My personal odyssey through alternative therapies began innocently in the late 1970s at a summer picnic in Canaan, Conn. One of the guests, a New Age true believer, overheard me say I was convinced that coffee was making my hands feel clammy though my doctor had scoffed at the connection. "You're allergic to caffeine, just like my husband," she said, and cheerfully proceeded to predict a succession of problems that would eventually leave me a twitching wreck. O.K., I said, irritated, but how would I stay awake to finish the book I was working on? "Try beer," offered another convert. "Drinking...
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