Here I sit, barely comfortable on my couch because I’m typing while I balance a wet towel on my head. My pre-takeoff list is lengthy and varied: it includes the deep conditioning goop that’s soaking into my hair and scalp at this exact moment. I am trying to stave off the ravages of the desert, here. Also on the list is packing my pink polka-dot suitcase, which I’ll take a stab at after I wash more clothes, and tweezing my eyebrows. Somewhere in there, I’ll need to batten down the hatches at the dollhouse; my bestie is coming over tomorrow night to pick up keys: she’s in charge of Leroy-keeping while I’m gone. It’s like lion-keeping, but with more snuggles and fewer grievous injuries.
At some point, I’m going to empty the litter box so Leroy has a spiffy biffy while I’m away. There is also the matter of the turds that keep emerging in the back yard as the snow melts. They’re sneaky little nuggets and I swear they’re breeding. I guess there will be an hour or so with a decidedly fecal theme tomorrow evening. Crap.
Tonight was my last physiotherapy appointment before the trip. I brought dark chocolate with me for the occasion. While my physiotherapist treated me with the ultrasound thinger, she commented that I looked tired. The truth is–as I’m sure you can guess–that I’m dragging my sorry butt around right now. “You know,” she mentioned casually, “if you like I can place an acupuncture needle in your happy point. You might feel better.” I’m not thrilled anytime someone suggests poking me with another needle, but the name intrigued me.
“Happy point?” I asked. “What does that do?”
“Oh,” she grinned, “it will give you energy, reduce your stress, and basically boost your mood.” Considering what I’m up against with report cards due on the same day my international travel commences, the idea intrigued me. “We use it all the time for people to make them feel better.”
“How many needles does this require?” I figured I could probably handle one more pin. After all, I have my clever salad bowl solution and lately I’m tolerating the treatments well.
She smiled widely, “Only one needle.”
“One?” I confirmed. She nodded. “Maybe I should try it. I could use a little ‘happy’ to get me through the next 48 hours.”
“I think you’ll like it.” There was a bit of a pause, and I could tell she was making a decision. “Just one thing. The needle goes in your scalp.”
The room swam a little at this news. “Scalp?” I gulped. Panic immediately soaked my armpits and that divot above my top lip. Scalp means a needle in my head. I like my head. It’s where I keep my brains and my eyes and my teeth and where I hang my earrings. To me, a true ‘happy point’ would mean a needle in someone else’s important parts, not in my freaking head.
“Just one, and you’ll feel so much better after. You want to try it?” To be fair, my physiotherapist has not killed me or caused me to require a blood transfusion with her acupuncture needles yet. I trust her judgement. Plus, any treatment that can have me walking on figurative air without drugs or black forest cake is probably something worth trying.
Luckily, I hardly felt the three needles she placed in my hand (and hid under my bowl) so I generally felt pretty good about acupuncture as she prepared for the head stab. In retrospect, I think I didn’t feel the paw pins because I was so worried about a needle in my scalp. When my therapist circled around behind me with her tray of sharp things, I urged myself inwardly to relax and let the woman work. She measured my scalp to find the “happy point,” and then I felt a slight tickle and a pinch. My whole body sagged with relief.
“That didn’t hurt at all! Wow! I feel happier already.” I was amazed at how effective this acupuncture stuff can be. Who would guess that one little pin could do so much.
“Uh, I haven’t put the needle in yet. Hang on.”
Crud. I felt a strong tickle and a pinch reminiscent of the time Leroy caught his back claw in my bare foot. My physiotherapist announced that she was done and she would see me in fifteen minutes. Before she went to deal with another patient, she checked to make sure the room had stopped spinning for me. It had, mostly. Another therapist walked by and commented how far I’ve come with my tolerance for needles, since I had one in my “happy point.” I pictured myself as a femme-bot with a skull antenna sticking straight up in the air. Machine gun jubblies are only part of the mystique. (Imagination will get a person through anything.)
Strangely enough, the scalp point did make my whole body feel lighter, and it seemed to tone down the incline on the treadmill the gerbil runs incessantly on inside my brain. That poor rodent hasn’t had a day off in quite a while. All together, let’s say “ahhhhh.”
I guess sometimes all a girl needs is a foreign body in the head.
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