I bike to an acupuncturist appointment early Friday morning.
Spring is in the air.
The ride across 42nd Street is tiresome.
But my ride up Madison is an easy glide.
Dr. Wang's office is in an odious apartment building between Lexington and Third. The neighborhood is busy and unpleasant.
I am greeted by an unhappy doorman in a small third world lobby. There is a framed Jasper Johns poster by the elevator.
(I had the same one. I found it in my trash-recycle room)
They tear down a factory building from the 1850's across the street from my apartment buidling (it still had the brass fixtures by the doorways to wipe your 19th century boots) but these oppressive apartment buildings prosper.
I arrive at Dr. Wang's with a xeroxed copy of my insurance card and my check book in hand (ready to pay the $65 fee).
(My terrible undiagnosed disease has become my project. I am in project mode!)
At reception, Dr. Wang's wife greets me from a small desk that holds a old fashioned computer from the 80's. (It wasn't plugged in)
There is a mirrored wall behind Mrs. Wang's desk and three folding chairs in a row (near by) for patents.
I'm ten minutes early and boorish because I'm frustrated with the insurance nonsense.
I am ever so surly handing Mrs. Wang my paperwork.
Mrs. Wang's English is terrible.
I explain to her in loud simple English that the "1" in 1 Riverview (my address) is the number "one" not the letter "L".
At my day job, (on Madison and 29th) I call Chinese shareholders on the phone and most of them can't speak English. And they're rude on the phone.
"Not hee-ah! No own stock. Whot stock!??
(loudly)
These frustrating phone conversation bonds (all of us) cubicle workers.
"I got another one "no own Stock!!"
The cubilcle workers laugh, comment, identify, bond.
So Mrs. Wang's language skills sets me on edge, even though she is kind and polite.
I hear Dr. Wang (in another room) talking to a patient about Hasidic women and their wigs.
The patient says "Their own hair is considered very beautiful, so beautiful, that it should be seen only by their husbands."
Dr. Wang says something or asks another question. He is curious and a good listener.
He finishes up with his patient and it's MY turn now.
Dr. Wang looks around 60. He is thoughtful and tired. As if his work has both exhausted him and kept him alive and curious.
(I bet it's (a calling) to be a Doctor-Acupuncturist in China. I bet Dr. Wang had no choice).
He takes me into his plain office and we begin our verbal pantomime.
He asks me to walk around the room. He points out that I march as I walk.
"Your knees go up and down."
"Yes (I say) I need to do this to walk or I'll trip over my right foot."
He asks me to lift one knee at time. He pushes down on each one as I clutch the wall.
I sit.
He asks me to raise each foot.
And so on.
I've been through these same evaluations (over and over). Doctors forget (from appointment to appointment) and I am asked to perform the same tests.
This annoys me.
(Remember me from last week? Don't you keep notes?
That's RIGHT! I can't lift my right foot or move my toes or walk in a straight line and yes I know it’s terrible and serious. I know this ALREADY.)
They see so many patients they forget (I guess), but this reminder of my loss is the melancholy note that begins all of my appointments.
He DOES measure my thighs and calves with a sewing measuring tape. He looks worried.
(This is a new test for me)
And then,
I tell the tale of Charlie Roberts.
The initial sprain (playing tennis),last April. The tripping walking through the city. The exhaustion of walking to work.
The podiatrist. The lime, arthritis, and HIV tests.
The MRI's, and more blood tests, the EMGs, and more EMGs, the spinal tap.
The last evaluation.
Dr. Wang concentrates. Interupting with questions and listening to my answers intently. Like he might be get a pop quiz later.
I speak plainly and use large gestures
(this must seem annoying and condescending to him)
but I REALLY want to make my story clear.
When I talk about Columbia Presbyterian I gesture with my pointed hand uptown (north), and when I talk about NYU I point (south) down town.
Near the end of my story Dr.Wang asks,
"Does your family know?"
And I am reminded of the gravity of my situation.
But I detach and nod yes. (I have to resist fear and get some workable ideas)
I explain to him that there is no ready course of action. I have to create my own. Which is why I am here!
Dr. Wang sees my noble commitment and is more excited to work with me.
He takes me into a little dormitory of rooms with cots in them.
The walls are plywood, the doors paper thin.
I undress.
He asks me why my upper body is so muscular and my legs are so thin.
(I don't know what to say except that they weren't, at one time. More sadness for me to put off for a rainy day)
I lie on my back. He puts long needles into my legs with skillful expertise. There is no hesitation. The doctor is throwing professional darts. Each needle puncture creates a sudden shock of pain that dissolves in seconds. It feels right.
He puts more needles in my arms and then turns off the light and shuts the door.
Lying there, my mind is noisy but calms down like a dog in a locked room (barking and scratching) until sleep... at last.)
I sleep for 20 or 30 minutes. And it's over.
In the small reception area, Dr. Wang gives me the name of a massage therapist and instructs me to take B12.
I must see him twice a week. I have to do foot calisthenics twice a day.
Heat will help with circulation.
I must be careful not to exercise too hard. Listen to your body.
(I am told this again and again from various professionals)
I am a good student to his teacherly advise and am concentrating on listening (and while I listen) (I remind myself to listen!!!)
I write things down in my MUJI notebook (legibly).
I am in project mode.
I say goodbye to the Wangs and as I say goodbye I fall backwards onto the small reception desk almost knocking over the lifeless computer.
Posts
