Defective Microbiome. How Gut Health Nearly Destroyed Paul’s Life.

Chapter 1: The Beginning of the Struggle

Paul sat by the window, staring at the empty street. It was quiet. Too quiet. He was 22, but he felt much older. His body ached, his mind raced. Every morning, the same routine. Wake up. Rush to the bathroom. Diarrhoea was relentless and exhausting. By 10 a.m., he was drained. The day had barely begun, but for Paul, it felt like it was already over.

He thought back to his childhood. He was born sick. There was always something wrong: sinusitis, sore throats, infections. The doctors gave him antibiotics over and over, telling his parents it was necessary. But Paul wondered now if it had been too much. Too often. He remembered the taste of the medicine, the way it made him feel—empty, hollow as if it was doing more harm than good.

At five, he didn’t want to play with other kids. They ran around, full of energy, laughing, shouting. Paul just wanted to sit in a quiet place. He didn’t care for toys or games. He liked books. He could lose himself in them. Reading was his escape. It was the only thing that made him feel alive.

But as he grew older, the energy that others had never come to him. He was smart. He did well in school, but it was a struggle. His body was always tired. His mind, sharp as it was, could not compensate for the constant fatigue.

At 16, he decided to change things. He joined a gym, lifted weights, and found he was good at it. For a while, he felt strong. He was proud of his progress. His body responded, growing lean and muscular. For the first time, he felt in control.

But by 22, things had taken a turn. The diarrhoea started, and it didn’t stop. Every morning, the same thing. His once-strong body felt weak again. His hair began to thin at the forehead. He noticed it in the mirror, but it didn’t bother him much. He was still good-looking, tall, and well-built. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was the exhaustion, the frustration of not knowing what was wrong.

Paul had begun to wonder about his gut, where all the discomfort started. He’d read about the microbiome, the trillions of bacteria that lived in his digestive tract. They were supposed to help, to keep him healthy. But what if they were out of balance? What if the years of antibiotics had wiped out the good bacteria, leaving only the bad behind? He thought about the antibiotics from his childhood, the way they had wiped out everything inside him. Maybe that was where it all began. Maybe his microbiome was defective and ruined from the start.

Paul had dreams. He wanted a normal life. He wanted to study, to work, to have relationships. He had a mind for business and had started a side project at university. It was moderately successful. But everything he achieved felt like it was despite his body, not because of it.

He searched for answers. Was it the blastocyst dysentery he caught in the Army? Was it his nerves, the mild PTSD from his service? Or was it something else? Something deeper, something that had been wrong for a long time.

Paul knew he was intelligent, talented, and likable. People were drawn to him. But what good was that when he felt so empty, so tired? He needed answers. He needed to know why his body was betraying him.

The doctors didn’t have answers. They ran tests, but nothing came back conclusive. Some said it was stress. Others hinted at irritable bowel syndrome. But Paul knew it was more than that. He could feel it in his gut, quite literally.

He sighed and looked out the window again. The street was still empty. He wanted to scream, to fight, to do something, anything. But all he could do was sit and wait for the next wave of exhaustion to pass.

He needed answers. He needed them now.

Chapter 2: The Weight of Expectations

Years had passed since Paul first felt the weight of his health pressing down on him. He had managed to build a life, though it often felt like he was doing it with one hand tied behind his back. He married, and together with his wife, they had two beautiful children. The kids were the light in his life, their laughter a brief respite from the exhaustion that seemed to shadow him daily.

Paul was moderately successful in business. He worked hard despite the tiredness that clung to him like a shroud. He provided for his family, bought a modest suburban house—though it was still mortgaged—and ensured his children received the best education money could buy. They went to good schools, the kind that promised a bright future. He drove a nice car, nothing too flashy, but reliable and comfortable. On the outside, everything seemed fine.

But inside, Paul was struggling. The same tiredness that had plagued him as a child never left him. It was always there, a constant companion. No matter how much he achieved, it was never enough, not for him or his wife. She loved him but didn’t understand why he wasn’t doing more. She saw his intelligence and potential, which frustrated her that he wasn’t reaching them. Sometimes, she got angry. She’d say things in the heat of the moment, words that cut deep, even if she didn’t mean them.

Paul knew she was right. He was capable of so much more. He was smart, sharper than most. People expected more from him—his colleagues, friends, even his wife. They couldn’t see the battle he fought every day to get out of bed, keep going, and maintain the life he had built. The tiredness was always there, whispering in his ear, telling him to give up, rest, and stop trying so hard. But he couldn’t. He had a family to support and responsibilities to uphold. And so, he kept pushing, day after day.

As the years went by, the pressure mounted. The more he achieved, the more he felt he was failing. Success came, but it was hollow. He should have been proud and satisfied, but instead, he felt trapped—trapped by his own body, by the expectations of others, and by the life he had built. He began to retreat, the frustration and disappointment gnawing at him from the inside.

Paul found solace in wine. At first, it was just a glass or two in the evening to unwind after a long day. But as time passed, it became more. A glass turned into a bottle, sometimes more. The wine dulled the edges of his pain and numbed the constant ache in his body and mind. It became his way of coping, of silencing the voice in his head that told him he wasn’t good enough.

His wife noticed. She didn’t say much at first; she just watched him with concern. But as his drinking grew, so did the tension between them. She tried to talk to him and understand what was happening, but Paul couldn’t find the words to explain. How could he tell her he felt like a failure and was drowning in a sea of unmet expectations? How could he make her understand the exhaustion that had been his lifelong companion?

Instead, he drank more. It was easier than facing the truth. The wine became a crutch, something to lean on when the weight of his life became too much to bear. He knew it wasn’t the answer, but it was the only thing that made him feel better, even for a little while.

The years continued to pass, and Paul’s life went on. He was still a good father and provided for his family, but the spark that once drove him was fading. He was tired, more tired than ever. His success felt like a burden, something that only highlighted how much more he could have done if only he had the strength.

Paul knew he was losing himself but didn’t know how to stop. The expectations of others weighed on him like a ton of bricks, and the wine was the only thing that made it bearable. But deep down, he knew it was only making things worse. He was stuck in a cycle, one that he couldn’t seem to break.

Chapter 3: Father

Paul was 53 now. The years had slipped by, each one a mirror of the last. Nothing had changed, not really. The tiredness that had plagued him in his youth was still a constant, unwelcome companion. The wine was still there, too, a nightly ritual that numbed the edges of his weariness and the dull ache of disappointment. He had built a life but felt he had little control over it. Expectations had turned into expenditures, and the money was always gone before he made it.

Mortgage payments, school fees, and the cost of living piled up, each expense a reminder of the expectations he was never quite able to meet.

And still, the tiredness didn’t go away. He woke up every morning with the same heaviness and dread of another day he had to get through. The wine helped, but only so much. It dulled the pain, but it didn’t erase it. Paul was stuck, caught in a cycle that he couldn’t break.

Three years ago, his father had developed dementia. It came on suddenly, a rapid decline that took everyone by surprise. But what stood out to Paul more than anything was the gut struggle that accompanied it. His father had bouts of seemingly unstoppable diarrhoea, much like the ones Paul himself had endured for years. The doctors didn’t have answers. They called it part of the dementia, but Paul wasn’t so sure.

He watched as his father faded away, the once-strong man reduced to a frail shell of his former self. The gut problems grew worse as the dementia progressed. It was as if his father’s body was betraying him from the inside out. And then, one day, he was gone.

The loss hit Paul hard, not just because he had lost his father, but because it forced him to confront something he had been avoiding for years. He began to think that maybe his gut problems were more than just a fluke, more than just bad luck or stress. Maybe they were hereditary. The thought gnawed at him, especially when he remembered that his grandfather had also died from gut issues—dysentery, at the age of 33.

Paul kept reverting to the idea that his family’s gut issues were connected. A defective microbiome, passed down through generations, wreaks havoc on their bodies and minds. The thought scared him, but it also made a kind of sense. His gut had never been right. The constant tiredness, the diarrhoea, the frustration—it all seemed to fit.

But life didn’t stop just because Paul had a new theory. The demands of everyday life kept him from pursuing the thought too far. Work was stressful, and the pressure to provide for his family never rose. There was always something that needed his attention, something more pressing than his health. And so, the thought of a gut problem, of a possible solution, was pushed to the back of his mind.

Yet it never went away. It lingered there, in the quiet moments when Paul was alone with his thoughts. It whispered to him as he poured another glass of wine or lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling. The idea that his gut was to blame, that it had been the root of his struggles all along, was impossible to ignore.

But Paul didn’t know what to do with that knowledge. He was too tired to search for answers, too burdened by the weight of his responsibilities. For most of his life, he felt trapped.

And so Paul continued, living daily and doing what he could to keep his family afloat. But the questions remained unanswered and persistent, a reminder of the battle he had been fighting for as long as he could remember.

Chapter 4: Japan

Paul had spent years trying to find relief. He had tried everything—antacids, herbal remedies, probiotics, a gluten-free diet, and countless other treatments. Each new remedy came with hope, but the relief was always temporary. The cycle never broke. The same tiredness and gut problems would return no matter what he did. Stress, especially from business, had a way of unravelling his progress. One bad day at work, one sleepless night, and his “healthy” routine would disappear as if it had never existed.

During one of these low points, his wife suggested they visit Japan. She wanted to travel as a family, to take a break from the relentless grind of everyday life. Paul didn’t like the idea at first. He was busy with the business, and leaving it all behind for 11 days seemed impossible. But his wife was persistent, and after much convincing, Paul finally agreed.

The trip to Japan was a welcome change. The country was beautiful, and the culture was rich and fascinating. Paul found himself enjoying the experience more than he had expected. They visited temples and gardens and walked through bustling cities and quiet countryside. The new, exciting places they explored had a profound effect on Paul. Japan’s spirituality resonated with him, something deep and calming that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

But the real turning point of the journey wasn’t a temple or a shrine. It was a supermarket. One day, as they wandered through the aisles of a local store, Paul was struck by what he saw. A wall dedicated entirely to probiotic and prebiotic drinks was among the neatly arranged products. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. Back home, he could only find a few varieties, usually hidden away in the corner of a health food store. But here, in Japan, there were dozens of options, each promising to improve gut health.

Paul felt a spark of excitement. He bought several different kinds, eager to try them all. Being an early riser, he would sneak out of the hotel each morning, returning with three or four different probiotic drinks. He would sit quietly and devour them, savouring each one. For the first time in years, Paul felt great. His gut felt calm, his energy levels rose, and the tiredness that had plagued him for so long began to lift.

The days in Japan he was passed quickly, too quickly for Paul’s liking. He didn’t want to leave, not when he finally felt like he was onto something. But the time came to return home to Australia, and with a heavy heart, Paul packed his bags.

Back home, the old routine quickly resumed. There were bills to pay, business to attend to, and the stress of daily life to manage. But something had changed in Paul. The hope that had been rekindled in Japan didn’t fade. The thoughts of fixing his microbiome were present almost daily, a persistent reminder of what he had discovered.

Paul knew that his journey was far from over. The road ahead would be difficult, filled with challenges he had faced. But he felt he was on the right path for the first time in a long time. Japan had given him more than just a pleasant holiday; it had given him hope. And that hope was enough to keep him going.

Chapter 5: The Beginning of a Long Road

Paul knew something had to change. Japan had given him a glimpse of what life could be like, and he wasn’t willing to let that go. Slowly, he began making small but meaningful changes, each a step toward something better.

He started reading about the microbiome. It was fascinating how something so small could have such a massive impact on his life. The more he read, the more he understood the delicate balance in his gut and how years of poor choices had likely thrown that balance into chaos. He learned about the importance of fibre and how different fibre types could feed the good bacteria in his gut. He began to avoid refined and processed foods, cutting down on sugars that only fueled the bad bacteria.

Alcohol, too, came under scrutiny. Paul had always known, deep down, that his drinking wasn’t helping. But now, he had the knowledge to back up that gut feeling. He started drinking less, and he chose organic, preservative-free wine when he did drink. It wasn’t easy, but it felt right. He could already feel the difference.

Probiotics became a daily ritual. It was no longer just something he tried on a whim but a deliberate choice, a commitment to giving his body what it needed. He took them every morning, just like he had in Japan. Each time, it felt like a small victory.

Paul also began to envision a more active lifestyle. He knew exercise was important, and though his energy was still low, he found that certain exercises, like sit-ups, seemed to help. They made him feel more robust, more in control. It was a start, and for Paul, that was enough.

But this was just the beginning. Paul knew that the road ahead would be long and filled with challenges. He had spent years fighting his body and was now learning to work with it instead. There was no quick fix, no magic solution. It was just the slow, steady process of rebuilding his health from the ground up.

As Paul sat down one evening, sipping a small glass of his preservative-free wine, he felt a quiet determination. He wasn’t cured, not by a long shot. But he was on the path. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like he had a future worth fighting for.

The journey was far from over—it was just beginning. But Paul was ready. He had hope and a plan, and he knew he could face whatever came next.

The story, like Paul’s journey, is far from complete. It’s an open-ended question, a cliffhanger that leaves Paul standing on the edge of a long road, looking out into the unknown. What lies ahead? Only time will tell. But one thing is certain: Paul is ready to take the next step.