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Adventures in Discount Acupuncture, Session #3

If you saw M. on the street, you’d probably peg her as a veterinarian, not an acupuncturist. She’s a faded blond gracefully in her early 40s, trim and sensible with a soft-spoken kindness. She mentioned tonight that she’s going to Minnesota for the holidays, presumably to visit a large family who is supportive but bemused at M.’s chosen career path as a practitioner of traditional Chinese medicine in the liberal den of Cambridge (or so my dramatic imagination speculates.)

Every week, M. starts out by inquiring about my health in the past week. I’m encouraged to keep track off every bodily aberrance: Were my hands and feet cold? How was my appetite? Any moodiness? Did I feel dizzy when I got out of bed in the morning? I am unaccustomed to anyone caring about my state of being to this degree, and it feels rude to allow the conversation to always dwell upon my ailments. My natural instinct is to reciprocate M.’s interest by inquiring about her health, her sleeping habits, her musculoskeletal discomforts. But that would be improper, so I consciously remind myself to be self-centered and freely share the details of my ongoing cold.

“A sore throat, coughing, congestion,” I tell M., who is writing down what I say. She wants to know everything: Is it a scratchy, dry sore throat? Or a painful, hurts-to-swallow sore throat? Where is the congestion? How often is the cough? What color is the phlegm? How often do I get colds? How long do they last? I secretly bask in M.’s attention, for her sympathetic manner makes me feel as though someone really, really cares about my humdrum case of the winter sniffles.

“We’ll do something tonight to take care of your cold,” M. says, which amazes me a bit. In the past month I’ve read a lot about acupuncture, but never any claims that it could help with colds. M. proceeded to stick 10 needles in me: 4 in my wrists, 5 in my feet and ankles, and 1 in my lower arm. I still have not looked at the needles while they are in my skin, but I trust M. when she tells me “They’re not all that interesting to look at.”

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