Acupuncture in Shanghai

There's alot of things that are just how you expect them to be. For example in Mongolia I had Aaruul, which is yoghurt that has been dried over the summer months. This tasted what I'd expect yoghurt that has been dried over the summer months to taste like and there is a reason I haven't tasted that up until now. Actually what surprised me was how hard it was, I met a missionary who'd broken a tooth on it, so in fact it was perhaps even worse than I expected. Acupuncture felt a lot like I'd expected needles in the flesh to feel like, the electric shocks were another unexpected negative point. Another negative was the location. Not far from the centre of Shanghai, the Hospital of Traditional Chinese Medicine is a tall glass fronted building, full to the brim with the emergency room bustle. It takes several stabs to find the acupuncture department, from the dispensary, which has one window for Chinese and one window for Western medicine, to the reception, the cashiers, another waiting room and finally Dr Wu on the fourth floor, a short man with not very much bristly hair, large glasses and a lot of needles. He tells me I need an appointment and for that I must go to the eighth floor. Here I fill out the forms that allow me to be registered into the Chinese medical system, then I receive my card and details of my appointment. I say I'm registered in the Chinese medical system, in fact it is EDVNCAD GRELO who is going to be the lucky recipient of this treatment, this being the receptionist's imaginative interpretation of my handwriting. I guess the problem is that Chinese writing is all about the look of the whole, rather than these boring individual characters, so I guess the name is close enough.

I pass a couple crying on the stairs. This is not a holiday spa, an alternative therapy retreat for tourists. This is a real hospital. This is probably not a good idea. It is not in fact Dr Wu who will be seeing me today; it is a female colleague of his. I smile encouragingly to those stoically imitating hedgehogs with patchy steel prickles, while I wait. No one looks like they are having fun. There is a pot of needles in a dusty wooden cabinet by the door, soaking in alcohol, alongside some of those glass suction cups that I last saw being used to treat mad King George III. I tell myself that these must be the used needles and that somewhere there will be one of those sterilizing ovens. The doctor comes in. I was a little worried that I would have to make up some ailment and while this is largely the case I do still have a fair amount of residue backache from the Mongolian horse riding. I try to explain. Thankfully a lady wearing a red sweater and a white mac tied loosely at the waist with the sleeves rolled up, which I assume must just be a very informal gown favoured by hospital interpreters, comes in to translate. To lighten the mood, I ask in Chinese: Does it hurt? Blank looks, mood stays the same. Minor headaches and tiredness get thrown by misunderstandings into the symptomatic mix but I veto ringing in the ears. Eventually I am told to lie on the bed and pull my shirt up. I was wrong about the pot needles. The good doctor selects some of the least rusty and begins to jab them in my back. People can’t die of this very often; so many people are still using it. This is China though; there are quite a large number of people, probabilities work differently here. Oh shit. Another needle goes in. The lady in the mac asks: Does it hurt? I struggle for the blankest look I can manage. Then the crocodile clips are attached and the electricity is switched on. Does it hurt? Err… Well. Perhaps a little stronger? The doctor fiddles with the dial. This has the same effect as someone flushing the toilet while you’re in the shower, except with needles and electricity instead of relatively tame water. I think I let out an ooof of pain which seem to satisfy the Doc. Half an hour, says mac lady. She then takes off her mac and the Doctor starts sticking needles in her ears and head. She has tinnitus apparently.

The time passes, pulse after pulse, shock after shock. I hold on to my bear Fydor for comfort. I try to take a photograph of him and my back. This is ridiculously painful. If you ever find yourself with needles in your muscles, try first to remove them. If this is not possible, try to use these muscles as little as possible. If you’re not sure whether a particular movement will exercise a particular muscle all I can say for sure is that muscles in your back are definitely required if you try to lift a camera over your head to photograph them. Beyond this you’ll have to work it out yourselves. At the end of the session my needles go back in the pot of alcohol.