What They Came In For: Painful Menstruation

By the time Meena R. walked into our clinic, her period ruled her calendar.

She had been dealing with severe cramps and heavy bleeding for as long as she could remember. Every month, for five to seven days, her world narrowed: heating pad, dark room, extra clothes packed “just in case,” and a silent prayer that her cycle wouldn’t land on an important meeting, a social event, or a flight. Sometimes she bled through her clothes. Sometimes the pain made her nauseated. Always, she endured.

She had tried birth control pills, which helped at first but came with their own side effects. She tried prescription painkillers, which dulled the edge but left her groggy and bloated. She tried supplements, yoga, pelvic steaming, magnesium, cutting out dairy. Some things helped a little, nothing helped enough.

And every time she brought it up—at her annual exam, during doctor’s visits, in rushed urgent care check-ins—she got a version of the same message: “That’s just your period.”

Which felt, to her, a lot like being told to get used to it.

When Meena came to Root and Branch, she was skeptical—but also exhausted. She didn’t want a miracle. She just wanted one cycle that didn’t leave her drained, curled up, or rearranging her life around bleeding.

We began, as always, by listening. Not just about the cramps, but about the timing. When did the pain start? Was it sharp, dull, dragging, throbbing? What did she notice about clots, color, flow, fatigue? We asked about her cycle from beginning to end—not just the “bad” days, but what led up to them, what came after. We looked at her digestion, sleep, mood. Her tongue, her pulse. Her full picture.

She described herself as “a person who pushes through,” but her body told us otherwise. Her pulse was wiry and tight, her lower abdomen cold to the touch. Her period arrived like a flood—sudden, heavy, painful—followed by days of exhaustion and emotional crash.

We explained that in Chinese medicine, pain and heavy bleeding aren’t random—they’re signs of stagnation and weakness happening at the same time. The blood is stuck, but also not being held. There’s tension, but also depletion. And both need to be treated, in the right order, with care.

We started with a customized herbal formula. That was the cornerstone of her treatment. One blend before her period to move what needed to move and ease the buildup of tension. Another to take during her period to reduce pain and regulate flow. These weren’t off-the-shelf teas. They were carefully selected combinations meant to restore rhythm and clarity to her cycle. She brewed them twice a day, sometimes more during her worst days.

Alongside the herbs, we used acupuncture to move blood, release tension in the lower abdomen, and support her hormonal system. We placed needles with a focus on the Liver and Spleen channels—key players in blood regulation—and paired that with calming points to settle her nervous system, which had been bracing for pain every month for years.

The first cycle after treatment was still painful—but it was different. Less intense. Shorter. She didn’t bleed through anything. She went to work the second day, which felt like a small miracle.

By the third cycle, she wasn’t dreading it anymore.

“I’ve never had a period sneak up on me before,” she said, half laughing, half stunned. “It just… came. And it wasn’t awful.”

The bleeding slowed. The clots lessened. The pain, once all-consuming, became background noise. The fatigue lifted. Slowly, her cycle started to feel like something she could live with, rather than hide from.

What she came in for was fewer bad days.

What she got was a more balanced cycle—and a renewed sense of agency in her own body.

At Root and Branch, we see period pain often—whether from endometriosis, fibroids, hormone imbalance, or no clear reason at all. We treat what’s there, but we also treat what’s underneath. Because pain may be common, but it’s not “normal.” And heavy bleeding doesn’t have to be your monthly reality.

If your cycle has been running your life, we want you to know: there’s another way.

What They Came In For: Constipation

Bill came in because he was tired of feeling stuck. Literally.

For the past few years, his digestion had gotten slower and slower. At first, it just meant less regularity — a missed day here and there, nothing dramatic. But it crept up on him. By the time he showed up at the clinic, it wasn’t uncommon for him to go three or four days without a bowel movement. When things did move, it was slow, dry, and incomplete.

“It’s like my body just forgot how to do it,” he said.

He was 68, semi-retired, and pretty active — still walking his dog daily, still making coffee for his wife every morning. But this one issue had become a constant source of discomfort. He felt heavy after meals, bloated in the evenings, and often had to turn down food he would’ve enjoyed just to avoid the aftermath. He wasn’t in pain exactly, but he was never quite at ease.

His doctor told him it was normal at his age — just slow motility. He’d been told to drink more water, eat more fiber, and take stool softeners as needed. None of it really helped.

“It’s not like I’m eating cheeseburgers every day,” he joked. “I’m doing the right things. But my gut’s just not cooperating.”

When the Basics Aren’t Enough

Bill had already done the basics. He drank plenty of water. Ate oatmeal most mornings. Took a daily magnesium supplement. Tried psyllium husk, probiotics, even prune juice.

But none of it shifted his baseline. He still only had a proper bowel movement once every three days — sometimes longer. And the longer he went without one, the worse he felt. Foggy. Sluggish. Like things were backing up in more ways than one.

From a Chinese medicine perspective, constipation isn’t just a plumbing issue — it’s often a reflection of deeper imbalances. In Bill’s case, his pulse was thin and wiry, his tongue pale and dry, and his abdomen slightly firm on the lower left. What we saw was a pattern of dryness and depletion, layered with a bit of tension.

This wasn’t a case of excess heat or inflammation — it was about a system that didn’t have enough moisture, movement, or rhythm to keep things going. Over time, the body had lost momentum. The digestive fire had dimmed, and the fluids that should help guide waste downward weren’t doing their job.

Gentle, Steady Treatment to Restore Rhythm

We started Bill on a once-weekly acupuncture schedule to begin. The goal wasn’t just to get him moving once — it was to retrain his system to expect regular movement again.

We used points on the abdomen and lower back to stimulate the Large Intestine 大肠 (dà cháng) pathway and restore the downward flow. We added supportive points to nourish the Spleen 脾 (pí) and Kidney 肾 (shèn) systems — the internal organs responsible for transforming food into usable energy and fluid.

We also gave him an herbal formula customized for his constitution: one that moistened the intestines, gently promoted peristalsis, and tonified the underlying systems that had weakened over time. No harsh purgatives. No laxative effect. Just a slow restoration of internal balance.

After the first two weeks, things started to shift. Bill was going every two days without needing to think about it. The bloating had eased. His appetite was better.

After a month, he was having regular, easy bowel movements almost daily. No discomfort. No urgency. Just simple, quiet function.

A Return to Normal

“I never thought I’d feel this much joy over taking a normal crap,” he laughed.

But the truth is, this kind of change runs deep. Constipation isn’t just about digestion — it affects energy, mood, sleep, even mental clarity. Bill had started to feel more like himself again: less irritable, more comfortable in his body, and no longer thinking about his gut all day long.

Chinese medicine treats constipation not by forcing the body, but by reminding it how to move. Through acupuncture, herbs, and a steady rhythm of care, Bill’s system began to remember. And once it did, everything else started flowing again too.

What They Came In For: Sinus Congestion

When Jamal came to the clinic, he described it like this: “It’s like trying to breathe through a wet sponge.”

His nose had been stuffy for years. Not in the short-term, post-cold kind of way — but in the chronic, barely-remember-what-clear-breathing-feels-like way. Every morning he woke up feeling heavy and swollen in his face. Pressure behind his eyes, a dull ache across his forehead, and a sense of fog that didn’t lift until late in the day — if at all.

Over-the-counter decongestants helped temporarily, but they dried him out and made him feel jittery. Nasal sprays worked for a while but lost effectiveness. Allergy testing showed some mild reactions, but antihistamines didn’t make much difference either. Doctors told him it was “non-specific rhinitis,” maybe with a component of chronic sinusitis. They offered more sprays, allergy meds, and, eventually, a referral to an ENT.

But Jamal wasn’t looking for a surgery consult. He wanted to understand why this kept happening. Why he always felt puffy, heavy, and clogged — even when he wasn’t sick, even when the seasons changed, even when he ate carefully and stayed hydrated.

“I just want to breathe,” he told us. “Like, really breathe.”

A System Stuck in Dampness

From the outside, Jamal looked healthy. He worked out regularly. He ate well. He didn’t smoke. But his system told a different story. His tongue was swollen with tooth marks along the edges. His pulse was soft and sluggish. He frequently cleared his throat, especially after meals, and he told us he often felt a mild post-nasal drip — not enough to notice constantly, but enough to feel like he was always managing something.

In Chinese medicine, we look at long-term congestion not just as a nasal issue, but as a sign that something deeper isn’t moving properly in the body. For Jamal, the issue was what we call dampness — a kind of internal accumulation that forms when the body can’t properly transform and transport fluids. This "dampness" isn’t just water retention; it’s about the quality of internal flow. When it lingers, it becomes heavy, obstructive, and sticky — especially in the sinuses, chest, and digestive system.

This kind of stagnation often arises from a combination of factors: a constitution that leans toward fluid retention, a gut that isn’t processing efficiently, and a Lung system that’s overburdened and underpowered. Over time, it settles in, and the body forgets what it feels like to be clear.

Treatment to Unstick the Flow

Our first goal was to help things move. We used acupuncture points that open the sinuses, drain phlegm, and stimulate the body's ability to regulate fluid metabolism — not just in the nose, but throughout the system. We supported the Lung 肺 (fèi) and Spleen 脾 (pí) systems, which work together in Chinese medicine to circulate clean fluids, maintain healthy mucosa, and keep the surface of the body (like the nasal passages) clear and defended.

Jamal also began a custom herbal formula. It included herbs to transform dampness, clear the sinuses, and gently strengthen his middle — that is, his digestion — so that he wouldn’t keep creating excess phlegm in the first place.

Within two weeks, he noticed that he was waking up without as much pressure in his face. The mornings were still a little stuffy, but he could breathe through his nose by mid-morning, which was already a big shift. After a month, his breathing felt clearer more of the day than not. He even remarked one afternoon, “I didn’t realize until now that I was mouth breathing all the time. I’m not doing that anymore.”

Regaining Clarity

After a couple of months of treatment, Jamal’s baseline had changed. He still had occasional flare-ups — after a long flight, or if he ate a lot of dairy — but he finally understood what his system responded to. He knew what clear breathing felt like, and more importantly, how to support it.

“I feel like I have more mental energy,” he told us. “Like my brain’s not underwater anymore.”

That’s the thing about chronic sinus issues — they don’t just block the nose. They affect sleep, cognition, mood, and energy. When your breathing is obstructed day in and day out, your whole system runs on lower power.

Chinese medicine doesn’t just aim to reduce inflammation or dry out secretions — it seeks to restore the deeper flow that keeps the body clear, light, and well-regulated. In Jamal’s case, it helped him remember what full, open breathing feels like — and how good life can feel when your head isn’t full of fog.

What They Came In For: Long Covid

“I just want to feel like myself again.”

That’s what Thomas K. said when we asked him what brought him in. Then he paused.

“And the truth is, I’m not even sure I remember what that feels like.”

He’d had COVID ten months earlier. It was his second time getting it—the first had been over a year prior, and he’d recovered easily. A few days of fatigue, some sniffles, and then life went back to normal. He was vaccinated. He’d done everything “right.” So when he got it again, and it started as a mild case, he wasn’t too worried.

But this time, the recovery never came.

The fever passed. The test turned negative. But the fatigue stayed. Not the kind you push through with coffee or a good night’s sleep—the kind that settles into your bones. He started needing to lie down in the afternoon. Sometimes his chest felt tight—not dangerous, just off. His brain felt foggy, like he was trying to think through static. He forgot words. Simple tasks took longer. His mood got flatter. His sleep got worse.

He kept waiting to bounce back. But the weeks turned into months, and nothing changed.

He’d had all the tests. Labs normal. Lungs clear. “You're just stressed,” one provider said. Another called it post-viral syndrome and offered antidepressants. He wasn’t against medication. He just didn’t feel like anyone was really listening to what was happening in his body.

That’s when he found his way to Root and Branch.

What he wanted was simple: clarity, energy, and the ability to trust his body again.

We started with the big picture. When did the fatigue hit hardest? How did he feel after meals? How had his digestion been since the illness? What about temperature regulation? Sweating? Focus? Anxiety? We looked at his tongue, felt his pulse. Beneath the surface, his system told a familiar story: a body still caught between recovery and defense. Weakness at the core. Stagnation in the chest. A nervous system on edge.

We explained how long COVID presents, through the lens of Chinese medicine, as a pattern of post-viral depletion and dysregulation. Energy isn’t just “low”—it’s blocked. The body isn’t just tired—it’s stuck in a pattern it can’t exit.

So we built a treatment plan to help guide it out.

At the center of that plan was a custom herbal formula—one tailored to nourish the body’s energy without overstimulating it, to open the chest, support lung and spleen function, and gently recalibrate the nervous system. Not a stimulant. Not a sedative. Just medicine that knew how to listen to what the body actually needed.

He took it twice a day, every day. And we adjusted it often—because as his body changed, the formula needed to change too.

We paired it with acupuncture designed to support his recovery on multiple levels: points to regulate his sleep, clear the lingering heaviness in the chest, restore cognitive clarity, and rebuild his sense of groundedness. After each session, he’d say the same thing: “I didn’t know I could feel this calm anymore.”

After three weeks, his fatigue began to shift. Not all at once—but there were longer stretches of clarity. Mornings that started easier. Fewer naps. More consistency. His brain fog started to lift. He could read again, focus on a conversation without drifting.

After six weeks, he said, “I feel like I’m finally climbing out of something.”

We continued to treat the fluctuations—days where his energy dipped again, or sleep became fragile—but overall, the direction was steady. Upward. Back toward himself.

What Thomas came in for was his energy.

What he found was recovery—and something more: a renewed relationship with his body, one built not on pushing through, but on paying attention.

At Root and Branch, we’ve worked with many long COVID patients, each with a slightly different picture. Some come in with chest tightness. Others with digestive distress, insomnia, hair loss, anxiety, or relentless fatigue. No two cases are identical—but the approach is always the same: track the pattern. Treat the root. Support the whole person.

If you’re living with long COVID symptoms that just won’t let go, know this: there is still healing available. It might not be fast. But it can be real.

And we’re here for the long arc of it.

What They Came In For: Peripheral Neuropathy

When Karen T. first came to us, she described it like this:
“It feels like my feet are wooden blocks.”

Of course, she hadn’t just woken up that morning with those symptoms. At first, it was just an odd tingling—a kind of buzzing across the tops of her feet at night and then a kind of numbness at the tips of her toes. She thought maybe her shoes were too tight or maybe it was just circulation. But over time, the buzzing turned to burning and the numbness spread. She started feeling unsteady when walking. Sometimes her legs felt like they belonged to someone else. Other times, it was all she could feel—burning, stabbing, buzzing, aching—and no one could tell her why.

She didn’t have diabetes. She wasn’t on chemotherapy. Her labs looked fine. Her neurologist ran the tests, shrugged, and said, “Idiopathic.” Which, in medical language, is a polite way of saying: we don’t know.

“I guess it’s just nerves,” Karen said, laughing tightly. “But that doesn’t make it feel any less real.”

She had tried gabapentin. It made her groggy and forgetful but didn’t touch the pain. She tried B vitamins, topical creams, magnesium, and warm socks. Nothing helped. She felt like she was chasing sensation in her feet—trying to catch what was still there before it faded completely.

When she came to Root and Branch, what she wanted was simple:
“I just want to feel my feet again.”

We listened to her story and her details and then we starting mapping the disorder on her body.

We had her close her eyes while we gently touched different parts of her feet and lower legs. She pointed to the places she could still feel—sharp here, dull there, nothing at all along the outside of her heel. We marked the edges, tracing where sensation faded and where pain flared. We were trying to learn the landscape of her body—what had gone quiet, what was still speaking, and what might be trying to come back online.

We looked at her tongue and pulse. Asked about her digestion, sleep, circulation, energy. Her body told a story of cold in the channels, blood not flowing freely, the yang of the lower body not reaching the periphery. In Chinese medicine, neuropathy is rarely a standalone problem—it’s a pattern of stagnation and depletion, often years in the making.

We prescribed a custom herbal formula that became the cornerstone of her treatment. Not something generic for “nerve pain,” but a blend built for her: to warm the channels, nourish the blood, invigorate circulation, and open the pathways between the core and the limbs.

She took the formula twice a day. We adjusted it every few weeks as her symptoms changed. And slowly, they did.

We paired the herbs with specialized acupuncture—targeting points that improve blood flow to the legs and feet, awaken dormant nerve pathways, and signal the body to rebuild sensation. We used shallow needling along the areas of numbness to reintroduce stimulus gently, and stronger stimulation at key distal points to boost circulation from the inside out.

Each week, we repeated the map, touching the same places. and tracking what was coming back.

First, she noticed she could feel the floor more when she walked. Then, she could feel temperature differences between surfaces. The pain episodes became less frequent and less severe. The buzzing feeling got less noticeable. She didn’t feel normal yet—but she felt something again.

And that was everything.

“I can tell my body’s trying again,” she said once. “That it’s not giving up on me.”

We see both kinds of neuropathy in our clinic—diabetic and otherwise. We treat the kind with a clear label, and the kind that gets called “idiopathic.” Either way, our approach is the same: we work with what’s in front of us. We listen to the body’s signals. We build a treatment plan rooted in Chinese medicine’s deep understanding of circulation, sensation, and repair. And we don’t stop at symptom management—we support the body in changing the pattern.

What Karen came in for was simple: she wanted to feel her feet again.

What she got was sensation, yes—but also confidence, balance, and the sense that her body was still hers.

If you’re living with numbness, tingling, burning, or strange sensations that no one has been able to explain, know that there are still options. We don’t promise overnight results. But we can offer care that pays attention to you and that tracks changes to see how your body is changing.

Because even when the cause is unknown, healing is still possible.

What They Came In For: IBS

When Josh L. first came in, he was embarrassed to talk about what was going on. Not because it was a secret exactly—he’d already been to his primary care doctor, a GI specialist, and a nutritionist. He’d Googled more than he wanted to admit. He’d tried cutting out gluten, dairy, coffee, sugar. Tried probiotics, peppermint capsules, digestive enzymes. Nothing really helped.

But still, the idea of describing his digestion out loud to a stranger felt like crossing a line. “I just don’t want to be that guy,” he said. “You know, the one who won’t shut up about his stomach.”

His symptoms had been going on for over two years by then—long enough to start shaping how he lived. Some days were fine. Other days, he’d eat something perfectly normal—grilled chicken, a salad, a bowl of rice—and suddenly be doubled over with cramping and urgency an hour later. Sometimes he was constipated for days. Other times, everything ran straight through. He couldn’t predict it. Couldn’t track it. He just always had to be near a bathroom, just in case.

The GI doctor told him it was IBS and ruled out anything more serious. Which was reassuring. But also… not.

“It kind of felt like getting diagnosed with a shrug,” Josh told us. “Like, well, it’s not cancer, so good luck out there.”

By the time he came to Root and Branch, he was tired—of managing, of second-guessing every meal, of pretending like everything was fine when it wasn’t. He didn’t necessarily expect Chinese medicine to fix it. But he figured it couldn’t hurt to try something different.

We started, as we always do, by listening. We asked about his symptoms, yes—but also about his story. About how long things had felt off. About how stress landed in his body. About the nights his gut kept him awake, and the strange way everything tightened during even minor decisions. In Chinese medicine, IBS isn’t a single condition—it’s a pattern. And patterns are about relationships, not just symptoms.

We looked at his tongue, felt his pulse, asked questions that might seem unrelated—about his energy, his sleep, his ability to relax after meals. His body was sending clear signals: a digestive system stuck in a state of overreaction, with underlying weakness and cold. A gut that had lost its rhythm—and was now swinging too far in both directions.

That’s where the herbal medicine came in.

We formulated a custom blend just for him—something to gently warm the center, regulate the bowel, and calm the overactivity without suppressing it. Not a one-size-fits-all gut cleanse. Not something to mask the discomfort. But a formula crafted to meet his body exactly where it was, and help guide it back toward balance.

That formula became the foundation of his care. It changed as he changed—adjusted every few weeks to respond to how his symptoms shifted. It was the steady thread that helped his gut relearn how to behave with consistency, how to regulate, how to heal.

We paired it with acupuncture to support the nervous system and settle the emotional undercurrents. But it was the herbs that did the heavy lifting. Within the first week, his urgency calmed. Within two weeks, his bowel movements had begun to normalize. Meals felt less like a risk. The panic around food started to dissolve.

“I didn’t realize how loud my gut had become until it got quiet,” he told us one day. “I feel like my whole system is less reactive now. Like I finally have a little space between what I eat and what happens next.”

That’s one of the things we hear often in the clinic: not just that people feel better, but that they feel more in relationship with their bodies again. Less like they’re fighting themselves. More like they’re being heard.

Josh’s symptoms didn’t disappear overnight. But over time, his gut stopped being the loudest voice in the room. He started trusting his digestion again. Started eating meals without bracing. Started going about his day without needing an exit strategy.

What he came in for was relief.

What he got was something deeper: clarity, regulation, and a sense of being understood.

If you’re struggling with digestive issues that seem invisible to everyone else, know that you’re not alone—and you’re not imagining it. And if you’ve been told “there’s nothing else to try,” we’d like to gently offer: there might be.

Because we don’t just treat IBS. We treat people. And your body is always telling a story. We're here to help it tell a different one.

What They Came In For: Pain from an Motor Vehicle Accident

When Sara M. first came to our clinic, she didn’t have high hopes. Not because she didn’t believe in Chinese medicine—she just didn’t believe anything was really going to help.

Three months earlier, she had been in a car accident. It wasn’t major, but it was enough to jolt everything. Her neck had snapped forward, her shoulder jammed tight on impact. At first it felt like soreness. A few days later, it turned into a kind of constant stiffness, and within a week it was pain—sharp, stubborn, and spreading into her upper back and arm. She couldn’t sleep well. She couldn't sit through meetings. Driving triggered it. So did picking up groceries. So did reaching behind her to grab her seatbelt.

She did what most people do. She saw her doctor, who referred her to physical therapy and gave her muscle relaxants. She tried chiropractic. She iced it. She stretched. She rested. And still, day after day, she felt like her body was stuck in some kind of aftershock.

“I just felt like I was doing all the right things,” she told us during her first visit, “and nothing was changing.”

By the time she found her way to Root and Branch, she was exhausted. Not just physically, but emotionally. She was tired of retelling the story, tired of appointments, tired of feeling like her pain was being treated like a problem to solve—rather than an experience she was still stuck inside.

We began, as we always do, by listening. We asked her to describe what she’d been feeling—not just the pain, but the ways it had changed her day-to-day life. We had her move her head and arm in a few different directions so we could see what hurt and what didn’t. Simple movements that, in her case, were no longer simple. Turning her head was difficult. Lifting her arm made her wince. Even breathing deeply seemed tight.

We gently pressed around her shoulder and upper back, not just to find the painful spots, but to understand how her body was holding the tension. Muscles that should’ve been moving freely felt locked down, like they were guarding something. Her body had been trying to protect itself for months—but now it didn’t know how to let go.

We asked about her sleep, her digestion, her energy, her stress—not because those things were “the real cause,” but because pain always has context. And part of our job is to understand the full picture.

Then we treated her.

We used acupuncture to settle her nervous system and help the muscles around her neck and shoulder begin to release. We added a few points to improve circulation and reduce inflammation, and supported the places where her body was still bracing.

After the needles came out, we did some gentle bodywork—a few small, slow movements to help her shoulder and upper back remember how to move without pain. We used a technique called counterstrain, which helps tense muscles relax by putting them in a position of comfort. Nothing forced. Nothing intense. Just a quiet invitation to soften.

We sent her home with an herbal formula to support her healing between clinic visits, and a few simple breathing exercises—not to stretch or push anything, but to give her nervous system something steady to follow. A new rhythm.

When she came back a week later, her eyes were wide.

“I can’t believe how much better I felt,” she said. “Even after the first appointment. I felt clearer. My pain wasn’t gone, but it felt like something had shifted. Like my body had finally exhaled.”

Week by week, that shift deepened. The tension unwound. The pain softened. Her sleep improved. The headaches she hadn’t even mentioned at first started happening less often. She started feeling like herself again.

It wasn’t instant. It wasn’t linear. But it was real.

And more than that—it felt like someone was finally treating her, not just her pain.

We love stories like Sara’s not because they’re miraculous, but because they’re so common. Many of our patients come in with pain that hasn’t responded to other forms of care. They’ve seen multiple providers. They’ve done the protocols. And they’re still hurting—not just in their bodies, but in the quiet places where frustration lives.

What makes Chinese medicine different isn’t just the tools we use—it’s the way we use them. With attention. With curiosity. With the understanding that the body wants to heal—and that sometimes, it just needs a new kind of invitation.

If you’ve been stuck in pain, and you’re not sure what’s next, we’re here. We may not be your first stop. But we can be the one where things finally start to shift.