked them if they could at least guarantee that this surgery will save my life and would result in the recovery my right kidney. I found out that not only do hospitals not give any guarantees with regards to the effectiveness of their treatments, the patient has to sign the document and take the responsibility with the limited knowledge he has and the faith he puts in the doctor’s authority and advice, only to relief these highly educated people from any accountability in case their highly expensive advices are wrong. As the Iranian expression goes, their knowledge was like a watermelon: The seller is never sure how the inside of the watermelon is.
Besides these legalities, they even appeared doubtful and their facial expressions gave away that even with a surgery I’m quite a hopeless case. A fellow surgeon tried to comfort me with his expectation that after the removal of my left kidney, the right one may work for another six months. He was visibly upset with his own words and turned his face away to hide his sorrowing over my destiny.
Then, the specialized and renowned kidney surgeon who would do the surgery was willing to talk with me for a few minutes. He was driving back and forth by his personal driver in the latest model Mercedes, and clearly expected admiration and respect from his surroundings for the skill with which he removed kidneys from people’s bodies. He gave me 48 hours to take a decision, for otherwise he wasn’t able to fit me in his tight agenda.
I had come to England out of desperation, with the life savings of my brother, and with the hope to find knowledgeable people that would just tell me what do to recover. There was nothing in the world I wouldn’t do. Instead it seemed all experts were coldly shooting in the dark with my life and kidneys as stake.
I was drowning in my sadness and anger, and there was nobody I could share this feeling of desperation with, for I was alone in London and far away from my friends and family. “Would I ever see the faces of my loving friends and relatives again”, I wondered. I began to repeatedly and loudly shout at myself in my hospital room. “Why! What have I done to deserve this punishment at such young age?” It was a rollercoaster of emotions that you are only able to relate to, if you are young and dying.
As I then turned my head and stared outside of the window, I noticed two pigeons in the tree in front of me. Very fit pigeons that seem not at all disturbed by the cold and snowy winter in London. And then I instantly remembered my childhood experiment that turned into a suspicion that a ones health may be significantly affected by the person’s diet. I concluded immediately that I had nothing to lose. I’d rather die following my own highly immature ideas on food therapy with a small chance of full recovery, then to have my kidney removed with only 6 months of life in return.
I told the doctors that I am not interested in their surgery and that I will experiment with curing myself. Confidently, I left the renowned hospital to follow-up my pigeon experiment but this time on myself. I theorized with nothing more than just my common sense that the healthiest food must be the food that mother Nature is throwing at us. The food that has been the main source of nutrition over the course of human history: Plant-based foods.
With discipline I only ate fruit, whole plants, beans and nuts such as figs, grapes, berries, dates, walnuts, pistachio, fava beans, parsley, peppermint and basil. More importantly, processed food, cooked food, or meat were no longer part of my diet.
The miracle this resulted in was not only what happened, but how fast it happened. Every week I went back to the hospital for a checkup and blood test. With astonishment the doctors reported the blood results to me and they observed the recovery of my kidneys, even the left one that was basically dysfunctional, in real time. This all further motivated me to follow my strict plant-based diet.
In less than three months, my kidneys were fully recovered. The condition that the several dozens of highly educated doctors I spoke with could not cure. The condition that with the highest available scientific knowledge was considered to be my death sentence. It got cured without any synthetic medication. All it took was the natural nutrition that God has provided us. And from that day on, I have never experienced any issues anymore with kidneys.
Continue Reading: A Lifetime Mission to Cure