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Stick a needle in me, I'm done. For five months I have waited, often without remembering that I was waiting, for my appointment. I had decided to explore the possibilities of more alternative forms of medicine. I had grown tired of the absence of solutions in modern medicine, a hole stuffed with prescriptions and medication that don't quite fill the void of need. Massage is a tool I had already embraced. I trained in massage therapy for a year and learned about the good it can do, and the harm to avoid. I have seen the benefits of massage in my own life, even just in terms of what human touch can do. And now I have had three different people, completely unsolicited, mention that I would benefit from acupuncture, specifically from Dr. Oh.I went to Dr. Oh with an open mind. I knew that he was trained in both Eastern and Western medicine, and that he was the best of the best, at least in terms of acupuncture, in this area. A short LRT ride and a 3-block walk in blowing snow, shin deep, got me there. While waiting at reception, a short round little Chinese man in a lab coat passed me, nodded and asked how I was. The usual courtesies were exchanged and he proceeded down the hallway. Suddenly he started and stopped, as if realizing something, and came back to shake my hand. "I'm Dr. Oh," he declared, and then wandered unhurriedly back down the hall. I sat in his waiting room for a short while. It was clean and neat and had comfortable chairs. The walls were decorated with paintings of naked white children, warming themselves by a fire or playing hide and seek, and more traditional Chinese paintings, sweeping black brushstrokes inking out an umbrella or peacock. An article about Gandhi adorned one wall, a small statue of Buddha reposed roundly in a corner, and flowers filled every empty surface. Soon I was whisked into his office to wait. It was a beautiful and peaceful room, designed to instill both confidence and relaxation. The wall behind me held the open door that let me in, and a narrow shelf filled with medical texts and knickknacks. The wall to the left bore a dozen diplomas, each indicating further prestige and higher qualifications than the last. The wall to my right wore a single framed print of large circling fish painted in a wealth of colors never worn by living scales. The desk held the usual assortment of papers, files, clocks, and writing utensils that you come to expect on a doctor's desk. One corner was adorned by a tall simple vase of dainty red miniature carnations, and an enormous bouquet of yellow and purple lilies, red gerberas, and slinking green loops of ivy gave an explosion of color to the other. The commonplace items only served to increase the shock of a small blue box of new needles, packaged and lined up ready for use, and a pincushion worth of discarded needles jumbled in a large round goblet. Other devices, whose purpose I could only guess at, perched on the corner. The real focus of the room was the back wall, on the doctor's side of the desk. The bay window was lined by a broad and solid shelf-like block of wood wider than my forearm is long. It was filled and covered by every imaginable type of item. Framed photos including some unknown person's Chinese wedding, a man with bulging biceps proudly displaying an enormous fish, a smiling graduation photo and a multitude of others lined the front of the shelf. Small bronze statues sat in the place of honor, front and center, their holy faces unaffected by the pride of position. A stack of newspapers and articles was nearly buried in knickknacks and blooms. And behind, in between, in front and woven through it all was a tapestry of plants and flowers, most of which I couldn't even name. A giant white lily with its broad grass-like leaves reached for the sky while delicate white trumpets spattered with violet leaned gracefully, benevolently over the statues below. Two bamboo-like plants squatted solidly in corners and a small snaky cactus draped its coils over the edge of the shelf and slithered towards the floor. A graceful tree, with leaves too perfect to be real but with living lichen on its bark, wound its way gracefully from floor to ceiling bending gently towards the light that leaked through the closed blinds. In that peace I waited, initially starting anxiously every time I heard someone pass the open door behind me but soon relaxing in the casual harmony of the room. I was startled when Dr. Oh slid open a door that I hadn't even noticed on the wall of diplomas and walked over to close the other door behind me. "I knew we would meet again," he said with a laugh that I echoed. He quickly took my medical history, relating to my asthma and allergic rhinitis. His voice was soft, slow and gravelly, heavily accented with his native tongue. Soon he was seated beside me. "I can help you," he said, gently taking my hand. He examined both sides of each hand, what he found there I don't know and he didn't tell. He bent back my right thumb and declared, "You have good intuition." My left thumb brought the pronouncement, "You don't like to be bossy, but sometimes you have to be." My thumbs told him that? At this point I am still skeptical. He said to stick out my tongue: okay we're back to a more normal doctor-patient situation now. He looked at my tongue and said I have lots of phlegm in my lungs. He then looked at my ears (the pinnae, the outsides, not the insides). The left one told him, if ears can speak, that I have back problems and neck problems. The right told him that I have back problems, neck problems, hip problems and stomach problems, gas (pardon?). I go to a chiropractor once a week for my back, neck and hip. Specifically my right hip is bad. Gas is also a side effect of lactose intolerance, my stomach problem that I control fairly well. NONE of these things were mentioned in my medical history: there is really no way he could have known. The only thing he missed in my major physical pains and inconveniences is my feet. That's pretty damn good for just looking at my ears, I think. Then came the needles. One in the center of my forehead, two in my upper lip on either side of my nose, three in my chest (one center, one below each collarbone) and three to match in the back, one in each forearm just below the elbow, five in each knee. Each needle was inserted with confidence, not slid into the skin like stealing blood but flicked in with an authoritative finger. Then things got strange. His assistant brought in six empty baby food jars. Dr. Oh took some alcohol swabs, held them in the end of his scissors and set them on fire. He then inserted the flaming bits into each jar and suctioned the jars to my chest and back, one over each needle. (Don't try this at home kids!) His assistant wrapped me with a scarf as Dr. Oh shuffled out the door telling me when to visit again and to pick up some Chinese herbs at the front when I left. The assistant hooked tiny alligator clips onto the needles in my knees and I sat for fifteen minutes in the dark with electrical pulses running through my knees. I couldn't resist playing with my new whiskers while I waited. If I crossed my eyes and looked down my nose I could see what effect the muscles in my face had on my new animal parts. Flaring my nostrils caused the needles to spread suddenly apart, testing the air. Pursing my lips sent the whiskers shooting for the sky, almost up my nose. I soon had a huge giggling fit imagining what I must look like: no socks, no shoes, pants rolled up, my knees looking like a teenage porcupine with wires and alligator clips instead of piercings. My shirt is off and is held in front of my bare chest by pincushion arms. My chest and back are rapidly developing giant baby food jar sized hickies as if some lust-crazed, suction-cupped alien monster had attacked me, but you can't see this because it is covered by the beige fleece scarf which is draped over my shoulders like a faux-fur coat. A needle projects from the center of my forehead and vibrates like a plucked string or a car antenna in a high wind every time I move my head. Meanwhile I'm enhancing the effect by crossing my eyes, flaring my nostrils and pointing my whiskers at everything in sight. Despite how ridiculous it all felt, and how painful parts of it were, I already feel better. My lungs just want to fill with air, and I'm breathing more deeply than before. I feel lighter, somehow. My sinuses feel somewhat better; I can smell more (yes I'm wearing deodorant) and it feels as if the blockage inside my head is melting (no I don't mean my brain). Dr. Oh even said that he should be able to get rid of some of the dark circles under my eyes, which I've had for as long as I can remember and which worsened when I got mono. I'm just going to keep going back for the rest of my needles and hickies, and keep taking my green M & M herbal pills with warm water until these benefits are here to stay.
2004-01-31 || 3:11 p.m. |
