Today I had acupuncture in my face. I also had it on my arms and legs, but it was my face I found curious.
I had to stop to consider the adjective I wanted to use. I’d have preferred not to have needles stuck into my face, but I wasn’t afraid of it, it wasn’t confronting, it wasn’t particularly painful, ultimately it was just a curious experience.
I lay there as the Chinese practitioner carefully inserted her needles at strategic junctures of my body, explaining to me each time what the therapeutic value was to be. She spoke of chi, and balancing the yin and the yang, advising that I was weak in the kidney, liver and spleen.
I lay there patiently as she prodded the needles into me, asking as she did more often than not if I could ‘feel it’. I would give her the verbal equivalent of a shrug of the shoulders. Sure, I felt it, and to various degrees, though never too painfully – though once I felt my entire foot tingle, and another time my thumb jerked reflexly. Then she went away and I lay on my back pondering idly and wondering what I would look like with all these needles in my face, and how strange it was as a thing but here I was, nothing to lose.
And I’m going back next week for two more sessions. How’s that?