When East meets West.
Like a lot of people and perhaps a little foolishly, I mix orthodox Western Medicine with Eastern and Complimentary Medical practices. But strangely, at the moment, my GP, who is Dr Western-Orthodox-Thankyouverymuch has referred me to a Psychologist and an Acupuncturist/Chinese Herbalist at the same time. Ostensibly, this was for two very different problems. So my GP thought. And I also.
I was referred to the Psychologist for grief counselling. My GP decided, as I was unable to access any counselling in Newcastle when I really needed it, that, what the hell, if we can get it for free now, why not. We had to fudge a questionnaire to access a mental health initiative which gave people in need free access to a Psychologist. Basically, I had to appear to be in danger of self harm.
Unfortunately, there were no State sponsored initiatives for access to Chinese Traditional Medicine, so for this I have to pay. The TCM is for the occupational focal distonia in my right forearm. Most commonly this is called 'Writer's Cramp'. And after having paid over AUS$1,000 for MRIs, Cat Scans, and Neurologist fees, I was told that there is nothing that can be done and learn to do everything with my left hand. Oh, except maybe, there's this exclusive clinic in Paris that seems to be having some success and would you like a referral? Hence the TCM. I was actually quite gobsmacked my GP suggested this as the last time I suggested something Complimentary, he barked "They're all quacks!"
So the therapy for grief and TCM for my arm.
Of course, in therapy, you discover that your grief over your Mum's death is actually this huge gordian knot tied up with all sorts of supressed angst from your childhood and disillusionment over the current state of your love life.
And in TCM, where your ailment is treated on the basis of what type of qi is imbalanced, or congested, or stagnated, you discover that the occupational focal distonia of your right forearm, your persistant sinusitis and your insomnia are caused by stagnated heart qi . Oh. It's Mum again. And the childhood crap. Oh and Frenchie's thrown into the mix for good measure.
Perhaps I should be content that I seem to be tackling the same problems from two different approaches. Very clever of me! If I do say so myself.
Except, in my last TCM appointment my acupuncturist/Chinese Herbalist gets this look on his face. It's that look that says "Well this should be going like the clappers by now!" But my pulses are still tight and reduced, my tongue is still too dark. So I get an extra needle in my elbow that hurts like hell, my dosage of herbs is ramped up from a modest two level spoons (a little itty bit one supplied on your first visit - a bit like a lolly for grown ups) to a more let's get down to business three heaped spoons with extra herbs in the mix and the current herbs increased in potency. And I thought the therapy with the Psychologist was going well!
And this makes me so depressed.
In some of my other encounters with, admittedly, the less evidenced based Complimentary practices, such as chakra alignments, distance healings and the like, I've been told that my heart chakra, the seat of love, was blocked. Well, that was a polite discription. In one session the metaphor was, "Love, if yours was a kitchen sink, the drain wouldn't just have a plug in it, someone's welded a metal plate over the whole damn sink!" Nice metaphore, my heart as a drain hole.
The prescription was to carry a piece of rose quartz on my person. Which my friend V so kindly gave to me. I carried this piece of quartz around with me for three years. I had it with me during my Mum's illness and death. I had it with me during the early stages of grieving. I lost it briefly when I fell in love with Frenchie and found it again when I realised there was nothing in it. Then one day, by accident, somehow I managed to give it to a customer with their change.
I'm a big believer in signs. I saw this a symbol, that finally with all that I'd been through, not just in the last few years with Mum, but through the bad years of abuse and neglect in my childhood, through the hurts of longing to be loved, that with what I'd learned recently, in being able for the first time in my life to truely love myself, that I no longer needed the rock. That the metal plate was off the sink.
But it seems, I forgot the plug.
I was referred to the Psychologist for grief counselling. My GP decided, as I was unable to access any counselling in Newcastle when I really needed it, that, what the hell, if we can get it for free now, why not. We had to fudge a questionnaire to access a mental health initiative which gave people in need free access to a Psychologist. Basically, I had to appear to be in danger of self harm.
Unfortunately, there were no State sponsored initiatives for access to Chinese Traditional Medicine, so for this I have to pay. The TCM is for the occupational focal distonia in my right forearm. Most commonly this is called 'Writer's Cramp'. And after having paid over AUS$1,000 for MRIs, Cat Scans, and Neurologist fees, I was told that there is nothing that can be done and learn to do everything with my left hand. Oh, except maybe, there's this exclusive clinic in Paris that seems to be having some success and would you like a referral? Hence the TCM. I was actually quite gobsmacked my GP suggested this as the last time I suggested something Complimentary, he barked "They're all quacks!"
So the therapy for grief and TCM for my arm.
Of course, in therapy, you discover that your grief over your Mum's death is actually this huge gordian knot tied up with all sorts of supressed angst from your childhood and disillusionment over the current state of your love life.
And in TCM, where your ailment is treated on the basis of what type of qi is imbalanced, or congested, or stagnated, you discover that the occupational focal distonia of your right forearm, your persistant sinusitis and your insomnia are caused by stagnated heart qi . Oh. It's Mum again. And the childhood crap. Oh and Frenchie's thrown into the mix for good measure.
Perhaps I should be content that I seem to be tackling the same problems from two different approaches. Very clever of me! If I do say so myself.
Except, in my last TCM appointment my acupuncturist/Chinese Herbalist gets this look on his face. It's that look that says "Well this should be going like the clappers by now!" But my pulses are still tight and reduced, my tongue is still too dark. So I get an extra needle in my elbow that hurts like hell, my dosage of herbs is ramped up from a modest two level spoons (a little itty bit one supplied on your first visit - a bit like a lolly for grown ups) to a more let's get down to business three heaped spoons with extra herbs in the mix and the current herbs increased in potency. And I thought the therapy with the Psychologist was going well!
And this makes me so depressed.
In some of my other encounters with, admittedly, the less evidenced based Complimentary practices, such as chakra alignments, distance healings and the like, I've been told that my heart chakra, the seat of love, was blocked. Well, that was a polite discription. In one session the metaphor was, "Love, if yours was a kitchen sink, the drain wouldn't just have a plug in it, someone's welded a metal plate over the whole damn sink!" Nice metaphore, my heart as a drain hole.
The prescription was to carry a piece of rose quartz on my person. Which my friend V so kindly gave to me. I carried this piece of quartz around with me for three years. I had it with me during my Mum's illness and death. I had it with me during the early stages of grieving. I lost it briefly when I fell in love with Frenchie and found it again when I realised there was nothing in it. Then one day, by accident, somehow I managed to give it to a customer with their change.
I'm a big believer in signs. I saw this a symbol, that finally with all that I'd been through, not just in the last few years with Mum, but through the bad years of abuse and neglect in my childhood, through the hurts of longing to be loved, that with what I'd learned recently, in being able for the first time in my life to truely love myself, that I no longer needed the rock. That the metal plate was off the sink.
But it seems, I forgot the plug.
posted by Van Dino at 9:08 pm
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