From Love's résumé on Remnant's website: "She is a board-certified Biofeedback Therapist . . . as well as a Licensed Quantum Biofeedback Therapist, a Reiki Master, DNA Reprogramming Therapist, Life Coach, and is proficient in Emotional Freedom Technique."

Love has her "client" relax in a black lounge chair on the other side of her desk. She connects the person to one of her devices through a head harness and ankle and wrist straps.

One device is called a QXCI, short for Quantum Xeroid Consciousness Interface. Another is a SCIO, for Scientific Consciousness Interface System. A third is the state-of-the-alleged-art INDIGO unit.

Janet Love, co-owner of Remant Health Center in Chandler
Jamie Peachey
Janet Love, co-owner of Remant Health Center in Chandler
Dana Rosdahl, co-owner of Remant Health Center in Chandler
Jamie Peachey
Dana Rosdahl, co-owner of Remant Health Center in Chandler

As the machines go to work, Love sits at the desk in her softly lit office looking at three large monitors.

A website that offers the INDIGO for about $25,000 says it "is sold as a full diagnostic and treatment system. After assessment of 'electrical parameters,' [it] then sends therapy signals via a harness to the body."

Next, "[it] fires low levels of current into the patient, and . . . in a method similar in theory to radar, reads the bounced signals and transfers them to a database."

Finally, this:

"The database consists of several thousand diagnostic categories from several different medical disciplines and other mystical data, including homeopathy, acupuncture, chiropractic, traditional medical, astrology, and prayer wells, all of which can be transmitted to the [device] for therapeutic benefit."

In Alyssa Goodale's case, the "energy devices" supposedly confirmed what Dana Rosdahl had told the girl months earlier — that parasites and pathogens were crawling around inside her.

From the sound of it, INDIGO's inventor should have won a Nobel Prize, probably more than once.

It didn't go that way for Bill Nelson, a onetime math teacher who fled to Hungary in the mid-1990s after the feds indicted him for making false claims about his devices.

Undaunted, Nelson started a multilevel marketing operation in Budapest, garnering untold millions of dollars in sales.

His business has flourished, despite the earlier indictment for selling a product that he once insisted could cure everything from headaches to cancer. These days, the "energy machines" are supposed to be billed solely as "stress relievers."

Apart from the true believers (Janet Love and Dana Rosdahl are among them), just about everyone else thinks that Nelson's inventions are fraudulent.

"It sounds like a scam — a classic snake-oil con," says Dr. Greg Loeben, associate professor of bioethics at Midwestern University in Glendale.

"I teach my students that medicine and doctors don't have all the answers, and they should be aware of that at all times. But relying on a machine that goes ping and identifies bacterial infections is way over in the fringe area, at best. The word 'improbable' comes to mind."

Loeben suggests, "This all involves the placebo effect, the power that the body has to heal itself over time, and human nature itself."

The placebo effect works like this:

Repeated studies have shown that belief alone can have a true healing effect. After getting strapped to an energy machine, a person may feel better for a while simply because they expect to.

Alyssa Goodale fit into that category.

Not surprisingly, insurance companies won't pay for "energy machine" sessions or other scientifically sketchy treatments.

Insurers also are loath to cover more than a few weeks of antibiotics at a stretch, so Remnant's long-term patients (which are most of them) have to pay for everything out of pocket.

But business has been good at Remnant since it opened in early 2010.

"I feel better than I have in 30 years since I hooked up with Dr. Dana and Jana and realized what was up," says Clovis Jones, a 65-year-old Vietnam War veteran and retired airline pilot. "They have saved my life. They know what they are doing, and they know Lyme disease."


A New Yorker cartoon in the late 1990s showed a guy chatting with a neighbor over a hedge.

"We're thinking of moving to another part of the country," he said. "Somewhere between Lyme disease and killer bees."

The cartoon hinted at the schism between Lyme-ites — who believe that a majority of Americans have the disease — and everyone else.

Some Lyme-ites cling to wispy theories of a lingering U.S. government/big-insurance-company conspiracy against the masses.

They consider Lyme as an evildoer of monumental magnitude, and that the "medical establishment," which includes the insurance industry and the U.S. government, intentionally has misled the American public as to its prevalence.

Lyme disease was named after the wooded Connecticut town where children complained in the early 1970s of arthritis-like pain in their joints.

Medical experts believe that the bacterial infection is transmitted to humans through the bite of a tiny deer tick, about the size of a poppy seed.

Both the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the Infectious Disease Society of America contend that, if properly diagnosed, early-stage Lyme disease is easily treatable with a course of up to one month of antibiotics.

Still, says Dr. Benjamin Luft, an infectious-diseases physician at Stony Brook State University of New York, "We don't have a universal understanding of what the disease is. We don't know what we're talking about."

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