opportunity for any resident bacteria or fungus or whatever to grow.”
“So let me see if I understand this,” Jack said. “The pathological process starts with the blockage of the flow of innate intelligence, or life force, and the overgrowth of the bacteria is a result, not a cause. Am I getting this right?” Newhouse nodded. “You’re getting it perfectly.”
“So, the chiropractor’s job is to restore the flow, and as soon as he or she does that, the bacteria, or whatever is secondarily involved, goes away.”
“You are exactly right.”
“I said ‘he or she,’ but it seems to me there are more men chiropractors than women.”
“I think that is safe to say.”
“Is there some reason?”
Newhouse shrugged. “Probably the same reason there are more surgeons who are men than women. Chiropractic therapy takes a certain amount of strength. Maybe men find it easier.”
Jack nodded while in his mind’s eye he could see the internal tears in Keara’s vertebral arteries. He had to agree. It took strength to cause the kind of damage she’d suffered.
After clearing his throat, Jack asked, “How is it that the innate intelligence gets blocked?”
“One of Daniel David Palmer’s very first patients had a severe hearing problem brought on seventeen years previously while straining to pick up a heavy load. When Dr. Palmer examined him, he determined a cervical vertebra had been racked out of position. When he replaced it, the patient’s hearing returned. What had happened, simply put, was the displaced vertebra had been pressing on the nerves, enervating the ears. When the pressure had been released the flow was reinstated and function returned.”
“So, the innate intelligence flows through the nerves.”
“Of course,” Newhouse said, as if this particular fact was self-evident.
“So, it’s the backbone that’s the culprit,” Jack said, “when it comes to blocking innate intelligence.”
“Yes,” Newhouse agreed. “You have to realize that the spine is not just a stack of bones but rather a complex organ, with each vertebra able to influence the other as well as the group as a whole. It’s what supports us, holds us all together, and integrates us.
Unfortunately, it has a strong tendency to get out of line. That, in a nutshell, is the responsibility of we chiropractors. It’s our job to diagnose the irregularity—or
“All this is accomplished by spinal manipulation, correct?”
“You got it. We, of course, have a special name for it. We call it
“Are you saying you can function as someone’s GP?”
“Absolutely,” Newhouse said, pronouncing each syllable as if it were a separate word. “I believe I serve as your friend Nichelle Barlow’s GP. And I’m sure she’ll tell you she is in terrific health. I adjust her regularly, because her spine needs constant attention.”
“I suppose you don’t have a strong feeling about antibiotics.”
“Generally, they are not needed. Once I get the innate intelligence flowing normally, any infection clears up rapidly. Besides, antibiotics are dangerous. You see we dispense remedy, not drugs.”
“How about vaccinations?”
“Not needed and dangerous,” Newhouse said without a second of hesitation.
“All vaccinations for all kids?”
“All vaccinations for all kids,” Newhouse echoed. “Vaccines are more dangerous than antibiotics. Look at this autism tragedy. I tell you, it is a terrible shame, if not a national disgrace. If one of those kids had come to me before getting vaccinated, they’d be normal today.”
Jack literally had to bite his tongue to resist arguing with this off-the-wall charlatan.
Though it seemed Newhouse believed what he was saying, Jack couldn’t tell whether he was a well- intentioned but misguided therapist or a modern-day snake-oil salesman.
“What about infant colic?” Jack asked hesitantly, since the issue struck too close to home. “Can you treat that?”
“Not a problem,” Newhouse said confidently.
“You’d treat an infant with spinal manipulation?” Jack asked nervously. He couldn’t help but envision JJ being tortured by the man sitting in front of him.
“Well, first there’d be the diagnostic stage.”
“Which would involve what, exactly?”
“Visual examination, careful palpation, observation of movement, and, of course, X-ray.”
“You’d do a full spinal X-ray on an infant?” Jack asked, just to be certain. He was incensed. He wondered just how many infants Newhouse had exposed to the amount of radiation necessary for spinal films, even if his equipment was digital.
“Of course. It’s a major part of our thorough diagnostic and therapeutic process. We use X-rays to diagnose, to document the course of treatment, and to make sure troublesome vertebrae stay in place. Since X-ray is so central to our mission, we have the latest digital system. Would you like to see it?”
Jack didn’t answer. He was still trying to digest the information about infants being bombarded by ionizing radiation to make a bogus diagnosis of their youthful normal spines being somehow out of line.
Taking Jack’s silence as acquiescence, Newhouse leaped from his chair and motioned for Jack to follow him. Dutifully, Jack got to his feet and shadowed him out into the hall and through one of the previously closed doors. The calm he’d achieved during the bike ride had been replaced by anger directed at Newhouse and his like-minded colleagues.
Jack felt personally embarrassed, as if their existence was his fault.
The X-ray unit was impressively state-of-the-art. Knowing approximately how much such a unit cost, Jack could guess why they used it as much as they apparently did: It had to be paid for. Jack didn’t listen as Newhouse, like a proud father, went through a litany of the machine’s attributes.
In the middle of Newhouse’s spiel, Lydia poked her head through the doorway to tell him that Ms. Chalmers was waiting in treatment room one.
“Have Dr. Fallon see her!” Newhouse said, hardly breaking stride with his presentation.
“I don’t think she’s going to be happy about that,” Lydia said.
In an instant, Newhouse’s demeanor changed from jovial to malevolent. “I said have Dr.
Fallon see her!” He repeated each word with equal force.
“As you wish,” Lydia said, beating a hasty retreat.
Newhouse took a deep breath. In a blink of the eye, the storm had cleared and sunlight had burst forth. Jack was astounded at the transition.
“Now, where was I?” Newhouse questioned, glancing over the keyboard and up at the monitor as if the X-ray machine would tell him.
“So, you follow people with X-rays,” Jack said, ignoring Newhouse’s question.
“All the time. We are interested in documenting the patient’s progressive improvement, and the patients find it particularly reassuring.”
“Could you show me such a progression?” Jack asked.
“Absolutely,” Newhouse said. “We have a series available as a presentation for prospective patients like yourself, since we’d love to fulfill your health-care needs.
Please, come back into my office. I’ll show it to you on the computer.” Jack marveled at the effort Newhouse was willing to expend to gain another client. Until his last comment, Jack had wondered why Newhouse was being so generous with his time.
Jack moved behind Newhouse’s desk so the two of them could view the monitor.
Newhouse brought up a lateral cervical X-ray, allegedly that of one of his patients.
Superimposed on the film were a number of straight red lines intersecting carefully measured angles. It all looked legitimate, as if it was some complicated system to analyze the film. Yet the more Jack looked at the X-ray and the profusion of red lines, the less sense it made to him. The one thing he did notice was that the patient’s head was bent forward, with the chin practically resting on the anterior chest.
“In this preliminary film,” Newhouse said, “the curve of the cervical spine in this symptomatic patient is just the opposite of normal. As you can see, it exits the skull not curving forward as it should, but rather backward.
