“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.
“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.
“Some people really struggle with that.” She holds my eyes for an uncomfortable moment and I wonder if she can read my thoughts. I have been one of those people, for sure.
I swat away the memory of my Henry days and swap in Peter. I really try not to think about him too much when I’m working, but it’s getting harder the longer he is gone. Handsome Peter. Dangerous Peter. Missing Peter. It has been three weeks and no word, not even in code. But he swore that this was the week he would return.
He made me promise that I wouldn’t tell a soul if he disappeared and I’ve kept my word . . . for the most part. My heart aches thinking about him. I try not to let my mind wander to the worst. He’ll resurface again; I can feel it.
I finish inserting the rest of the needles. “So now all you have to do is breathe deeply and meditate if you can.”
“Meditate? I don’t really know how,” she admits.
“Try to focus on something simple that makes you happy, and keep coming back to your breath if your thoughts wander.”
“Okay.” She flutters her eyes closed and a smile spreads across her face. “Got it.”
“How do you feel?” Her shoulders have lowered from her ears and her mouth has gone slack.
“Wonderful. Actually, kind of stoned. Did you dip those needles in something?” She giggles.
“Nope. That is all you. You are experiencing the wonderful natural high of your body’s circuitry system flowing smoothly. Pretty incredible, isn’t it?” I beam. It never fails to fill me with happiness when a new patient feels good.
“Remarkable. I feel like I’m healing already,” she says dreamily.
“I’ll be back for you in about twenty minutes.” I switch the overhead lights off.
“You’re going to leave me here in the dark, alone?” The smallness of her voice surprises me. But the needles can be very disarming. “What if something bad happens?”
“You’ll be fine. I promise nothing bad will happen.” My heart opens for her. “I’m right outside the door.” I’ve gotten it nearly shut when she speaks again.
“Charlotte?”
“Yes, Lucy?”
“Thank you. I really hope someone does this for you. You deserve it.”