Accupuncture was one of the first things on my list of New Things To Try, and not purely for alphabetical reasons. I’m a fairly western-thinking guy, but I do think there’s some validity in opening one’s mind to other possibilities. Opening one’s skin seemed to be a bit more treacherous, but if it was good enough for a billion chinese, it was good enough for me.
I should have learned my lesson, however, in using Google Maps. It is excellent when you are looking for the closest business to your house. It is not, as I learned when I tried getting a Thai Massage, very good at telling you if it’s the best place to go.
What I found was the Oriental Acupuncture Clinic, which seemed to me to have everything I needed. It was Oriental, so there was authenticity. It was acupuncture, which is what I was going to try. And it was a clinic, which made it sound rather official. If it was called the Swedish Acupuncture Shack, I probably wouldn’t have gone. But I called up, made an appointment, and went.
When i walked in, i found what looked less like a clinic than a storehouse for dried herbs and fungii. Crossed with a hunting lodge. Crossed with a doctor’s office.
There were numerous deer heads and antlers on the walls, presumably felled by swift and effective pins to pressure points. There were racks and racks of herbs that seemed to follow the ancient theory that smelly equals effective. And against the all, partially obscured by bookshelves, was a mural of a forest scene, to put one in a tranquil mood. Also, there was a fax machine, in case one wanted to fax one’s tranquil mood to a friend or relative.
A pleasant chinese man who did not speak much english greeted me, and when it was worked out with hand-gestures that I was there for the appointment, he brought me to Dr. Han. Dr. Han was a pleasant chinese woman who did not speak very much english. Both Dr. Han and the pleasant chinese man were exceedingly polite, but were strangely comfortable touching me, examining my hands, head, and back without so much as a hello.
I explained to Dr. Han that my back often hurt. She said, “Com po po?”
I said, “Sorry, what?”
She said, “Com po po?”
I said, feeling guilty, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
She mimed typing. “Com po po?”
“Oh, computer! Yes! Yes I spend a lot of time on the computer! Yes!”
Soon we were both grinning and nodding happily. Computer! Yes! This was the sort of doctor-patient bond that western medicine doesn’t’ offer!
Dr. Han brought me into the the back, where another woman also sat. It was unclear if this other woman was an employee or patient or just a friend, only that Dr. Han spoke to her often and rapidly about, I can only assume, me.
Dr. Han took my blood pressure, rolled up my sleeves, and then proceeded to point out a particularly lovely painting of a tiger on the wall. “Look!” she said, so I looked, certain that the tiger painting would reveal some hidden eastern secrets of power and stealth. Instead it was just Dr. Han distracting me so she could jab a needle in my arm.
A word on this. What does somebody jabbing a needle in your arm feel like? I can only explain it this way: it feels just like somebody jabbing a needle in your arm.
She put another needly in between two fingers, and then one in my back and two in my head. She had me hold my arm over my heart, as if I were reciting the pledge of allegiance. Then she left me for several minutes as she spoke with her friend/colleague/relative/co-conspirator about what I can only once again assume was me.
During this time my arm began to feel cold, and I had a brief but scary moment where I thought that I might keel over from some misplaced needles, and instead of calling an ambulance Dr. Han would just continue to put more needles into me. This passed.
Eventually Dr. Han took the needles out. She tapped at my back and said, “Many pain, long time.” I agreed. I do not know why I agreed with her, because I have no idea what she was trying to say. But I nodded and said, “Yes! Many pain, long time!”
Dr. Han then said that she would do cupping. Again, I nodded and agreed, because apparently when faced with a language barrier I become a bobblehead doll. So Dr. Han affixed cups to my back, which were affixed to a machine (it was behind me, but I’m willing to bet it was a 1967 Hoover Sux-All) and proceed to give me back hickies. Multiple back hickies. The theory behind this is that it brings the blood to the surface of the skin. Which is, what we call in the west, a bruise.
Dr. Han noticed my tattoo from Day 1 of the All New Year. She said, proudly, “Three… Six… Five!”
After all was said and done, Dr. Han suggested I come back for another treatment in a few months. I thanked her and went on my way. I cannot say I got much from the experience - perhaps my pain was too general, or perhaps the language barrier was too great to fully appreciate and understand what was happening. I do think Dr. Han is a professional woman, and I’m sure very skilled in her practice, but it just didn’t do anything for me. Honestly, my arm was even a little sore for the rest of the day and, as I type this, my back still hurts.
But I did get something out of the deal. A back crop-cirlced with hickies.
