by E. G. Scott
“How are you feeling, Lucy?” I say gently as I move around the table and push the point into the crook of her left arm.
“When are you putting the next one in?” she questions nervously.
“Already done. You didn’t even notice. How does it feel so far?” I ask her.
“Strange. Tingly. Does that mean it’s working?” she responds.
“Tingling can indicate that your qi—your energy flow—is being moved along, which is the goal. So you are doing great.” I know based on her consult interview earlier that she is highly self-critical and suffering from majorly low self-esteem, two character traits that can manifest physiologically in a number of insidious ways.
“Oh good. My body doesn’t always cooperate when I introduce it to new things. Mainly exercise or dieting.” She releases a laugh that sounds more wounded than amused and self-consciously puts her right arm over her midsection. Body-image issues are very apparent in her. There is a lot to work on here; she is the kind of challenging patient I like.
“The wonderful thing about acupuncture is that you don’t have to do much. Just lie back, breathe deeply, and let me do the hard part.”
Once I explained my negative self-talk at the door when she was arriving at the same time as I was, we had an awkward laugh and she graciously let me properly introduce myself before we got started. It was not how I wanted to begin with a new client, and I’m lucky she has a sense of humor.
“How does it actually work? I tried to do some research online, but you know how unreliable the Internet can be.” She groans. “I try to stay offline as much as possible, so I decided to hold off and ask the professional. I’m also hopeless with anything computer related.”
“Smart thinking. Googling anything is often more frightening than educational. I can recommend some great books about acupuncture if you are interested.”
“Sure. I love to read.”
“Great. I’ll write them down for you before you leave.” I put a needle in her third eye, the space between her eyebrows, which is an incredibly calming point.
“Basically, we are made up of energy, and sometimes what is happening in our heads, coupled with our diet and lifestyle choices, can negatively affect our bodies’ ability to connect all this powerful energy flow, and things get blocked. In Chinese medicine, organs correlate to particular emotions. Stored-up trauma from our lives can accumulate and manifest in a number of physical ailments. Everyday stresses and daily pollutants, from the air we breathe to the food we put in our bodies to the toxic people we encounter, can overload our systems. All of these factors add up and our organs can’t do their jobs fully, so problems arise. The needles help open your pathways.” I’ve moved to her large intestine meridian. “If our body is a racetrack of energy, the places where energy gets blocked are like little car accidents along the way. I use the needles to clear the road and keep everything moving smoothly.”
She seems impressed with my explanation. Her breathing has deepened and her nervous system has calmed. I am happy that she is reacting so positively, and so quickly.
“How are the needles feeling so far? Anything bothering you? Any aching or sharp pains?”
“I’m great, actually. I can barely feel them going in, and once they are, I feel a nice body buzz. Like I’m in one of those massage chairs at the nail salon, but on a low setting.”
“That is a great metaphor! I might have to use it.”
She’s pleased. “Of course. Use away.”
I don’t have my next needle completely out of its plastic casing when I hear the front door buzzer. Damn. Since Rachel isn’t in, and we don’t have the budget for a receptionist these days, I can either ignore it or interrupt my session, which I’d rather not do with a new patient. I decide to ignore it and pull the needle the rest of the way out. The buzzer sounds again and is followed by a pretty aggressive knock. Whoever it is clearly is not going away. My stomach flips. I don’t have any other patients today, and according to the schedule, neither does Rachel. It has to be Peter. My heart does a triple axel.
“Lucy, I’m so sorry. Would you excuse me for a minute? I wasn’t expecting anyone. I should go check and see who it is.” I put the still-sheathed needle on the side table.
“No problem,” she replies amicably.
I slip out the door and make my way past our shared “reception area,” which is simply an IKEA desk topped with a box of Kleenex, my laptop, and a wood-and-stone Cairn fountain. When I open the door, my eyes are met with jade irises so striking that a small current of electricity travels from the top of my head to my feet. It’s the man from earlier. And he clearly is not Peter from this angle. Disappointment envelops me.
“Hi. Can I help you?” I stay squarely in the doorway so he doesn’t enter the office.
“Hi. I’m Jack.” He reaches his hand out confidently. I peg him as a salesman, but I’m not sure what he’s selling yet. I give him a small friendly wave instead.
“I’d shake your hand, but I’m treating someone right now.”
He looks me up and down quickly and corrects himself by casting a laser focus on my face. “Charlotte?” he asks.
“Have we met?”
“Nope, just a lucky guess.” From each of his hands, he waves our two business cards, which live in two slots next to our entrance door. He looks at each of our cards again and chuckles. “My odds were good.”
“Are you looking for Rachel?” I shift to lean on the door frame to further my not inviting him inside, trying not to let the impatience in my body escape into my words.
“Maybe? Or maybe I’m looking for you?” He lets that sink in and is clearly pleased when I don’t respond right away aside from looking away from him quickly.
Normally, I’d be more repelled by his brashness, but he’s got sexual energy and appeal wafting off of him that I’m picking up on pretty strongly. I’m surprised by how much I’m reacting to this complete stranger standing a few feet away from me, in the midst of my disappointment.
I clear my throat. “Do you have an appointment with Rachel?” It’s possible that he was a late add and she didn’t put him into the system, or one of them got the day or time mixed up.
“No. But I was walking by—I’ve passed your office a number of times, actually—I like the China Panda lunch special—and finally decided to come in. I think you, or Rachel, might be exactly what I need to feel better.” His smile is crooked, and on a less handsome man, it could look more like a case of dental neglect.
I’m struggling to parse innuendo from confidence. He could easily be a creep who only saw “massage” on the door, totally disregarded the other words, “reflexologist,” “acupuncturist,” and “Reiki healer,” and slithered in thinking he would get a hand job after his dim sum. Sadly, it wouldn’t be the first time.
“Well, I’m actually with a patient right now, but if you want to come back in half an hour, I could help you make an appointment. Were you looking for a sports massage?” I’m not getting an openness-to-Eastern-modalities vibe from him. His clothing and haircut paint more ex–lacrosse player turned broker type. Not my type in any realm of my life, yet he is annoyingly magnetic. I check myself. I am not available. I am deeply in love with my boyfriend.
“What do you do?” He’s kept eye contact well enough and his body language is open and nonthreatening, but there’s something about him that isn’t sitting right with me.
“Acupuncture and Reiki.”
His face draws into an expression of thoughtfulness, and he tugs at an invisible beard for effect. He reminds me of someone from my past, but I can’t figure out who.
“Force of habit. I actually had a beard up until last week, but I gave myself a makeover. I feel naked without it.”
I’d rather not think of this man naked, but of course that is where my mind goes. I quickly drop that image and think about Peter’s beard. How mu
ch I’ve thought about kissing him in the last month. I hear Lucy cough and shift on the bed from behind the closed door. The office is smaller than ideal, but it is what I can afford right now.
“Sorry. I really need to get back to my patient.”
“Patient? Or client?” His face hardens momentarily before he softens into a smile when he sees my posture go from neutral to rigid fast.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, sorry. No disrespect. Wasn’t sure how that worked with non-MDs.” He grins.
Technically, I’m still an MD, but I won’t correct him. His charm has jumped the shark and I’m ready to be free of him. I used to only spend my days with men like him. Working alongside, sleeping next to. Loving and fearing. I frown and I can see him register this change in me.
“I apologize. I offended you. I am trying to work on that.”
I don’t take the bait. I don’t need to hear about whatever this man is working on in himself. I’m retired from worrying about the self-improvements of charming but flawed men.
“No problem. Why don’t you check out our website and you can book an appointment that way.” I make no attempt to line my tone to sound particularly inviting. He’s fully under my skin and I’m not liking it.
“Maybe you can even fit me in this afternoon?” The cognitive dissonance between my distaste at his arrogance and the curiosity of what his body would feel like against mine is disorienting.
“I’ll have to look at my schedule for this afternoon, but I don’t believe I have any openings.” The practical side of me is yelling that not only do I have openings, but I desperately need to fill my dwindling patient roster if I want to stay in business. All the other parts of me are preferring to ignore the conflicting attraction-and-aversion piece, as I’m really not in the mood to endure low-level harassment from this dude in the form of James Spader in Pretty in Pink. That’s it! I’m relieved to land on who his behavior is reminding me of, and now that I have, I don’t know if I can see him any other way.
“You can also book online,” I reiterate.
“I prefer to live my life offline,” he says without a trace of irony and runs a hand through his hair and moves to leave, having the last words. “See you later, then. Looking forward to it.” He turns on his heels and makes his way in the direction of the China Panda. He’s clearly a man who doesn’t take no for an answer.
My least favorite kind.
* * *
“I’m so sorry about that, Lucy.” She rolls her head toward me, a smile settled across her face. I wash my hands at the small sink to the right of the door before resuming my position next to her.
“No problem. I was just getting in some much-needed me time. Nice to just be in my head for a change.”
I’m relieved that this new patient is seemingly very laid-back given her self-described anxiety. Usually self-critical and low self-esteemed people don’t take to disruptions easily. But who knows what she’s concealing in the interest of making a good first impression. “That’s great. Glad you had some good alone time. Do you feel ready for some more needles?” She takes my face in for a long time, and I feel a blip of déjà vu. She nods and smiles and returns her gaze to the ceiling.
“I’m lucky to have stumbled onto your practice online. I’m so glad I didn’t take those Yelp reviews to heart; otherwise, I really would have missed out.”
Her comment seems well-intentioned, but it stings. I’ve likely lost a lot of potential new business because of the scathing online reviews, but I’ve long given up on trying to get them taken down. I gave up once I realized that for every screed I successfully got removed, two more would crop up in a futile and hateful game of Whac-A-Mole. All I can do is preserve the few loyal patients I have and cultivate the new ones, like Lucy, into hopefully becoming regulars.
“You have very steady hands! I guess that is important in your line of work.”
I nearly mention my former life, when my steady hands were my biggest asset. I hold back, knowing that opening that topic of conversation is potentially riskier than satisfying my ego.
“Yes. Steady hands are very useful. But mostly, it’s about having an open mind and a love for healing. I’m especially passionate about helping people who haven’t been able to get relief from Western medicine.”
“Amen.” She closes her eyes in response.
“It sounds like that has been your experience.” I know I’m leading the witness, but I want to know more about what has brought her here, and Lucy’s been tentative with the details so far. I can sense that there is a lot more under the surface.
She nods thoughtfully as I begin placing needles along her lung channel. She described depression, lack of motivation, and body-image issues during her consult, which can all be a result of stagnant energy flow in the areas where grief and loneliness reside.
“Unfortunately, I haven’t had a great track record with traditional doctors. I gave up on trying with them. It was very discouraging when I was at my sickest, but I’ve come to peace with it. For a bunch of know-it-alls, they struggle a lot with the basics, like how to treat patients as people, not just symptoms.”
I think about how much this statement applies to me, but in a very different context. I remain silent, and happily, she continues emerging from her shell. Often needles are very effective in drawing introverted people out.
“No use in blaming others for not being able to make you feel better. That’s what my mother always used to tell me, anyway.” She sighs. I get the impression that this conclusion has not been easily won for Lucy.
“Very wise. Some people live their whole lives without learning that.”
If I’m lucky enough that she returns, I’m sure I’ll be learning a lot more about her. People tend to increasingly open up on the table the longer they come to me. My friend Annelise has told me that I’m more effective than her therapist with my “sharp points, soft words, and healing vibes.”
“All you can really do is take matters into your own hands,” Lucy says with more confidence than I’ve yet heard from her.
“Absolutely.” I like her. She’s got good, positive energy underneath the pain. Something I can relate to and that I’ve been trying to unearth hourly. But my sadness keeps creeping back into the lead. I lean over her and put a needle in her pericardium point and feel the channel open intensely.
“Whoa!” she cries out. “What was that?”
“Are you okay? Was it painful?” I take a step back to give her some space. The first major opening can be overwhelming for patients.
“No. It was just . . . wow. Like a jolt of energy through my whole body. All that from one little needle?” She is wide-eyed.
“It’s a point that correlates to the protective casing around your heart called the pericardium, which, among other things, protects it from overwhelming emotions. It’s a very powerful and moving point in acupuncture.” I lean farther over her to insert another needle into one of her large intestine points, which opens significantly as well.
“Jesus! What was that one?”
“Your stomach channel—which can be related to anger, among other things.”
“Hmm. Funny. I’m not an angry person,” she says amicably.
I see her looking at the medallion Peter sent to me for my birthday a couple of months ago. It has come out of my shirt and is hovering above her heart area.
“Pretty! Is that an heirloom? It looks old . . . but in a good way!” We both laugh.
“Actually, it’s from my boyfriend. I should ask him if it’s an heirloom.” I pause from needling and take the copper coin in my hand, looking at it for the hundredth time.
“What does it mean?” she asks. My fingers trace the raised metal. I have gotten into the habit of absently fiddling with it when I’m daydreaming so often that I sometimes wonder if I’m going to rub the Rod of Asclepius from the metal completely.<
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“It symbolizes health, healing, and peace.” She smiles. Peter sent it at the height of my being angry at him, and once I unwrapped it, I couldn’t stay mad. It was so thoughtful. He appreciates how much the aspects of my old life are still a crucial part of me, and how I want to heal myself as much as others. He gets me.
I place the necklace back in my shirt and take a pump of Purell between my palms before I resume with her needles.
“Well, it’s lovely. And so great that you have a man in your life who gives you nice things. I never had one who really got the art of gift giving. I only got presents in the form of apologies.” I don’t share with her that the necklace was exactly that. I’ve moved on, so there is no need to dredge up the negative. She continues. “I’ve all but given up on men.” She sighs into a laugh. I sense more resigned sadness than humor.
“I understand. I’d all but given up too when I met Peter. Funny how that happens.”
“That is always the way, isn’t it?” She flutters her eyes open. “Do you treat him?” She nods in the direction of the needle I’ve just inserted along her inner elbow and twisted slightly. “Needles-wise, I mean.”
“I don’t. As a general rule, I don’t treat romantic partners or family members.” I smile at the thought of having Peter on my table. I wonder if that will ever be a possibility. My mind shifts to an image of treating Mom, and I cringe. Luckily she’s just as averse to my treating her as I am, one of the rare things we agree on.
“What about friends?” she asks.
“Depends on the friend, but yes, generally I’ll treat friends,” I respond lightly.
“Good to have boundaries and keep business and pleasure separate. I’ve seen the opposite situation end badly more than once,” she says knowingly.
I reflexively think about my time with Henry and going from protégée to romantic partner. I’m batting a thousand with the negative thoughts today.