Jack, what’s happening? Are you interested in acupuncture? said the text message from my friend Molly. Well, the truth is, I hadn’t ever really given it much thought. Mention acupuncture to me and the thought that comes to mind is drinking a glass of water afterward, and it comes spurting out from all over your body. But I’m an open-minded 21st-century sort of guy, generally willing to try anything. So sure, Molly, sign me up.
It didn’t hurt that I had every confidence in Molly Forysth. We’d met as volunteers in the days after Superstorm Sandy, teaming up to deliver prescription meds to housebound Hoboken seniors. Soon after, we took a nine-week training course together to become members of the city’s Community Emergency Response Team. That was pretty heavy stuff, and—not to be corny or anything but—I’d trust Molly with my life.
While taking those CERT classes, I did learn a bit about acupuncture from Molly, who was finishing up her schooling and licensing exams and also completing a residency of sorts. I especially remember Molly chatting with two doctors who were sitting next to us, about acupuncture’s increased acceptance in “traditional” Western medicine. So if I had any lingering doubts about the seriousness of acupuncture, they were quickly vanishing.
Fast-forward several months, and Molly had started her own practice—8 Point Wellness: Acupuncture & Herbs—with offices in New York City and Hoboken. I was so proud of her! Not “waiting outside the door on day one” proud, but still, proud.
Then, when she mentioned it again, I figured, why not. I’ll give it go.
So I recently found myself at Molly’s Hoboken location, on the second floor of a beautiful old building downtown. There was also a yoga studio up there, and I wondered what the old stained walls and staircase and intricate woodwork thought about now housing all this hippy-dippy stuff. But the mood was very calm so it looked like old and new were getting along just fine.
Molly has two rooms: an office space and then… what do you call it? Examination room? Who knows, but it was lovely: fireplace, high ceiling, gorgeous moulding. I think the room’s old-world touches helped put me at ease.
Not that I was nervous. Needles don’t bother me much; exactly a week before, I had been donating blood in a Jersey City office complex. I guess I just didn’t know what to expect here. Would a paper gown be involved? I wore as few layers as I could, ready for whatever. And I had purposely selected socks with only a couple of small holes in them. Because I’m classy.
As in all medical offices, first there was paperwork to attend to. The usual personal information (I did like that the gender choices included MtF and FtM), medications, allergies, existing conditions, waivers, etc. Also a lot of stuff about personal well-being. For “Health Goals” I wrote “To stay alive without changing my lifestyle too much.”
Molly looked over the papers, asked me some follow-up questions, and we discussed my medical history. I had a couple of lingering aches and pains I thought maybe could be addressed.
Then it was time for treatment. No paper gown or towel, as it turned out: just had to remove shoes and socks and push up my jeans above my knees. Next I lay down on the bed in the room’s center. It had a sort of pillow area at one end, and then a raised section for your knees farther down. Molly took my pulse on both wrists, explaining that she’s able to read blood flow around the body’s different organs and pinpoint (no pun intended) where help might be needed.
She wiped down—with alcohol, I presume? I zoned out for a second—different spots on my hands, arms, knees, and feet where the needles would go. And then instructed me to try not to move after the needles were in; that seemed like solid advice.
To insert each needle (there were 10 of them), Molly would tell me to breathe in, then breathe out. As at the blood centers, I opted not to watch during this insertion process. (I am fine having needles in me; but maybe I don’t really need to look at them.) She said to let her know if anything hurt or felt wrong; I told her I was somewhat “aware” of one needle in my inner foot. Molly made a slight adjustment and then it felt fine.
And then it was time to, I don’t really know, let the acupuncture do its thing.
Molly offered to put on soothing music, or else I could choose a station I liked. I’m a “when in Rome” sort of fellow, so soothing music it was. I was also offered a lavender eye pillow. I asked what that was (while also making a mental note that “Lavender Eye Pillow” could be a good band name). Molly showed it to me; it was just a little scented pillow that sits over your eyes. Like, if your eyes were in a hospital bed, and the mafia was scared that your eyes were going to rat them out to the Feds, they could use this pillow to suffocate your eyes, which would struggle for a bit, but then… beeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Flatline.
Sorry, I digress. Soothing music, check; eye pillow, check. In for a penny, in for a pound, that’s what I always say.
Molly said to relax; she’d check in on me in about five minutes, but that I’d be lying there for 20 or 30 minutes altogether. And that I might feel little traveling sensations, and that was normal. I asked if falling asleep was OK; she said it was.
Then I was alone, in a room, on a bed, pillow on my eyes, needles in my body, trying not to move. Now, being left alone with my own thoughts is not my absolute favorite thing. I always bring reading materials with me, wherever I go. If I am walking then I have earphones in and I am listening to something: music, a podcast, a ballgame. So this was… different. But instead of having a million thoughts, I kind of tried to have zero. I just “went with it.” I saw a big purple splotch inside my eyelids. My limbs felt heavy; they weren’t moving anywhere. Molly did check in and I said I was fine. I was.
I lay there without a thought in my head—well, maybe one thought: When the soothing music looped around, there were a few seconds that sounded like the instrumental intro to “Flashdance… What a Feelin'” by Irene Cara.
The lavender smelled lavender-y. The purple splotches eventually turned yellow. And then… Molly was back. Removed the needles. (I later looked at the boxes of them; they are sterilized and individually sealed.) She asked again if I was OK; I still was. Blinked my eyes back to normal. Slowly hopped off the bed, rolled down pant legs, put on socks, put on shoes, put on coat.
And that was that. Leaving the office, I felt extremely relaxed, mellow, and that held for quite a while. Molly texted the next day, yet again checking in on me. All good, I promised. A couple of days later, I don’t know, coincidence? But maybe one of my lingering pains wasn’t lingering so much? Maybe. I would do this again, for sure. Just like my brief torrid affair with salsa dancing, it took me out of myself for a little bit. And that is not a bad thing to do now and again.
Oh, right when I got home from the appointment: I did drink a glass of water. And it didn’t spurt out at all.
Jack Silbert, curator