“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.