Why so tense?

A few months ago, I woke up one day to find that I had strained my lower back.  Don’t ask me how.  I went on holiday to Thailand, did absolutely nothing for a week, and a few days after I’d returned, my back gave out.  I just assumed that it would put itself right by the end of the week.  Unfortunately, the more I tried to ignore it, the more determined it seemed to get my attention.  It started to affect my walking which was both weird and scary.  I’d start walking and then after a few moments, I’d feel a sharp pain shoot through from my thigh, pass my glutes (I’ve never liked the word, ‘bum’), and settling in my lower back.   After a week or so of this I told my friend, Bridget about it.  I was worried that if walking became difficult then eventually driving would, and if driving became a hassle then I wouldn’t be able to work and if I couldn’t work, my contract would be terminated, my visa revoked and I’d be put on the first available flight back home.  Oh the drama!  So Bridget suggested that I come with her to see her Acupuncturist, who also happened to be a Physiotherapist or maybe it was a Chiropractor?  Almost immediately the phrase, ‘Jack of all Trades and Master of none’ sprung to mind.  Cynic that I am, I wondered which occupation he formally trained for, and which one he merely dabbled in.   

Now I’m the first to admit that I’m not the most ‘touchy feely’ kind of person.  I happen to like my personal space and take great pains to guard it well.  I don’t particularly like strangers (even if they are medical professionals) touching me, hence my aversion to anyone wearing a white lab coat or scrubs.   However, my tolerance for pain had hit its ceiling, so I agreed to go with her.   

So we front up to the clinic, the following day, where the Receptionist/Nurse (every staff member seems to have a dual role here) cheerfully takes down my details.  She smiles at me and asks me to write my name out in Katakana.

Hmmm, I can read it and maybe in theory I can write it, but I never thought to try.  No situation until now has called on my abilities to write anything in any other script but English. I asked her if I could write it in Romaji (Roman Letters) instead.  She looked at me pityingly and apologised that unfortunately that was not permitted.  I turned to look at Bridget and the Nurse clipped that idea well and good by telling me that Bridget was not allowed to write my name for me either.  The patient must record their own name for the file.  Those are the rules.  Shit.  I looked at her and she looked back at me.  She knew that I couldn’t write in Katakana and it was an awkwardly tense few moments for the both of us, as clearly I couldn’t progress to the next stage until I’d completed this one. 

Bridget wrote out my name in Katakana on a piece of paper making sure that I was watching her forming the characters.  She tried to be as economical as possible with her strokes while ensuring that it was still legible to the Nurse and easy for me to copy.  Bless her.  All I had to do was copy down what she wrote.  How hard could it be? 

Let’s just say writing something in theory is very different to writing it in the real world.  My hand was shaking and I had to blink several times as my vision became blurred.  I was like a preschooler learning her letters for the very first time.  Several pints of sweat later, I looked down at the piece of paper.  I prayed that my shoddy penmanship would be good enough.  Have you ever tried to write with a biro and no ink came out?  Then you do what we all do, scribble in the corner, and wait for gravity to kick in, as the ink slowly flows out of the nib.  That’s what’s my ‘name’ looked like.  A series of dark and faint scribbles.  Please don’t make me do it again.  I handed it over to her, and she barely glanced at it, smiled at me and bade me enter the Clinic Proper.  Looking back, I’m almost certain that I could’ve marked the form with an ‘X’, in my own blood, and she would’ve accepted it. 

The clinic is essentially one room with two Roller Beds in the back, and three make shift cubicles to the side, each separated by chequered pastel pink curtains.  I was led to a Roller Bed and invited to lie on it.  I discarded my coat and bag and lay down on my back.  The Nurse made some adjustments to the settings and then turned the machine on.  The bed began to contort as did my body.  Some kind of undulating rolling implement suddenly emerged out of the centre of the bed, making its way down from my neck to my thighs and back again.  I was not enjoying this at all.  I felt terribly exposed as newly arrived patients began to file into the room.  When the rollers moved down to the small of my back, I winced at the pain, but had nowhere to go, as my pelvis at this point was suspended high in the air, my back was arched in a grotesquely unnatural way and my blood-rushed head was all set to explode!  I felt like the possessed girl from ‘The Exorcist’.  This appointment wasn’t going exactly as I had planned.  I still hadn’t met the Physiotherapist and at this point, if I could’ve managed to sneak out without being detected, I would have.  This machine had a ‘medieval’ streak to it, and I just wanted to get off (and take a hammer to it). 

After the longest 10 minutes of my life, the machine suddenly stopped.  Breathing a sigh of relief, the Nurse quickly appeared, hovering over me, asking me if I was ‘daijobu’.  No, I wasn’t okay, but clearly she didn’t want to hear that.  She smiled with relief and then pointed to a stool for me to sit down on, which was in front of a small white machine loaded with knobs, switches and flashing lights.  A half dozen or so grey cords hung loose from the front, and at the end of each cord was a plastic suction cup.  These cups were placed on my shoulders and lower back and adhered almost immediately.  The Nurse flicked a few switches, turned a few knobs and then called out to Bridget who was now in one of the cubicles to explain to me what was going to happen next.  Behind the curtain, Bridget told me that the machine emits a series of electrical currents that penetrate through to tired muscles in order to stimulate them.  The Nurse wanted me to signal to her, how ‘strong’ I wanted those currents to be.  After the experience of the rolling bed, I wanted them to have all the impact of a feather, from a recently hatched chick.  The Nurse barely had time to touch the controls before my hand shot up for both my shoulders and lower back.  On a scale of 1 to 10 in terms of intensity, I made sure that it barely registered a minus 3.

Surprisingly, after 10 minutes of this, I did feel a little relaxed by the gentle pulsating energy that came through the cords.   But that could very well have been all in my head as in all honesty I couldn't feel much of anything. 

Following this I was put under some heated lamps which I was very grateful for as it was a cold night.  However, as you would expect, the one thing I would enjoy most so far was always going to be short and sweet.  Barely five minutes had passed, when I was ushered into one of the vacant cubicles to await the Physiotherapist.  Bridget fortunately was in the next cubicle so I whispered to her through the curtain that I was there.  She responded in a muffled tone and I pulled back the curtain to see her flat on her back, eyes closed with a million and one pins sticking out of her face!  I nervously asked her if she was okay, not knowing where to look, and she replied that she was. 

Bridget firmly believes in the healing powers of Acupuncture so who am I to judge? I’ve never tried it before and from where I was standing, none of the needles had drawn any blood.  It still looked painful to me (although Bridget was smiling and chatting to me without any difficulty) and reminded me of that character, ‘Pinhead’, in that old horror movie.  Granted she wasn’t bald with deathly, white skin, but still the clues’ in the name. 

A deep voice greeted me from behind and I moved back into my own cubicle as the smiling face of the Physiotherapist came into view.  I apologised and he said ‘daijobu’.  There’s that word again.  There was no time for a quick verbal, let alone introductions, so I moved onto the bed, and lay on my stomach.  I had plenty to say, but he clearly didn’t speak English so what would be the point?  I told myself that of course he’d read my file.  What practitioner sees a new patient without reading their notes?  Then I imagined him massaging my eyeballs (clearly proving that he hadn’t glanced at my new file where I had painstakingly written out my name in Katakana no doubt!) and me later being led out of the clinic by a distraught Bridget, two roughly cut patches of gauze taped over my bloody eyes, bent over, clutching at my still crook back.  I’ve often been accused of having an over-active imagination. 

In a matter of moments, the Physiotherapist began to knead the knots out of my shoulders and upper back, which I thought was superb.  I finally began to relax.   I did wonder though, why he wasn’t targeting the specific area of my complaint, but I felt encouraged that my pain would soon be gone.  After about 10 minutes of this, he then asked me to turn over which I thought was a bit strange.  I did as I was asked and the Physiotherapist began to really work on my shoulders and my neck.  Again I wasn’t too sure how this related to my back pain but it felt good, so why not? 

He then cradled my neck between his hands and pressed deep into the back of my neck several times.  I won’t lie.  That hurt.  The heavenly back rub of a few minutes ago, all but forgotten.  His hands moved to the base of my skull, pressing inwards but my brain registered the pain somewhere behind my right eye!  Is this what reflexology is? I brought my hand up to cover my eye and tried to pretend that all was well, so he could quickly move on.  However, there seemed to be a particular bone in that area he had taken a fancy to, as he kept pushing and prodding it.  I began to visualise a future confined to a wheelchair, as clearly this guy was determined to snap my neck in half (well not completely as that would kill me wouldn’t it?).  The stubborn bone in question refused to move at his urging so he pressed it more firmly.  I winced and turned my face into his hand, and he immediately responded with ‘Oh my God!’.  The first thing he’d said to me in English and I have to admit it made me laugh.  A little.   A few moments later, he began to move my head slowly from side to side several times, like he was passing a basketball between his hands.  Suddenly, he jerked my head to the right and I let out a shocked gasp.  It wasn’t painful but what the hell?  He immediately followed up with ‘Oh my Buddha!’.  Is this guy serious? I smirked at the ridiculousness of his statement, although it didn’t quite fully erase the kung-fu move he just tried to pull on me.

He finally let go of my head and I foolishly thought that the end was near.  He took a small towel, rolled it up and placed it length ways behind my neck.   Taking the ends of the towel in each hand, he brought them together, just above my face and pulled upwards, lifting my head in the same motion.  I started to panic.  What is this new trick?!  He did the side to side motion again, and I felt my head swaying several centimetres above the bed.  With nothing but the thin hand towel to support me, I shuddered to think what would happen, if he suddenly decided to let go.  I had failed to consider the other scenario, however. That being if he decided to hold on.           
Without warning the Physiotherapist moved away from the bed altogether, taking my head with him!  I thought of that Burmese tribe with the golden rings coiled tightly around their necks.  They start wearing them from a young age, and over time it causes their necks to stretch and become abnormally long.  In their society it’s considered beautiful.  While I find it fascinating, I still didn't want to look like them.  I’d been quite content with the current state of my neck, never thinking to apply for an extension. 

The pulling wasn’t painful, but having never had this done to me before, I was uncomfortable and a little anxious.  My fear got the best of me when I felt my entire body moving a few centimetres up the bed.  I remember thinking, ‘well if he can move me then I mustn’t be that heavy after all’.  There’s never an appropriate time to think of one’s weight.  I cried out and he immediately stopped and parroting my tone, yelled out, ‘Jesus!’ for the entire clinic to hear. I opened my eyes and looked up at him.  He had this cheesy grin plastered on his face, as if he wasn’t trying to rip my head off just now.   I burst out laughing and covered my face with my hands (also making sure that my head was still firmly attached to my body).  What else could I do?  I would’ve fallen off the bed if not for him.  I’d forgotten all about my back and my neck, and just erupted with laughter.  I tried to stop several times, but started up again within seconds.  His own laugh quickly changed into a nervous chuckle, probably thinking that with all that pulling, he’d somehow munted a few of my brain cells.  I laughed again, but before I ended up making a complete fool of myself, I thought of my dead Uncle (the only image that makes me suddenly serious).  After a few minutes, I managed to calm myself right down, and then there was silence.  Right on cue, the Physiotherapist helped me up to a sitting position said a few things to me in Japanese that I didn’t quite catch, and looked at me as if he wanted to pat me on the top of the head.  There there.  Run along now.  Hmmm I’d managed to bring the session to an abruptly awkward close.  I thanked him for his time, got up, drew back the curtain and walked out feeling as if I’d just been flattened by a tank.

Afterword 

I still have full use of both legs, paralysis averted.  The Physiotherapist is a true professional and my pain subsided after a few sessions.  He’s still a clown and I say this with the greatest amount of respect for him.  He never ceases to make me laugh, nor any other patient he sees.  I guess he’s like the Patch Adams of Japan.  Except we’re not kids.  And we’re not dying.  And he’s not a doctor.  And it’s not a hospital. 

Apparently, I was ‘misaligned’, as I now know everything in the body is connected.  So once the bone in my neck began to comply, and my back was adequately manipulated, my lower back pain soon disappeared.  Once again, the Japanese Health System is such that I pay 540 yen per session.  That’s almost $7 NZD for about an hour of therapy.  Ridiculously cheap! 

The Japanese have managed to turn the phrase, ‘you get what you pay for’ on its head, once again.  It is very possible to get a good service at an affordable price.  Yes it is heavily subsidised through the government’s Health Insurance Scheme, and I guess you are compelled to make regular contributions towards it from your wages, but still, for someone who is in full time employment, is neither a student nor a pensioner, the price is just soooooooo low!  It’s nice to work in a system where workers are looked after.  Good things need not always require that you pay through the nose. 

Later on, I thought about the kinds of English phrases that get tossed about in the world, and ultimately picked up by non-English speakers. 

I’ve heard students at school exclaim ‘Oh my God!’ at one time or another.   Usually they make sure that I’m in earshot.  Correct use and context is irrelevant to them.  They say it because it’s English.  I guess it’s easy to mimic and remember and most English native speakers like me (as I’ve just proven) would find it highly amusing.  I know for kids as well as the highly entertaining Physiotherapist, the use of such a phrase is merely to bridge the great divide between our two cultures, to make a connection, to inform me that they know something of my language, however small (or inappropriate).  I know that they mean no offence, and I take none.