Surely you mean acu-FUN-cture

photo by ~ggvic~

I’ve had a lingering interest in acupuncture for quite awhile now. But it wasn’t until I heard that I could actually afford it that I began thinking seriously about it. My friend, Jay, told me about the local acupuncture school (Oregon College of Oriental Medicine) where students practice under the supervision of trained professionals. I thought about it, but then had reservations. While discussing these reservations with some friends I said that I thought I’d be fine with needles hanging out in my back and on my arms. But Jay was describing the needles in his ears and face and that freaked me out. We were in the car as this discussion took place, so I couldn’t really turn around and look at my friends’ faces, but one of them let out one of those “Uhhhhhhh” that makes me think he was probably about to roll his eyes at me.

“That makes no sense,” He said.

“Why? The ear is so sensitive and the face–I just can’t.”

“For someone who has ear and lip piercings, not to mention tattoos, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Oh yeah.”

And that’s how I shook off the weirdness of it. I have had needles in my ears, my face, my hips, my ankles, and even my nipples. Acupuncture could not be weirder than that.

And it wasn’t. I made an appointment (they had one available the same day). I walked in and immediately began fidgeting. Because that’s what I do when I’m a little nervous. After filling out four separate forms and signing several disclosure notices I met Robin, my acupuncturist, and another intern there to observe. They led me back into a room and started asking me questions. About everything. About my health, physical and mental. This involved a pretty deep discussion about my poop and pooping habits along with a question I’ve been asked a lot since childhood and hated every time.

“What day of your menstruation cycle are you on?”

“Ummm. Honestly, I have no idea.”

“Can you remember when you last menstruated.”

“Ummmm.”

This went on for awhile until we finally made something up. Because I can’t remember today’s date, much less a date from weeks ago. I should probably write this stuff down.

Finally, finally, we got on to the needle stuff. She had me lay back on a medical table, and I’ll be honest, I was thrilled to see no stirrups, because the only times in the past decade I’ve had to lay down on a medical table has involved stirrups and a lot of wrinkling my nose and exclaiming, “Oh, no! It’s fine! That doesn’t hurt at all!” I am a big, fat liar.

But this time I got to keep my clothes on and lay back, and they put on some music and put a pillow under my knees. Then they swabbed me down with alcohol in a few random places. These, I’d guessed correctly, were the points where needles would soon be. And then Robin leaned over the top of my head and plucked out a hair. Actually, it was a needle she put in, but it felt like she’d pulled out a hair and, for a minute, I believed it and wondered what was the purpose of that? Then she put another needle in my forehead, my wrist, hand, ankle, and on the top of my foot. That was it. She told me to lay back and relax. I tried, but this was so weird. And cool.

When we were done, she took the needles out and I put my shoes back on. I walked out of the clinic with my funny smelling herbs (to be infused like tea three times a day) and called John.

“How do you feel?” He said.

“Like me?”

Do I feel different? Not really, I feel like me. But I sure have felt like a happier, calmer version of me. And I will be going back tomorrow for my second appointment. But you know what? I haven’t done very well drinking those herbs. They just aren’t as fun as being gently stabbed with needles.