The Point of No Return

I just wrote a super long blog, and then my computer crashed, so I lost all of it, and now I am writing it again. Bear with me if it isn't spectacular.

They say that the hardest part about going to the gym is getting out the door. It's fair to say that this is entirely the case. Once you are out the door, and on your way... well, it's not such a problem. Once you get to a point of a no return, well, you don't have much of a choice, do you? That is basically how I felt today. If I had actually stopped to think about what I was doing, I probably wouldn't have kept doing it. But I tricked myself, and continually pushed myself to that point of no return.

Let me take you on an adventure. The adventure of my Monday.

I left my dorm room at 10:30. Originally, I had big plans, plans that would end in my getting great interviews about Chinese medicine and acupuncture for my project this week, and plans that would end in me also getting free acupuncture. It's too bad that plans never quite go how they are supposed to. Since I am doing my project on Chinese medicine, I remembered (rather, one of my friends reminded me) that one of my SYA teachers was a very good practitioner of Chinese medicine, acupuncture to be specific, and would probably help me out. I was more than excited to go and see her.

Like the good little student that I am (most of the time), I took the bus back over to the place where SYA is located. It's hard to describe what I felt when I walked back onto campus. The feeling was a lot like being socked in the gut, and given a shot of adrenaline at the same time. This isn't to say that I didn't enjoy my year at SYA: it did a lot of good things for me, and I did enjoy myself for the most part, but it was very intense, and more than a little traumatizing. And every single emotion and experience I had came rushing back to me all in that instant. It was overwhelming. The poor guards must have thought that that I was a crazy, because I burst out laughing as soon as I passed them. I looked at all the familiar sights: the trees, the walk way, the characters and sayings that line the way to the building. What a flash back to the past.

Sure, I was living my SYA life again, but the line has to be drawn somewhere. I took the elevator up the 6th floor, not the stairwell. I had no intention of relieving that part of my SYA experience. But that didn't stop me from looking around to make sure that no teachers were there to see me. I swear, I am paranoid. I kept trying to pretend to myself that it was just another day back at school, to keep all of my emotions in control.

When I got off the elevator, and walked down the hall, and saw all the backpacks and books in the rooms, I relaxed. I can remember leaving my books in the rooms, carrying my back pack around. It's all still very vivid. And I thought that it was just so quaint that I was back here, watching other people do what I had already done a year ago. It was such a weird feeling to see that SYA was still functioning even after I left. Let me explain. Obviously, I knew that it was still functioning, and that kids were still having the experience that I had. But it is so different to see it in person. Obviously, your life revolves around you, and when you leave, things that you leave behind remain in a fixed state. I couldn't picture SYA with different kids; I didn't know it any other way except the way it was when I was there. So it was surreal to go back and see it.

Naturally, when I got to the office, I discovered that the teacher I was looking for didn't work there during the summer, and wasn't in Beijing because she was off traveling. That is boatloads of help, let me tell you. Just as I said thank you anyway and was about to leave, they snared me to write in their "past students" book. I honestly had no idea what to write when I first picked up the pen, but I ended up writing some nice little predictable message, and leaving it at that. I really do feel that I have grown as a person.

I also ran into 5 of my old teachers. Every one of them recognized me. That surprised me, actually. It's been a year, they have had 90 kids after me, and they still remember my name. Awesome. They were all very surprised to see me, I think. One of them actually dropped her jaw when she saw me. No, not because I am just that good looking; simply because I hadn't talked to them in over a year. It was kind of nice to see them again, actually. In a kind of memory lane way. We had the predictable conversation of what was I doing in Beijing, how the kids this year were, and then I left. Off to the next inevitable adventure.

Since I couldn't talk to my old teacher, I realized I was on my own, and it was time to bite the bullet and head over to the Beijing Chinese Medicine Hospital. Before going there though, I went back to my dorm, had lunch with Grace, bought a voice recorder, and then finally, an hour later, hoped into a cab. Remember what I said about the point of no return? This was it.

I sat in the cab, not at all believing what I was about to do. I was on my way to the hospital, armed only with my wimpy Chinese, to make an appointment to get acupuncture done. Who does that? I do, apparently. But since when? Honestly, sometimes I feel like my mind hijacks my body without my consent.

When I arrived at my destination, I took a deep breath, and walked into the chaos that is a Chinese hospital. There are crowds of pushing people at every window, and the lingering smell of Chinese medicine. I made my way over to the information desk, and was waved over to the elevator (and the third floor) by a bored looking Chinese woman. Awesome. As soon as i got to the third floor, I made a random guess, and headed for the preventative care section, that had a brief mention of acupuncture in the title. But when I got to the reception desk, and stood in amongst the crowd of shoving Chinese people, I realized that every other person except me was carrying a blue booklet, and a registration sticker. Huh. I had no idea what they were for, but clearly, I had missed a step somewhere. back down to information.

When I got back, the lady looked confused, but I explained that I needed a blue booklet, and I needed an appointment to see an acupuncturist. Light bulb! This time, she sent me down a corridor labeled "Acupuncture" (don't ask me how I missed that) and told me to ask them for a booklet and a time. But when I walked down the corridor, all there was were examination rooms, and people waiting outside them. The reception desk? Covered in dust. Wasn't going to hold my breath for that one. After walking around looking completely lost, I grabbed a doctor, and explained my situation, and asked him what on earth I was supposed to be doing.

His advice? He told me to leave the building, walk out to another building, and make an appointment. Then he abruptly walked off to see another patient. Thanks a lot buddy. So I left the building, in a kind of loading area place, until I got to more formal looking buildings. I then realized that I was in way over my head. I almost called my teacher, but decided to go bak and ask the doctor for clearer directions before entirely giving up hope (after all, I had spent 5 dollars on a taxi getting here.) When I went back to find a doctor, a nurse helped me, and gave me the exact same directions that the doctor had given me. Well, fine then.

This time, I walked out of the building, and headed in the other direction. I was ready to give up when, bam! I found the right building. I was beginning to think that they were just trying to pull one over on the foreigner. I walked into a rather nice building, told them that I needed a blue booklet and an appointment. And this time, it worked. Finally. Chinese hospitals can't fool me!

At this point, I would like to remind you that all this hassle was so that I could find someone who would be willing to stick needles into my head. Maybe I am crazy.

The little blue booklet, as it turns out, is basically a notebook for doctors, all about me. They write what they are doing, and why, and I have to take it with me to every appointment I have. I think that is awesome. Effective.

I sat outside the doctors little room, waiting for her to get back from lunch. I have never done acupuncture, and I am not a fan of needles, so I was more than a little nervous. There was a Chinese man waiting outside the room as well, waiting for his wife to finish her acupuncture session. He started talking to me about Chinese medicine, I think thrilled that a foreigner had come to do it. As it turned out, he was quite helpful, and talked on and on and on. Until the doctor came, that is.

My doctor was this cute little old Chinese lady, with bad teeth and a big smile. The room had 4 beds in the corners, and a big Chinese table in the middle. She sat down on one side, I on the other, and she started asking me questions. What problem did I have? How long had I had it? What did I eat every day? How much did I eat? Why did I think I had this problem? It was bit hard to answer properly, because there was definitely a language barrier (ie my Chinese was not good enough) but I feel like I managed to answer the questions mostly adequately. She seemed pleased enough, and wrote a full page of notes in my little blue book. I have no idea what it says, because her characters are illegible (to me, anyway) but it looks important.

The diagnosis? I don't drink enough water, and my insides are all dried up, so I get headaches. At least, I think it was something along those lines. Not to fear though! She could help me. All I had to do was lie down and let her stab me with needles. No problem. I was nervous, because this was starting to become more and more real, but I lay down, and trusted her. She brought out the needles, and I just closed my eyes. I swear, I still can't believe that I did this. I think the pollution must be getting to my head.

She ended up putting 26 needles in. 10 of them were in my head, 4 on my wrists, 4 on my feet, and 8 on my legs. And she banged every one of them in with a vigor of a much younger lady. It was not comfortable. The most painful ones were the ones in my toes, and the ones on my temples. Ouch. I think that she was unhappy to find that my skull kept her from getting access to my brain, but still wanted to make absolutely certain that the needles couldn't get through. It hurt. I couldn't feel the ones in my forehead, though. I must have looked like some mad scientists experiment, lying there with needles everywhere. I wish I had brought someone to take a picture of me.

I had planned on asking her questions for my paper, but there was a language barrier, and I got the feeling that she was not going to be too talkative. And she left me alone in the room for half an hour. So that kind of killed the whole heart to heart thing that I had planned. I spent that half an hour almost falling asleep, and not moving a muscle. I couldn't really feel the needles once they were in. When she came back, she took all the needles out (and wiped away the blood) and asked me if I had time tomorrow to see her again. I would have to go to the different place though. She gave me a small card with an even smaller map, wrote down a couple of directions, and waved me off with a smile.

What an experience though! I have done legit Chinese acupuncture today. What did you do?

I spent the next hour wandering around the area, and walking through Hou Hai and Bei Hai park, both big names in Beijing, very famous, and beautiful. It was nice. I took some pictures, and just enjoyed being in the city. And continuously wiped my forehead incase it started bleeding. How embarrassing.

When dinner time rolled around, I hopped in a taxi, and headed home. I spent the rest of the night planning out my paper, and starting to write some of it. It is a little bit difficult to write in Chinese. English? No problem. Well, it's a work in progress. I still have a week to get it sorted.

And that, my friends, was my Monday. What a whirl wind. Tomorrow is Chinese acupuncture take 2...