I went to see my new acupuncturist yesterday. He was recommended by my friend Lisa, who likes him very much and told me that he is also a big-wave surfer; he surfs Maverick’s. Indeed, Googling his name plus “acupuncture” yields a respectable number of results, but replacing “acupuncture” with “surf” yields pages and pages of links. I liked him a lot. He was very enthusiastic and his needle-inserting technique was virtually painless, even the one that went in right near my fingernail!
I’m seeing him for my aforementioned dry/drippy eyes, and mainly for chronic pain in my right shoulder, which I injured meditating, which I like to think is rather unique. I was on a 28-day retreat at Spirit Rock two years ago in February, doing sitting and walking meditation. During the walking periods, my shoulders began to hurt, which I figured was due to some bit of tension being encountered and released. The pain got worse and worse, however, and was eventually excruciating and didn’t go away after I went home.
In due time (i.e., about a year later), I went to see a physical therapist who explained that my shoulders tended to slump forward and that with my arms hanging like dead weights, I had strained or torn something. I never was quite able to picture what was going on internally, but she prescribed stretching the front of my shoulder and two exercises to strengthen the muscles behind the shoulder.
(She also observed that once upon a time, I had broken a collarbone and that someone had not done a very good job of setting it. Indeed, I did break my collarbone when I was seven, riding double on a banana-seat bike with my friend Angie Warrington, but I can’t tell any difference between the two sides now.)
I did the shoulder exercises faithfully, but they didn’t really help, and I ended up getting a cortisone shot from a really lovely orthopedist. (He actually seemed like an extremely cold fish the first time I met him, but the shot helped so much that I sent him a heartfelt thank-you card, and the second time I saw him, he said, “Are you the person who sent the thank-you card? That was so nice! I don’t always get to hear if the treatment has helped or not.” He had saved the card in my file, so then I thought he was very sweet.)
The first shot killed the pain instantly, but after several weeks it came back. The lovely orthopedist reluctantly parted with one more cortisone shot, saying, to his credit, that I was at my lifetime limit, as I should have known myself.
He mentioned surgery as a possibility. I asked if I’d be able to ride my bike the next day. He said, “Sure, but you wouldn’t want to for about six weeks—the pain would be too intense.” So I went away and kept on with my exercises and the pain has been at a very manageable level, but not gone. I’m hoping the acupuncture will help.
I used to aver that the worst day cycling was still better than the best day on Muni, but now the glasses-getting-wet-in-the-rain thing has shifted the balance just enough that I’ve been taking the bus a lot lately, plus I took it yesterday because I wasn’t sure if there would be a safe place for my bike at the acupuncture office.
The other day I was taking the 14 Mission home, a bus I particularly hate. I was seated quite near the driver and heard a passenger come up and whisper to the driver that some kids in the back were “jumping” passengers. The driver ignored this news, and the passenger hastened to depart the bus and march away at a brisk pace. I made an executive decision to do the same, and was chagrined, as the spot was relatively desolate, to see the four thugs depart at the same time, through the back door. Oops! Fortunately, the driver re-opened the door and let me back on.
One time, years ago, a friend of mine was riding the 5 Fulton when some people on the street spotted someone on the bus that they wished to beat up. They simply stopped the bus by pulling the spring-loaded connector off the overhead wires, boarded the bus and beat the crap out of the guy while the passengers watched from the sidewalk.
At my friend’s house last Saturday, I had an opportunity to try a tasty product called Twisterz, from the Cheez-It Baked Snack Crackers people. I’d had a slight yen for them, or perhaps for the preservatives or hydrogenated oil, ever since, so on my way home from acupuncture, I went to Safeway and got a box of Twisterz, and a box of Cheez-Its to boot. On the bus, a guy asked, “What are those? I know Cheez-Its, but I’ve never seen Twisterz.” I explained, “They’re similar to Cheez-Its, but cheesier. (I feel like I’m on TV.)”
Another fellow with a laptop said, “Rather a contrast with your reading material,” which was Diet for a New America. Agreed. I got the Twisterz thing out of my system last night and gave the rest of them to my coworkers today, and gave the box of Cheez-Its, unopened, to the homeless guy near my work building who sits on the sidewalk and makes little chairs out of pieces of metal and fabric.
A friend of mine told me a story years ago about her brother being at that same Safeway and buying a jumbo pack of toilet paper, 48 rolls. At the checkout counter, the clerk said, “Those are on sale two-for-one. Go back and get another.” “No, thanks,” said the brother, “I don’t really need any more.” As he left the store, another employee said, “That’s on sale two-for-one. Do you want me to go get you another one?” “No, thanks. This is plenty.” As he walked through the parking lot, a security guard said, “Sir, those are on sale two-for-one. Let me go get you another. I’m going to get in trouble with my boss if I let you go without it!” “Oh, all right; thank you,” said the brother, and thus ended up having to get on Muni with 96 rolls of toilet paper.
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