Wiping the Slate Clean: Why My Sarcoidosis and Heart Meds Actually Work

If you’ve ever started your day staring at chaos and thought, “Let’s just wipe this clean,” congrats—you’re already in metaphor territory. As kids in kindergarten, we literally wiped our slates clean: little chalkboards we scribbled on until our fingers turned white with dust. We’d erase all the doodles at the end of the day and start fresh in the morning. The term stuck. So did I, stubbornly clinging to my own so-called clean slate—especially when it came to meds.

I was the kind of kid who would push through migraines instead of taking anything for them. I didn’t trust medication, not because I was spiritually enlightened or anything—just suspicious. Born with a congenital heart defect (which, charming surprise, no one noticed), I was often sick but rarely willing to take anything stronger than a teaspoon of courage. Meanwhile, somewhere in that messy childhood, I probably had sarcoidosis without knowing it.

So when I was finally diagnosed with sarcoidosis as an adult, I was the patient who argued with the prednisone bottle. An Ayurvedic doctor had to talk me down. He was like, “Please take this.” Meanwhile, I’m thinking, “But what about detoxing with turmeric and cosmic energy?” Spoiler: I took it. Gained 30 pounds. But as my specialist says, drugs don’t weigh anything—overeating does. Thanks, doc. Still, my heart sarcoidosis tried to kill me next, so when my heart failure specialist stood over my bed with lanoxin and a raised eyebrow, I caved. I wouldn’t swallow it until I understood every side effect, half-life, and potential date-night incompatibility. But I swallowed it.

And weirdly, everything worked. No horrible reactions. No organs staged a walkout. My pulmonary hypertension even reversed itself—something my doctor still scratches his head about. Honestly, I think a lifetime of medication avoidance left my body pristine, like a pharmaceutical virgin. No built-up drug resistance. No “antibiotics don’t work on me anymore” panic. That’s what happens when you accidentally leave yourself at factory settings.

But not everyone has that clean slate advantage. That doesn’t mean you can’t reboot. Think of it like spring cleaning your body. Eat organic when you can. Watch your sugar. Go low-fat or don’t—just be intentional. And if you do want to detox, please don’t do it because someone on TikTok promised you a miracle cleanse. Do it under actual medical supervision, especially if you’re taking prescription meds. Because some of those herbs don’t mix with Western medicine. At all.

Speaking of herbs—I am a believer in homeopathy and I take it regularly. But I also read, research, and don’t take random capsules someone mails me in exchange for likes. If you’re on digoxin, for example, don’t swallow it with your morning bowl of bran. Fiber messes with absorption. Orange juice screws up antibiotics. Grapefruit juice is a saboteur for certain heart meds. It’s not trying to help you—it wants you confused.

You don’t have to become a medical detective, but if you’re living with a chronic illness, you kind of owe it to yourself to know why you’re putting something in your body and what it’s doing. Doctors are smart, but they’re not God. They have drug reps, red tape, and sometimes just bad days. You have time, Google, and the motivation to not die if you can help it. Use that.

So yeah—wipe your slate clean if you need to. Start fresh with your information, your routines, your relationship with your own body. Every pill doesn’t have to be a prison sentence. Every diagnosis doesn’t have to take your agency. And if you’re lucky, sometimes your lungs give you a surprise plot twist and decide not to collapse for once.

Anyway, that’s my story—equal parts stubbornness, sarcasm, and survival. If you’ve got your own clean slate moment, or you’re still trying to find one, I want to hear from you. Drop a comment or subscribe to follow along on this outrageous journey of not dying of sarcoidosis and heart failure—one carefully researched pill at a time.

So …

Have your own story of surviving chronic illness, navigating medications, or telling the pharmacy to chill? Drop a comment below or subscribe for more chef-life-meets-chronic-illness chaos. Let’s wipe these slates clean together.