Chinese Medicine

I had serious pain in my right hip, lower back, and right groin muscle, so I decided to try getting a medical massage at the Chinese medicine hospital. It's a publicly-funded, provincial hospital that specializes in Chinese medicine, especially massage, acupuncture, orthopedics, and everything else you would normally find at a regular hospital. The only difference is that the doctors usually will use a combination of Western and Eastern medical practices.

The Chinese medicine hospital looks exactly like a normal hospital. Well, normal for China, I mean. When I walked in this afternoon, it was incredibly crowded. There were people everywhere; some were lined up to register for the next available doctor, some were lined up at the pharmacy, and the escalators were full of people. I first registered at the front desk, a necessary step for all incoming patients, and I was assigned a doctor in the massage department, Doctor Jian. I walked past the pharmacy on the way to the medical massage department and it smelled strongly of herbs. It reminded me of the smell of the herbal tea my Mom made me when I had a sore throat when I was little, Throat Coat.

I finally found the medical massage room near the orthopedics department. I looked at the receipt that the registration receptionist had given me. I was assigned a doctor in room 294. I walked into the room with about 40 people. The room was separated into 3 different cubicle-shaped sections with metal barriers (also reminiscent of cubicles in an office) that were waist-high, so you could see everyone and everything in the room. People of all ages, including infants, laid on tables being massages by doctors in dirty white coats with bloodstains spattered on the front. Some had exposed butts with acupuncture needles sticking out. I found Doctor Jian. He was in the middle of massaging someone, but said he would be right with me. I waited next to his computer, which was located to the side of that sectioned-off cubicle.  

When he was done with that patient, he came over to sit on a stool by his computer and I told him what was wrong. There was no sense of privacy, and I felt the stares on the back of my head as I told him. He had me lay down on the table while he moved my legs in different directions and asked me if I had been having stomachaches or diarrhea. When he put my legs into the butterfly groin stretch and I winced in pain, he said, "Ah” and had me get off the table.

I put my shoes back on, after the promptings of a blind masseuse. I think he could tell I'd taken my shoes off because my feet smelled. I didn't realize he was talking to me, and everyone started murmuring, "She doesn't understand." Then I realized he was blind and actually talking to me and exclaimed, "Oh, I'm so embarrassed!" (how Chinese people express embarrassed apologies, which is different than saying “I’m sorry,” which literally means “I let you down.” Unless you actually let someone down, you can say “I’m so embarrassed” to express an apology). I put my shoes back on.

Doctor Jian and I went back to the stool by the computer, and he filled out 3 prescriptions: one for massage, fire suction cups, and acupuncture, one for heat patches for the pain, and one for an electric massage machine. He asked if I'd ever had acupuncture before, and I said no. He told me not to be afraid; it was just one very effective method of Chinese medicine. He then hand-wrote the ailment and prescription in a little booklet, which I was to bring back for the next two visits. He then printed out the prescriptions and I went to the cashier's desk down the hall to pay. It would be 250 yuan for 3 massage/acupuncture/fire suction cup visits with electric machine massage afterward.

I realized that Doctor Jian was in control of this entire section of the room that was separated with the cubicle walling. He made the diagnosis and wrote the prescriptions. Then he would tell the masseuse what to massage. So basically he had a little army (of about 9 people) just constantly massaging his patients in a rotation system at all times, while he walked around the room examining patients.

When I came back from the cashier’s desk, I took off my sweatpants (I had long johns underneath) and laid on a massage table in the middle of the room, surrounded by other people getting various limbs massaged, poked, and prodded. One massage assistant came over, lifted my sweater up, pulled my pants down, and laid a sheet across. The blind massage assistant came over and the doctor told him where to massage. While he massaged, he could tell which sections hurt and asked me a few times, "How about here? Does it hurt here? Is the amount of pressure I'm using okay?"

After about 20 minutes of that, the doctor came over and massaged me himself. After they showed me that they used one-time-use needles and allowing me to watch him open the plastic package (“This is something that China is now paying attention to and has gotten much better about recently,” he told me), he stuck the acupuncture needles into my exposed butt while curious people in the waiting area watched. I felt a small pinch.

While the needles were still in, he lit a fire with a lighter underneath wooden mugs, which created a suction phenomenon that sucked the skin on my back into the mugs. I would later discover that they left perfectly round purple bruises on my lower back. I lay there for another 20 minutes, drifting in and out of consciousness (apparently that’s supposed to happen during acupuncture treatment). After the time was up, they took the needles out of my back and I got dressed.

One of the young massage assistants walked me to the massage machine therapy section, and asked me if I was accustomed to living in China (probably the most common question asked of me in China). I said, “yes,” and he said, "But don't you find China so unhygienic? I bet you can’t stand it. We still haven’t gotten the hygiene down very well.” And I responded with my usual response when Chinese people start ripping on their own country (a phenomenon some other Fulbrighters call “Chinese China-bashing”), “Oh, every place has good things and bad things.”

He took me to the massage machine therapy room where people were sitting with their heads in neck braces that held their spines up straight. The nurse ripped my prescription in half, then stuck one half on a metal stick on her desk, and wrote the numbers 1 2 3 with circles around them on the other half. She stuck the second half behind a stack of other ripped papers. “There are still 5 people ahead of you in line. Wait outside,” she told me.

20 minutes later, she called out my Chinese name, and I walked up. She asked me what the problem was and I told her. Again, she had my lay down and pulled my pants down past my butt and stuck warm electrodes on my skin. She then took a heavy plastic pad that reminded me of a blood pressure wrap and placed it over my back. She started the machine, which alternated between various massage movements for 20 minutes: rapid vibrations, intense pressure, and soft, kneading motions. I almost fell asleep again and groggily got up from the table when she told me I was done. She wrote a check mark next to the number 1 in my prescription, gave it back to me, and told me to bring the sheet back the next two times to get more therapy.

Verdict? It definitely helped.