Dr. Bling Bling -- or -- Acu-PUNCH-me

People talk about acupuncture like it's a miracle cure. Come in once a week, have needles painlessly stuck in your arm, lie down for half an hour, listen to some crappy new age music and you'll lose weight, stop smoking, de-stress and never have any pain! It sounds aesthetically great, too. Signing myself up for an acupuncture appointment to combat my chronic foot pain, I pictured my acupuncturist as pictured a skinny, barefoot woman with frizzy red hair; long frumpy skirt, a peasant blouse and hemp sandals; and a manner that combines intense eye contact with voice that suggests she'd been high since I was in diapers. Are you okay? I might wonder, as she talked to me about positive energy and good karma. Her office would naturally resemble a small, private spa at which I would be the sole guest.

I found the reality of acupuncture (acu-PUNCH-me) to be slightly different.

When I arrived at Dr. UnpronouncableChineselastname's office for my 8:30 a.m. appointment, the lobby suggested to me the Chinese equivalent of my old Jewish relatives' Florida apartments. That is, it was covered in kitschy (or maybe just tacky) ethnically-themed nick-nacks, was overcrowded and smelled slightly off. Despite charging $80 per session and having at least a dozen rooms, the doctor has no use for a receptionist or assistant. So, after waiting for the better part of an hour, I was finally called in.

Squinting down at the tiny, shrivelled man before me, I felt a sudden chill at the thought that he would shortly be piercing my body with small, sharp foreign objects. "All new needles," he drawled in an impossible accent as he pulled a packet of them out of his sports coat pocket. He was wearing an undersized tweedy suit over a clashing plaid shirt, the sleeves of which extended past his jacket, which ended mid-forearm. Fetchingly accessorized by three cell phones clipped onto the front of his belt holster-style, a huge jade Buddha necklace on a thick gold chain and the largest Rolex I've ever seen, complete with free-floating diamonds on its face, the look clearly said Dr. Bling Bling.

All of the friends and random strangers who told me that acupuncture is painless were clearly lying. Why would it not hurt to have 14 needles jammed into your leg and foot? Even if they are "superficial." Then there's the dull, throbbing ache and tingling that continued for the entire hour that I lay on the hard table, listening to the hammering of construction on the floor above. How did I get here? I thought, biting my lip and trying not to cry. I must have actually said it out loud though, because my mother, who had accompanied me deadpanned, "we drove."

That wasn't quite what I had meant, though. I have a deep commitment to cynicism and previously, categorically denied any faith in "alternative" medicine. There's an actual medical basis for acupuncture's effectiveness, but it's clear that the only reason I went was desperation for pain relief. After that moment, my visit took on a darker quality, at least from my perspective.

After the needles were removed, Dr. Bling Bling instructed me to meet him in his office and wait for him. The cramped room was covered with family pictures. The Glamour Shots-esque photos of his blonde American wife sporting 80's mall hair and a denim jacket embellished with rhinestones and the collar upturned and held lovingly in place by her talon-like fake fingernails were menacing, and I mentally cringed at her smug optimism.

The good doctor crept in and sat down to explain how acupuncture works to me. Mumbling unintelligably, he filled a page with complicated equations and I tried to recall my 10th grade trigonometry. Just as I remembered that "ln" was the abbreviation for natural log, he crumpled up the sheet of paper, said that the math should mean absolutely nothing to me and smiled broadly.

I left with a huge bruise on my thigh and the knowledge that in order to see any effect, I needed to come back soon.

My foot still hurts. Desperation. I go back tomorrow.