Holey Hashish

“Acupuncture can increase the chances of getting pregnant for women undergoing fertility treatment by 65%”, suggests recent academic research.

So strong is the research that even the formerly sceptical Dr. Sickboy now actively encourages his patients to use acupuncture in tandem with IVF treatments, particularly pre and post transfer. And this is something I find extremely validating.

You see, I’ve been seeing my acupuncturist, who we’ll henceforth refer to as Spike, for many years now and worship her. In fact, she’s become a trusted friend and confidant and has even taken on Aunty Spike status with Devilboy, who also gets needles each week (with a bonus added prescription of cuddles from the smelly puppy that sneaks in to play with him while mummy has hers).

I adore everything about our weekly needling. I love the treatment room, overflowing as it is with glittering Buddhist iconography. I love the gentle smells of burning oils and incense. I love the sounds of monks chanting gently on her stereo. I love the ritual.  I even love the smelly puppy. Most of all, I love how relaxed and well an hour of needles makes Devilboy and I.

Some people have suggested to me that my perceived positive effects are purely psychosomatic, and of those naysayers I must ask he following, “Who gives a flying fuck?” For whatever reason it works, it works and I’m more than happy to be a human dartboard. I understand that to some people the concept of acupuncture is illogical but if something is serving my wellbeing for whatever reason then I’m happy to overlook even the most retarded gaps in reason and logic.

When I think about all the blood tests and rounds of subcutaneously injected meds I’ve been “enjoying” for the past year with little efect other than turnngme into a moody cow at great expense, I’d say there’s even less obvious logic to that. Actually, when I think about that combined with weekly sessions of acupuncture it occurs to me that I must have more holes in me than this year’s federal budget. It’s a real wonder that I haven’t sprung some kind of leak.

Anyway, my typically longwinded point is that I am a huge fan of acupuncture so needless (excuse the pun) to say, when I discovered that Spike would be away during this cycle of IVF I flipped out. Going through an IVF cycle without the support of a treatment before and after transfer was for me, unthinkable. Blind panic set in and the hunt began for a decent stand in at short notice.

I couldn’t just go anywhere, it needed to be a practitioner who was recommended and who understood infertility treatments, which wasn’t as easy as it sounds. After a search more labour intensive than the one for Bin Laden, I finally managed to procure an appointment with a Casa Conception recommended expert and prayed to gods that I’d feel comfortable with him.

The short answer to that prayer was no. Not even a little bit. You kind of expect TCM practitioners to be delicate and gentle folk, even bordering on a little airy fairy. What you don’t expect is the secret love child of Frank Zappa and a grizzly bear.

And so, I found myself in the disconcertingly prone position of having a strange hairy yeti of an individual indelicately jamming needles into my body whilst gibbering about his collection of vintage band t-shirts and waving what looked and smelled suspiciously like a burning block of hash over my bare flesh…

Even I couldn’t suspend reason or logic for this and so questioned what the fuck he was actually doing? Was he about to smoke that shit or was he just taking the piss?                                               

Grizzly Zappa alleged that the burning hot stink-stick was moxibustion, and that by igniting a slow burning substance and holding it as near certain points on the skin as possible he could positively alter the function of my system. I, in turn, allege that he is a hairy deranged freak and if we finally do conceive this cycle, the poor kid will be born stoned.

 Come back dearest Spike, I miss you.

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