HEALTHY = SKINNY…right?

For as far back as I remember, “health” was synonymous with two things: the weight on the scale, and how the Chinese aunties sized you up.

Because I have a genetically thin frame, for most of my childhood I avoided the intense scrutiny that both American and Chinese society can cruelly cast. With a quick glance at my wiry body, the assumption was always that I was a healthy little girl.

And so, as any food-loving, second-generation Chinese-American would do, I ate what I wanted. The best of both worlds. Noodles, dumplings, rice galore. Pasta, burgers, pancakes, oh my. None of it seemed to have an effect on my outward appearance. My body’s imperviousness to weight gain became a point of pride.

Like most children growing up in the heyday of the '90s, I lived in the apex of processed food bliss. While my parents made homemade Chinese food often, they also worked full-time jobs. Packaged snacks at the time offered convenience and promised added nutrients, all while giving time and energy back to exhausted parents. Hot Pockets, Toaster Strudels, Pop-Tarts, SunnyD, and Fruit Roll-Ups (they touted Vitamin C, okay?!) quickly slid into our everyday pantry.

And still, I remained skinny. By all measurements on a scale and annual checks with the pediatrician, I was doing just fine.

COLLEGE CONVENIENCE

I went off to college (Go Hoosiers!) with jittery dreams of independence, a generous meal plan, and a microwave. While college was the jumping-off point for many of my favorite memories and set the foundation for my identity, it’s hard to look back at my health habits and not cringe. I remember lots of Easy Mac. I remember lots of frozen Totino’s pizza. And OH do I remember my biggest late-night go-to: ramen noodles with cut-up hot dogs. I was known for being a lover of potatoes (my AOL IM—remember that?—even had the word potato in it) and noodles. But I remained thin. So I was healthy, right?

I think you can see where this is going.

MYSTERIOUS KIDNEY DISEASE

In August 2007, I had just moved down to Charlotte, NC, to start my first full-time corporate job. While I learned a lot, my primary recall is that of high pressure, high travel, and high stress. I was also navigating living alone in a brand-new city—an impulsive decision I’d chalked up to adventure, but high pressure nonetheless.

At some point, I recognized that my ankles were swollen. I found a doctor, took a urine test, and the results indicated significant proteinuria (protein leakage). I was referred to a nephrologist.

It is hard to describe the fear and the paralysis I felt in that moment. Perhaps you’ve felt something like it. It was the first of many moments where I realized I was staring down a much different path than my other newly graduated, 22-year-old friends. Where was this coming from? I thought I was healthy.

A TALE OF TWO DR. T’S

Dr. T #1 recommended a kidney biopsy. A biopsy, he said, would tell us exactly what we were dealing with. The results came back with a diagnosis of membranous glomerular nephritis—a disease in which antibodies are deposited on your kidneys, causing protein to leak into your urine. At significant levels, proteinuria will scar your kidneys and impair their function. Over time, this can lead to a complete loss of renal function. Dr. T #1 told me I was looking at complete renal failure by 30 years old. I was scared out of my mind.

For reasons I am still unclear about to this day, Dr. T #1 was convinced my kidney disease was secondary, triggered by a primary autoimmune disease. And so he ramped me up on immunosuppressants in a “let’s just see what it does” fashion.

It meant I was sick all the time and weak all the time. When my dose got super high, my tongue and mouth erupted with open sores that would not heal. Try giving a presentation to VPs like that, or simply trying to eat a meal.

I had to do a 24-hour urine test every month and keep my jug of pee in the fridge. (Real easy making friends and chatting up potential boyfriends when you have a pee hat on your toilet and a jug of urine next to the milk).

As my proteinuria fluctuated, so did my edema, and so did the diuretic dosage he used to control the swelling. Whatever drug Dr. T #1 wanted me to try, I did. He was the medical expert, and I was scared. I followed his prescriptions without question.

COLLAPSE

I still remember the morning the ambulance was called. I woke up light-headed and weak, but I had an important customer presentation to attend that day. So I pressed on, despite the fact that I had lost so much water weight overnight that my Size 0 pants would not stay on my waist without a belt. I got to the office, got into the car with my coworker, and leaned my head against the passenger window.

We were on the highway. My coworker remarked, "Jen, you’re not looking well."

"Pull over," I said. "Pull over now."

He pulled off at the nearest exit and into a gas station. I opened the car door and collapsed against the pavement.

I remember him carrying me into the gas station and into the bathroom, where the diuretics were still wreaking havoc on my body. I remember him calling his wife, a nurse, asking what to do. I remember weakly protesting about ambulance costs (the price of healthcare, even on your deathbed, amiright?). I remember hearing her yell through the phone, "CALL AN AMBULANCE NOW, YOU IDIOT!"

Around this time, my memory fades to flashes:

• Holding onto a gas station toilet for support.

• Landing on the ground in my own excrement.

• Feeling gentle hands lift me onto a stretcher.

• Lights, cuffs, monitors. 1, 2, 3, lift.

• "Her lips are blue. Blood pressure dropping. Saline, stat."

• Sirens, sirens, sirens.

Several bags of saline and several hours later, I regained stability and awareness of how dangerously close to death I had come. It was this experience that led me to assessing my role in my health. Why was I blindly following unsupported advice? Why was I allowing myself to be someone’s guinea pig? Where was it going, and what was it costing me?

What would it look like to feel ownership over my health, instead of being a passive recipient? With so many variables outside of my control, what could be in my control?

TURNING POINT

I will never, ever forget the look on Dr. T #2’s face when he finished looking at my chart for the first time. With a slow sigh and teary eyes, he looked at me and said, “Jen, the first oath I took as a doctor is to do no harm.”

I sobbed. Every ounce of me was depleted.

As a starting point, we realized I was on so many drugs (16!)—drugs for drugs for drugs—that it was impossible to tell what was being caused by the disease and what was a side effect.

“I’m putting you on a drug vacation, Jen—but sorry, not the fun kind. Let’s see what your body is capable of on its own.”

Under medical supervision, every single one of my experimental drugs was tapered off. Around the same time, I began slowly incorporating a few new habits of my own. I learned how to make tasty salads. I explored the local North Carolina mountains and got really into hiking. I joined the Y and danced it out with Zumba a few times a week. I prioritized my mental well-being by doing activities that felt like a stress outlet, like kayaking and yoga.

I still had to do the pee jug, and I checked in regularly with Dr. T #2. But slowly, over time, my biomarkers improved. Over the course of two years of steady watching, they slid into the normal range.

In July 2011—four years after my diagnosis and three years after laying on a bathroom floor—I was officially given the green light to say the “R” word.

REMISSION.

SO, YOU’RE SAYING….

That lifestyle changes are a miracle move? That they can prevent or solve anything?

Well, no. I don’t believe that. I do believe in genetic predisposition, inheritance, and sometimes, sheer dumb luck. At the beginning of life, we’re all dealt a hand.

But I do also believe that a healthy lifestyle across the fundamentals CAN mitigate, delay, or yes, sometimes altogether prevent or reverse what we’re facing.

• That proper nutrition can tame a landscape of inflammation.

• That strength training can keep your cells happier.

• That regular, good sleep can improve cognitive repair and recall.

• That a balanced nervous system can set the stage for whole-body healing.

WHERE I STAND TODAY

I didn’t choose to lay on that gas station floor, but I did choose what came next.

That experience taught me that looking healthy on the outside doesn't mean a thing if you aren't nurturing yourself from the inside out. Real health is built quietly, in the everyday choices - the ways we move, feed, rest, and protect ourselves.

Today, my mission is to help you stop being a passive passenger in your own life. Whatever your health journey looks like right now, I'm here to help you find what is in your control, take ownership of your well-being, and truly thrive.