She Was Sitting Right There, Yet the Doctor Never Even Looked.— The Origin Story of KaradaNaoru (Part 9)
- Admin
- Jun 6
- 3 min read
There was only one time when I held a free trial session.
About four people attended. Among them was a married couple.
The wife was living with a rare disease called EGPA (Eosinophilic Granulomatosis with Polyangiitis).
She relied on a wheelchair whenever she went out, and her husband accompanied her that day.
I simply did what I always do.
About twenty minutes later, something happened.
Her husband folded up the wheelchair, and she walked out on her own.
To be completely honest, I still cannot explain why.
(The video above documents what happened. I will leave it to each person to draw their own conclusions.)
I do not believe that I “healed” her.
All I know is that something happened that day.
Nothing more.
And yes—after that experience, I never held another free trial session again.
Later, I contacted them to see how she was doing.
Her husband told me,
“Since that day, she’s been able to go shopping without the wheelchair.”
That, of course, made me happy.
But the thing that stayed with me most was something else.
Her husband told me about their experiences at the hospital.
There was frustration in his voice when he said:
“My wife is sitting right there in front of them, and yet the doctors don’t even seem to look at her.”
At the time, I simply thought,
“Is that just how hospitals work?”
I had never spent much time accompanying family members to medical appointments.
Today, however, I take my mother to her monthly medical checkups.
And every time I do, those words come back to me.
“She’s right there in front of them, and yet they don’t even look at her.”
The doctor asks,
“Do you have any swelling in your legs?”
Yet often, no one actually looks at my mother’s legs.
No one touches them.
She is sitting within arm’s reach.
And still, somehow, she remains unseen.
To be clear, I am not criticizing doctors.
I can imagine how demanding life is inside a university hospital.
They may see dozens of patients in a single morning.
Under those circumstances, it may simply be impossible to fully understand each person’s life story, circumstances, and concerns.
That is why I see this not as an individual problem, but as a systemic one.
A system that forces medicine to operate like a conveyor belt.
I sometimes wonder whether university hospitals, local clinics, home-care physicians, and community healthcare providers could work together more closely.
Perhaps then we could move a little closer to what I would call “medicine that sees people.”
Many of the people who come to KaradaNaoru are what might be called “medical refugees.”
People who have been told:
“There is nothing wrong.”
Or:
“There is no treatment available.”
Let me be clear about something.
I am not opposed to modern medicine.
Emergency medicine, surgery, and countless other medical advances have saved lives that otherwise could not have been saved.
My own mother benefits from modern healthcare, and I am deeply grateful for it.
There is only one thing I wish for.
Before seeing the disease, see the person.
Behind every number is a life.
Behind every test result is a family.
Behind every diagnosis is a human being.
That is what I try to remember in my own work.
I am not trying to cure diseases.
I am simply trying to help the person in front of me live a little more comfortably, a little more freely, and a little more fully as themselves.
Nothing more.
There are still many things that medicine and science cannot fully explain.
Even so, I believe in the potential that exists within human beings.
I suspect it is far greater than most of us realize.
And so I will continue to focus not on the disease, but on the person.
That, I believe, is the true origin of KaradaNaoru.
This article reflects the author’s personal experiences and observations. It is not intended as criticism of any medical institution or healthcare professional, nor does it claim or guarantee therapeutic outcomes. For medical diagnosis and treatment, please consult qualified healthcare professionals.
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