Getting Needled

When it comes to pain removal, I’m willing to try almost anything. So when a back pain started to flare up again recently, I was pretty open-minded. I’ve tried vigorous stretching. I’ve also had a series of chiropractic treatments. But nothing has worked. Which is how I found myself doing a Google Maps search for “Acupuncture” businesses in my area.

I had only one important criteria for choosing an acupuncturist off of Google—I wanted a real Chinese guy. From China. The worse English the better. I wasn’t looking for some New-Age acupuncturist who learned her trade in southern California and would make me listen to Michael Bolton while she pricked my back. Nor was I interested in a former junkie turned tattoo artist who had traded up their needles along the way. No, I wanted an old man, with calluses on his feet, who had learned the secrets of acupuncture deep in mainland China, gaining wisdom quietly passed down by wise and aged Oriental shamans over many generations.

Google showed me Master Lu’s Acupuncture. Now that sounded pretty good. I pictured the old blind guy on the Kung Fu shows I watched as a kid. But I called and it turns out Master Lu had a heart attack, sold his business and moved back to Taiwan. No good. Then I tried Yancheng Acupuncture and Herbal Clinic. Dr. Yancheng answered the phone. I didn’t understand a word he said. Perfect. I made an appointment for the next day.

Dr. Yancheng has a spartan office—a house which he has converted half into his place of business. I was led from the reception area into a back room which had his desk and several bookshelves full of glass bottles filled with many curious-looking herbs. But fortunately, no bongs around, so I figured he was probably ok. (I’m not sure exactly what an eye of gnewt looks like, but I think I saw one.)

Dr. Yancheng told me he was also an orthopedic doctor, but preferred acupuncture to conventional methods. When I described my problems, he assured me he could fix them, showing me a book written completely in Chinese as some sort of reassurance to me. Turns out that mine was problem #117. Or maybe he was recommending the Kung Pao Shrimp. Anyway, we went into a little room and I laid down on a massage table and he stuck me in the back with needles and hooked me up to an electric current for 15 minutes and then proceeded to twist, prod and massage my back and neck, cracking it vigorously, bending me roughly and poking at me mercilessly with his knife-like fingers.

“You very stiff,” I think he said. (Or maybe it was “Blue fairy skip,” I’m not sure.) He indicated that it would take a lot of work, then made the next two appointments while I imagined I heard a cash register in the background go “ka-ching,” a universal sound which I think originated in China. I told him that had been my first ever massage and he was surprised. If he had known that before, I think he would have been more gentle. Anyway, we talked for a while, and eventually I began to understand him a little. “Chinese medicine not like American medicine,” he said. American medicine want to fix you after you get sick. Chinese medicine want to help you never get sick.” Now that made perfect sense to me.

And next time I'm going to ask about the jars.