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# 04. Tempted by a Luxury Health Coach
- URL: https://www.gutted.blog/giving-up-the-dream/
- Published: 2026-11-12T02:35:04.000Z
- Updated: 2026-11-12T03:19:17.000Z
- Description: Still no better, with my care options dwindling, I long for someone to take care of me.
- Author: Amy Suardi

The day after the disappointing blood draw at the functional medicine clinic, my stomach was as angry as ever. My mood seemed to be stomped down in the basement of my disposition, either because of the constant grinding ache or because most of our serotonin is created in the gut. Some people call the gut a second brain because it can send distress signals to the brain making you feel down or anxious.

I roved around the kitchen looking for magic food to force my body to feel better. Why would more food help an upset stomach? Yet, despite all logic, that's what I kept trying.

My first instinct was cookies, but I had given up desserts that summer because I suspected they were part of the problem.

I searched for them anyway in the sweets cabinet, the snack drawer, and the freezer, and when I couldn’t find any, I settled for a too-healthy banana dipped after each bite into a tub of salted sunflower seeds. The sweet and fatty snack calmed my roiling stomach for about five minutes, and then the churning ache was back.

I wouldn’t know the results of the previous day’s blood draw for a whole month. Could I trust results from that sketchy clinic anyway?

My mind kept returning to Linda at Simple Health. When my colorist raved about the private coach, my internal alarm had gone off. But my conventional gastroenterologists never asked what I was eating, even though my books kept saying diet was the most important. Since the 15-minute call was free, I booked it. Linda listened without hurry, never questioning my worries, and agreed that antibiotics had damaged my microbiome. I felt heard, validated, cared for.

When I finally asked how much—$2,000 for six sessions and three months of texting—my hope thunked to the ground. How could we spend that much? What would I tell Enrico—that a boutique coach would fix me for twenty times the cost of an in-network doctor? But how else would I get well? I was not going to pay the clinic’s $800 Gut Restore fee either, and as traditional tests were coming back normal, my vision of a cure was shrinking to a pinpoint.

What if Linda’s focused personal approach was actually more efficient? What if she was the key?

Walking home from Back-to-School Night, I dreamed of Linda again. The evening had been a happy distraction—sitting in my sons' desks and passing fellow parents in the hallways—but once outside, I was alone again with my turbulent stomach. It would feel so good to be the focus of her calm attention. She would get to the bottom of it.  
  
I could probably have convinced Enrico. But what if I got better and people asked how? I wanted to say something different than, I paid a fancy health coach $2,000\. I wanted to be tougher. I was grateful for my privilege, but hadn't it all been a coincidence—an upper-middle-class upbringing, a doctor husband, white skin in a system built for it? What would be special about me if I just bought the answers? I wanted to see what it took within the conventional system. Not be the poor rich girl who bought her way out.  
  
When I got home, I sent an email to Linda telling her I was going to try to figure it out on my own, but I would let her know if I needed help. She never wrote back.