Acupuncture

It all started so innocently. Capriciously even.

I mentioned to our translator, Wencong, that I was possibly interested in getting some acupuncture. I have always been intrigued by it, I'm in China, seems like I should try it. He said he thought he knew of some places he would recommend and we left it there.

The next day he came in and said he had called a doctor who could see me Monday. (!) ok. Guess I'm getting acupuncture. My wrist has been bothering me for a long time, and doesn't seem to be getting better. I don't like taking anything and haven't seen any other doctor about it so acupuncture can't hurt.

Then began the complicated procedure of setting up an appointment with a doctor i don't know that doesn't speak English. Wencong called him and then called me and then called him back and then I called Wencong. It went on for an hour or more until I finally had an appointment at 8PM. But then it turned out that Wencong couldn't come to be my translator so he was hoping that the doctor had a translator.

Wencong gave me a card with a bunch of Chinese characters on it and told me to give it to the taxi driver. It was the doctor's name and address. If the taxi driver couldn't read it. Wencong's number was also there and the taxi driver could call him and get verbal directions.

This point in the exchange would have been a good time for a number of questions such as:
1. What is the doctor's name?
2. Can you give me his address in the Roman alphabet so that I know where it is?
3. Can you also give me the general location of his office so I know where I'm going?

I did not ask any of these questions. Instead I took my card and my knowledge of exactly 2 Chinese phrases (Hello, thank you) and i got a cab. Well, I do know a couple of costume terms but for getting around Shanghai, knowing how to say “iron pants” and “washing machine” seems less than helpful.

Here's the thing about being a foreigner in any place where you don't speak the language. At a certain point you make a decision that you will only spend your time in the hotel or in Westernized places that sell Westernized items and food and speak English, or you decide to get out there and find a way to figure it out.

With some trepidation, I've taken the second route and you do find ways to work around it. For instance, my guide book has maps in it with Chinese characters under the place and street names. I've discovered that I can get in a cab or show the map to someone on the street and they will know where I'm trying to go. This is also a good use of the two phases of Chinese that i know. I've spent hours of my day saying nothing but hello and thank you!

As an aside, I also bought a book here in China titled “Learn Chinese in 23 minutes.”

23

The time it takes me to write and post this blog could also make me proficient in Chinese. Which is totally laughable. The pronunciation alone will take me 23 years, not minutes. But it has a lot of commonly used words and phrases accompanied by pictures so it's been helpful.

Anyway, so I hand the card to the taxi driver and he reads it, then reads it again, then points at a character and asks me a question. I nod and smile and he reads it again and takes off.

Here is where I realize that I don't know where I'm going. At all. And I REALLY wish I had asked any or all of those questions above, but i just keep thinking that somehow it will work itself out. I have Wencong's number, the doctor is expecting me, it'll work out.

A long taxi ride later we are in Pudong, the Wall Street district across the river from the Shanghai city center. The driver pulls up at an alleyway, points to the number on the wall and I appear to be where I need to be. I look at the Chinese address on the card and see some numbers, some of which correspond to the ones on the wall, so I pay the driver his $3 and get out of the taxi.

I find the apartment building, the doctor has his practice in his home, but now I don't know where his actual apartment is. The number string is “6563102” with what looks like a B over the 3. There's no 31st floor and the building number is 656 so....

I walk in the building past a security guard sitting on a couch looking at a blank TV screen and see a woman in the lobby. I show her the card but she doesn't read so she just smiles and shrugs. I think maybe there's something on the third floor so I take the elevator up and wander around but don't find any numbers like that. So I go back down to the first floor and wander around. After a few elevator trips I realize I'll need some help and I go find the security guard. He looks at the card, tries to figure it out then puts on his shoes and walks out of the office and I follow him.

We go up to the 15th floor, he walks over to 1502 and bangs on the door and rings the bell several times. A naked Chinese man opens the door, in the dark, clearly having been woken up and dragged from his bed. And I'm thinking “oh, please don't let this be the doctor...” A long loud conversation ensues where the guard hands the card to the naked man who points to some characters and shakes his head. (whew!) and then his wife comes up and grabs the card and joins in the conversation.

Whatever she yells seems to make sense to the guard so we leave the naked man to his sleep. Other Chinese words it would have been helpful to know at this point are “So sorry to drag you out of bed but don't you put on pants before you answer the door??” Instead I said “Thank you” a few hundred times.

We go back to the first floor and around the corner. The guard bangs on 102, a small round man in a white jacket answers the door and looks at me and says “hello.” I say “doctor?” and he says “yes.” It turns out those are the only words he really knows in English but I was so grateful to have arrived and find him clothed...

The room is very small and there's an emaciated man getting treatment with approximately 2-3 hundred needles sticking out of his neck, back and shoulders. He looks Miserable. There's also the doctor, a translator (hooray) and several other people – patients? Nurses? Family members? Very unclear. One of them gives me tea to drink and then the doctor sees me.

He feels my wrist, asks questions about what hurts it, pokes and prods and seems very competent. He has a nice calm way about him. Through the translator - a delightful girl named Eco – he tells me that it's inflamed somehow between the bone and the covering of the bone. She laughs and struggles a lot with the medical terms but I get the gist. He also draws me a picture - to the intense amusement of everyone in the office who crowds around and criticizes his artistic skills and his perspective – showing a bump on the bone and tells me he needs to burst the swelling so it will go away. He says he'll use 5 needles and the translator, who clearly doesn't like pain or needles says “you're lucky! Only 5... not like him” and gestures to the emaciated man and makes a face.

So the doctor cleans my wrist and unrolls his package of needles, feels around and starts sticking them in. The pricks sting a little but when the needles seat way into my wrist, I can feel tingles in my fingers and up my arm. Once all 5 are in, the whole area of my wrist twitches a little every now and then. Very strange. I can clearly feel something going on. I have to leave them there for a half hour so I chat with the translator and watch the emaciated man endure his treatment and fiddle with the cigarette package in front of him. After half an hour, one of the women comes over the take the needles out and I feel the same stinging, tingling sensation when she takes them out as well as a rush of warmth up my arm.

The doctor comes up with a jar of some muddy looking salve, sticks his thumb in it and starts rubbing it over my wrist. He massages it in and then starts to really press on the swelling. A couple of minutes in it definitely hurts WAY more than it has for the past several months and I start to feel really dizzy and light headed and sick to my stomach. I concentrate very hard on breathing and not throwing up and the translator asks if I'm ok. I ask her if this reaction is normal and the doctor looks at me and says yes. The translator gestures to the salve and asks what it is and the doctor grins and says in English “Chinese Medicine” and everyone laughs. It has a very similar smell to this salve we used in Kung Fu that my instructor used to make and that stuff was amazing so I trust him.

So the doctor tells me not to wash my wrist for 2 hours to give the salve time to work and the needle holes time to close up and says I should come back on Thursday and to make sure I eat something before I see him to keep from feeling sick. We work out a time, the translator walks me out the door and helps me get a taxi and I go home.

Today, my wrist still hurts and I can still feel the swelling so let's see how a second treatment goes. But this time, I'm going to at least find out the doctor's name...