It started with vague symptoms. A nagging pain in my knees after a long walk. Stiff fingers after gardening. A lower back, hips and pelvis that seemed increasingly "stuck" after sleeping. At first, I waved it away. I was just getting older, wasn't I? But the symptoms kept piling up.
The stairs became an obstacle. My hands hurt holding a coffee cup. My morning routine turned into a rigid ritual of stretching, sighing and trying. Painkillers provided short-term relief, but increasingly the pain returned before the next dose was allowed. My GP first thought overuse or natural wear and tear, but as the symptoms persisted and spread to several joints, I was eventually referred to a rheumatologist.
At the rheumatologist's office
I was 49 when the rheumatologist dropped the word osteoarthritis. It sounded like breaking porcelain. As if something irreparable had broken inside me. From then on, everything changed. Not suddenly, not dramatically, but steadily, inexorably. My days fell into three recurring chapters: getting up with fingers like wooden claws, getting through the day on a cocktail of painkillers, and at night, tossing and turning in a bed that felt like a torture chamber.
At first, it was mainly that starting pain when getting up from bed, after sitting for a while, after driving. As if your joints had forgotten how moving even worked. But it didn't stop with those first steps. Soon the pain came with moving and straining. Every staircase, every walk, every simple household task became an ordeal. The pain slowly crept into my entire system. And where at first it only flared up after a lot of movement, it then started with the slightest exertion. Until even pain at rest presented itself. Just sitting on the couch. Just lying in bed.
Tired and stiff
And then that fatigue and stiffness. In the morning, I felt a hundred. My knees refused service, my back protested, my fingers did not do what I wanted. Often I couldn't fully bend or stretch my knee. Climbing stairs became an expedition because sometimes I would spontaneously go through my knee and then I would be down before I realised it myself. That unpredictability made me insecure. As if my body could collapse at any moment without warning.
Sometimes a creak, a snap, sounded with every movement. Crepitating, the doctor called it, the creaking sound of worn-out joints. It sounded like a warning, a harbinger of things to come. My right knee was already clearly wearing down. The X-rays showed it unequivocally. But the doctor thought I was too young for a prosthesis. "Just hold on a little longer," he said, "and try not to strain too much." So I did what I could: I walked less, pedalled more slowly, moved more carefully and, at the same time, became less and less myself. Because my feet hurt when I walked.
Slowly, my posture also began to change. My legs no longer seemed to be straight under my body. My knees were soaking outwards. And with that lopsided position, I started overloading my other joints. Everything in my body was getting out of balance. As if my whole body was letting me down.
Joint inflammation hurts a lot
At times, but especially at night, my fingers swelled. Then they were hot, red, inflamed. A lump formed that hurt a lot. Joint inflammation, they said. Sometimes I also felt my joint literally become unstable, as if it could slip at any moment. As if I was losing my grip on my own body.
The pain was eating away at my energy, at my mood, at my zest for life. At the hospital, they finally told me to take the maximum dose of Paracetamol and Naproxen. And I did. At one point, I was taking 12 paracetamol a day. Plus 500 milligrams of Naproxen. Every single day. It hardly helped, but I didn't know what else to do.
My stomach was on fire. There was a hard spot that hurt terribly. I had daily diarrhoea, sometimes mixed with blood. Could I have a stomach haemorrhage? I faithfully took my stomach protectants, but to no avail. They simply did not do enough. The side effects of the painkillers were starting to destroy me as much as the osteoarthritis itself.
Until one night, awake, restless, searching, I read something on the internet about magic truffles. My first thought? Festivals. Hippies. Swoony types with laughs and psychedelic visuals. Nothing for me. I could already see myself hallucinating on the stairs or wandering across the landing, with trembling hands and creaking knees, what an image of dread.
Researchers from renowned universities
But among those festival stories, I read something else. People with chronic pain who reported that microdoses of truffles did something that pills could not. Researchers from reputable universities who studied psilocybin in neurological pain, depression, inflammatory processes. No trips, no glitters, but tiny doses. Nature in its purest form.
I started reading. Seriously reading. About the entourage effect, the idea that not one substance, but the complete composition of substances in the truffle contributes to the effect. And about people like me. People who were stuck in their pain, in their dependence on pills, in hopelessness.
I bought truffles.
Legal. Freshly harvested. Neatly packaged. Not from an alley, but simply from a specialised shop. And I started. One minuscule amount of 1 gram in the morning. After an hour, I did feel something of a tingle in my stomach. But no glistening patterns on the wall or loss of control. No confusion. Just silence. A soothing silence. As if my nervous system was getting a gentle reset.
Every other day I started taking it. The following days, I felt the difference. My fingers were less stiff. My knee bent more smoothly. The stairs became not an obstacle, but just stairs. And one day I suddenly noticed: I hadn't taken any painkillers for a week and the stomach pain had completely disappeared. The box of Naproxen was still in the kitchen drawer. Incredulous, I picked it up. As if it was something from a past life.
I still take them
The osteoarthritis is still there. In stormy weather, my joints still talk to me. But they have become whispers instead of shouts. Not gongs, but taps. Not a wall of pain, but an open window.
I know science is still exploring this path. Possibly this may not work for everyone, but I do know: I have my life back. I am not over my fatigue yet, and the osteoarthritis may continue, but I am happy again and virtually pain-free. My body feels like mine again.
I tell this because I know there are others like me. People who think things don't get better. Who survive every day instead of living. Maybe it's time to try something different. Something that is not chemical, but pure nature. Something that doesn't numb, but soothes.
And me: I believe in Mother Nature again. Nature often knows more than man thinks.
Try it yourself
Want to know more about Magic Truffles, their application and where to buy them safely? Then visit our points of sale page (https://microdosingxp.com/nl/verkooppunten/) for a list of reliable providers.
At MicrodosingXP, we believe in the power of nature: pure and unchanged, exactly as Mother Earth intended.