Many years ago I had a small round bulge on my thigh, which I ignored for around 18 months. Then I happened to be visiting my GP, and asked him what it was. “It’s a lipoma,” he answered, “a fatty lump. Keep an eye on it. If it doesn’t change it can stay, but if it grows it will have to come out.” I kept a close eye on the lipoma, and it started to grow, for the first time in 18 months. I went back to the GP, who removed it surgically.

Years later I told someone this story in order to highlight the fact that noticing something makes it grow; a small problem can turn into a large one if you pay it a lot of attention. I don’t know whether it was because of this conversation, but two weeks later the lipoma reappeared, at the same spot where a scar indicated that its predecessor had been removed.

“If the lipoma can grow by suggestion, it can also shrink by suggestion,” I thought. I remembered the wart charmer’s old folk remedy; “Rub the wart with spit three times every morning and every evening, using a different finger each time, and repeat three times; ‘Wart, wart, rub away.’” I wondered to myself whether the same would work for a lipoma, and decided to try. The lipoma had disappeared after three days.

Women in Germany continued the traditions of medieval folk medicine by “charming” or “talking away” warts until just a few decades ago (and in rare cases even today). The procedure which is described in the story „Lipoma“ originates from this practice.

(From: Stefan Hammel: Handbook of Therapeutic Storytelling. Sories and Metaphors in Psychotherapy, Child and Family Therapy, Medical Treatment, Coaching and Supervision, Routledge 2019)

“What are you doing?” “I’m painting my wart with nail polish.” “Do you think that will work?” “It worked last time. I imagine to myself that it’s the same medicine from the pharmacy that my friend uses.”

There are various suggestive procedures for removing warts. The dialogue “Wart Remedy” combines several intervention types.

The described method has proved its value on numerous occasions, and works even if the patient does not imagine any medicine, since it shifts the focus of attention to the removal of the wart. The action carries the implication that the wart is equivalent to a fingernail, or in other words that it turns into keratin. Positive connotations are also ascribed to the wart by incorporating it into a cosmetic routine.

A four-year-old boy discovered an effective way of removing a wart by telling it angrily to, “go jump in a lake!” In methodological terms, he was addressing his body with a directive suggestion, and externalising and visualising the wart.

Crasilneck and Hall treat a wart by suggesting that it is becoming colder and colder, or in other words by constricting the blood vessels and reducing the circulation. (Crasilneck & Hall, 1990). Gibbons uses a suggestion of heat concentrating in the wart and triggering the incipient healing. (Gibbons, 1990. Several similar techniques can be found in Olness & Kohen 2001, 272f., 397ff.)

(From: Stefan Hammel: Handbook of Therapeutic Storytelling. Sories and Metaphors in Psychotherapy, Child and Family Therapy, Medical Treatment, Coaching and Supervision, Routledge 2019)

I once had a patient who was an architect and who suffered from Crohn’s disease, an inflammatory bowel disease.

The cortisone preparations and surgical interventions used to treat it had placed an enormous strain on her body. After attending a number of therapy sessions, the disease seemed to have remitted somewhat. I said to her,

“Imagine your body is a magnificent old house awaiting renovation – what does it look like?” She described a Wilhelminian-style villa surrounded by lush greenery, with exquisite stucco work, superb wallpaper and elegant furniture. The house appeared to have been neglected for many years. Wherever the eye turned, there were traces of water damage, cracks in the walls and crumbling plaster. Many of the formerly beautiful features now looked neglected and derelict. “What does the restoration team need to do?” I asked. She listed a number of jobs, and we discussed the order in which they should be done.

I asked for an update on the renovations at each of the following therapy sessions, and was always told that the workmen had made progress. What choice did they have? After all, renovations go forwards, not backwards. Once the woman told me, “The original features in this room have been damaged to the extent that the workmen are unable to restore them faithfully. They replace what is missing to the best of their ability, and try to make it look like it might once have done.” After another few weeks she told me that the renovators had finished their work, and that the villa had been fully renovated.

That was around thirteen years ago, and her state of health has been significantly better ever since.

The case history “The Villa” illustrates the technique of influencing an immune disease or other somatic disorder through metaphorical instructions which imply progress alone and exclude any possibility of relapses. It is also useful for promoting the healing of wounds or bone fractures.

The story relates to a case from 2004 (13-year catamnesis). The metaphor largely excludes the possibility of relapses. Once the brain has accepted the image as being fundamentally relevant to the way in which the body is viewed, it excludes any bodily behaviour which is incompatible with the metaphor. The architect’s profession is used as the source of the metaphor; as illustrated by the story “Sorting Screws”, images and tasks which pick up on aspects of the patient’s identity are more powerful than those which are externally dictated.

On the topic of wound healing and the accelerated healing of bone fractures through auto-suggestion, Milton Erickson describes the case of the US psychiatrist Robert Pearson, who healed his own broken skull completely within a single week. (Rosen, 1982) Erickson refers to studies carried out by a surgeon and psychiatrist who used hypnosis to promote wound healing in every second patient on whom he operated. These patients’ wounds healed more rapidly. (Zeig, 1985, 222).

(From: Stefan Hammel: Handbook of Therapeutic Storytelling. Sories and Metaphors in Psychotherapy, Child and Family Therapy, Medical Treatment, Coaching and Supervision, Routledge 2019)

The alarm bell rings. The pounding of rapid footsteps can be heard, mingled with the sound of people calling to each other and then the creaking of protective clothing being pulled on quickly. Rapid footsteps can be heard once again. Within less than a minute, the firefighters are in the fire engine and driving away, accompanied by the deafening sound of the siren. They arrive at the scene of the fire. Smoke is billowing out of a third-floor window. The officer-in-charge gives the commands. The fire engine driver raises the ladder, two firefighters get the hoses ready and another two run to the front door of the apartment block. A window opens. “Hello, what’s going on?” “Fire! Stay where you are! We’ll rescue you!” “But I don’t need rescuing! The room next door is my kitchen – the cake I was baking started to burn while I was out at the shops, so I opened the window to get rid of the smoke. Why don’t you come in and have a cup of coffee? I’m sure you won’t mind the smell of smoke.” The firefighters are taken aback at first, but then they laugh. “Mission abort!” calls out the officer-in-charge. “False alarm!” The hoses are rolled up again and the ladder lowered. The men at the entrance to the apartment block stroll casually back to the fire engine, grinning. They take off their helmets and protective clothing and place them in the fire engine. Then they go upstairs, where mugs of hot coffee are already waiting for them. “I think you should overhaul your alarm system,” says the owner of the apartment. The officer-in-charge nods. The alarm system needs an overhaul. “We review every call-out, particularly call-outs of this kind,” he says with a wink. “We’ll tell the control room so that the same thing doesn’t happen again in the future. Great coffee though!”

The story “Call-Out” is another intervention which can be used to heal inflammation, and which can be used (like the following story) to strengthen the immune system, cure or reduce the severity of allergies and autoimmune diseases and cure inflammation. I have used the story for patients suffering from conditions including inflammation and Crohn’s disease. For patients suffering from bowel conditions, I refer to the fact that the hoses are stable and made from strong fire-proof materials.

One client responded to this story with a similar tale; “Once I was called out with the volunteer fire brigade, and we set out with sirens blaring. We arrived at the scene of the fire and extinguished it. While we were driving back, the sirens were still sounding.”

(From: Stefan Hammel: Handbook of Therapeutic Storytelling. Sories and Metaphors in Psychotherapy, Child and Family Therapy, Medical Treatment, Coaching and Supervision, Routledge 2019)

My foot had been hurting for weeks. What on earth could be wrong with it? I remembered feeling something similar when suffering from phlebitis many years ago. A homeopathic remedy called Lachesis had cured the problem back then. “Dear body,” I said, “please check whether Lachesis would help. If you think it would, please behave as if you had taken it.” Was that the right thing to say? A momentary shiver ran over my skin, which I decided must be my subconscious responding to the idea. The symptoms vanished overnight and did not return.

The story “Placebo IV” uses the technique of focusing the body’s self-healing capacities on a region of the body in cases of inflammation. The body is addressed very directly and reminded of what was useful in an earlier situation. Imagining a medicine prompts the body to behave in the way that it would normally behave in response to that medicine. The body is told to do “more of the same” if this behaviour is helpful.

(From: Stefan Hammel: Handbook of Therapeutic Storytelling. Sories and Metaphors in Psychotherapy, Child and Family Therapy, Medical Treatment, Coaching and Supervision, Routledge 2019)

Someone once told me the following story; “I was visiting my sister. My niece was getting confirmed, and my brother-in-law had a terrible cold. He was sneezing, sniffing and coughing, and clearly felt terrible. ‘The homeopathic remedy Schuessler Salt No 3 would help,’ said my sister. ‘But we don’t have any in the house.’ ‘That doesn’t matter,’ I replied, and turned to my brother-in-law. ‘Say to your body, “Dear body, please check whether Schuessler Salt No 3 would help, and if it would then respond as if you had taken it.”’ ‘But he’s never tried it before,’ objected my sister. ‘That doesn’t matter either,’ I replied, citing as evidence the case of a patient treated by some doctor or other. In the meantime, my brother-in-law had stopped sneezing and sniffing and looked a little better in general. I cried out, ‘Great job! You must have an incredibly powerful subconscious – that’s truly impressive! Brilliant! What a feat of the subconscious – and you managed it so quickly! I think Schuessler Salt No 3 has done you a lot of good! You’re doing a brilliant job…’ My brother-in-law gave a lopsided grin and looked a little embarrassed, but his symptoms had reduced significantly, and stayed like that all day.”

The story “Placebo III” demonstrates how the placebo effect can be actively used to heal a cold, even if the relevant medicine is not currently available and has never been taken by the patient before.

(From: Stefan Hammel: Handbook of Therapeutic Storytelling. Sories and Metaphors in Psychotherapy, Child and Family Therapy, Medical Treatment, Coaching and Supervision, Routledge 2019)