Needles and Moneys

So I went to the acupuncturist for the second time in my life the other day. ("Acupuncturist" is a word that I have to type very slowly, with frequent use of the backspace key.) I've always heard amazing things about the wonders of acupuncture (a…c…u…p…u…n…c…t…u…r…e), and wanted magic to happen. I was expecting a miracle. Instant cure to headaches and back pain and/or supernatural feeling of awesome health and wellness. When such things did not occur, I wondered, perhaps I didn't believe in it enough. Maybe I need more faith in the voodoo powers of magic needles, freeing the channels of chi and all that. (I'm aware that "chi" is actually spelled "qi", but I'm sticking with "chi". Sorry.) Maybe my logical western medicine brain ruined everything. While some scientific research has proven results, I just can't wrap my head around the idea that tiny needles at seemingly random points on your body have the power to cure all ills. Constipation? There's a needle for that. Poor circulation? There's a needle for that. Bad breath? There's a needle for that. Broken leg? Maybe not. Regardless, it's been around for a looooong time and there's gotta be something to it.

I'm going to continue going because I want it to work. I want it to be more than placebo effect. But hey.  It's also a very common procedure for the day of an embryo transfer—they say it increases the chances of implantation—so the surrogacy is paying for it each week until the transfer date. The first time I went, it was a treatment for back pain. The needles were placed in my right hand, left elbow pit, right heel, abdomen, and head. Maybe some other places I didn't notice too. So strangely arbitrary in placement (to the untrained brain anyway). The second treatment was an “overall alignment” so the tiny quills were running up and down my spine.

I found the whole process fascinating…and more importantly, restful. Lie perfectly still in a warm, dark room while listening to soft, soothing music? Um, yes please. More please. Things that can be described as "quiet" and "soothing" are few and far between in my life. The needles were only mildly pokey. Some I didn't even feel. The few that hurt slightly more apparently were releasing the flow chi, so the ache I felt was allegedly the good kind of hurt. 

The only issue I had was the itching. That persistent, unscratchable itch on my face. Scared to move my right hand cuz it's a porcupine. Can't move my left arm cuz the inside of my elbow is bristling. That was the first treatment. The second time I was face down in one of those donut face pillows, sniffling at the sudden, extreme congestion from the pressure in my head, wanting to breathe through my mouth but afraid I would drool onto the floor. I will never understand how mouth breathers can be mouth breathers. I can’t even sleep if my nose is whistling. I definitely can't sleep breathing through my mouth. So, anyway, the second time was slightly less restful, and I had this awful itch on my eyelid that couldn't be helped. 

I'm happy to keep going in for acupuncture, and am still hopeful that I'll get some tangible result. If not, at least it makes my IPs (intended parents) feel good, knowing that I'm doing something potentially beneficial for the pregnancy. AND it’s always nice to have a reason to have an outing alone because then I can go to Kohl’s afterward with my $10 Kohl’s cash and end up spending $60 instead but I’m only slightly guilty because I got a huge pile-o-crap because their sale racks are so great, plus they gave me more Kohl's cash so I have to come back again. That Kohl’s cash is a brilliant marketing scheme. Those jerks.

Speaking of spending money, and while having a moment to myself out in the world, I also decided, out of the blue, that I wanted a leather jacket. I was owed a more expensive, selfish purchase. Something not for the house or for the kids. Something quality. Not thrift store. Not Craigslist. Not even consignment. Or Kohl's. Nope, I snubbed my love of frugality and went for the real thing: Wilson’s leather. They were having a President’s Day sale and a $500 buttery brown lambskin jacket was marked down to $150. Still, for me, even the reduced price tag gives me pause. Think of how many shirts I could buy at Goodwill! Like, 100. Think of all the groceries! Like, a surprisingly small cart full, but still. Then there was the issue of style. Motorcycle? Bomber? Blazer? Not sure if I’m bad-ass enough to pull off a motorcycle or bomber jacket, but the blazer ones are too business-y. I also have a strangely long torso and all the cropped jackets were super duper short and boxy on me, but the longer ones always had a belted tie, and make me feel like I’m wearing an uncomfortable bathrobe. Long story short, I ended up with a beige-colored faux leather “moto/scuba”-style jacket. I figured I’m seldom in the mood for things that are tight on my arms so I’m not about to wear the hell out of it or anything. Or maybe my thrift brain couldn’t bear the thought of spending $150 on a single item. Either way, it was a trying and embarrassing ordeal of indecision. I inadvertently had three different employees helping me and I probably tried on the same jackets a bazillion times. Whatever, even $50 is a big commitment. 

 

Meanwhile my darling husband, who has recently decided--after enjoying the fruits of his labor, i.e. frozen elk meat, all year--that he is really, really into hunting, has purchased himself a bow (as in: Robin Hood style bow and arrow, only way more complex…and camo-colored), and also swears that he needs a new fly-fishing rod. Now those are large purchases. As a result, I feel entitled to go on a shopping spree. Yet I just…can’t…bite the bullet and spend the big moneys. Being dead broke is still too fresh in my memory. And what about a new deck? New carpet? Painting the house? New car? So. Many. Things. But that's what they are: things. 

...Maybe now I can tell him about that non-cancel-able membership to Massage Envy...