Chicken Blood and Bug Juice

Since the flight that had me in a marathon sitting competition with about 400 other people circling the earth for a day, I have had this ache in my neck and shoulder blades. So far, efforts to relieve this pain include an almost-erotic massage by a skantily-clad Asian girl in spike heels, and consumption of enough pain reliever to choke a horse.

The fact that I sleep on a slab of granite every night has only intensified the feeling of hot metal rods going up my spinal column. In a moment of sheer desperation, I finally called Tao Laoshi (my teacher) and asked her for advice. She called back with information that the Beijing Language and Culture University hospital had a doctor who specialized in acupuncture and massage and offered to take me there.

Could it be true? I was elated to find out that not only would I be getting relief but I was also getting the fortunate opportunity to have Chinese medicine practiced on me in China. Thinking I was truly the most cosmopolitan person I knew, I jumped at the chance and agreed to go straight away.

Now the hospital has been under construction, as most things in Beijing, getting a flashy new makeover for the upcoming Olympic Games. Therefore, the hospital offices were moved to an apartment building across the street until renovations were complete. We walked in to find a long hallway that teased the nose with the faintest sent of urine. On one side, a row of windows to the outside. On the other side there were doors to little rooms, each specializing in a different ailment. The problem was, this hallway had been abandoned by its temporary inhabitants with no notice of relocation.

Tao headed back out and asked a security guard who directed us to the hospital building. Surprised that renovations were complete so promptly, we walked over to see the new building. When we walked in, we found a very white, very clean, polished building. But I've learned the hard way that first impressions here are deceiving. We walked down the hall to find little rooms with signs specifying particular ailments and doctors sitting in each of them at little wooden desks.

Out in the hall there seemed to be a general confusion and disorganization as people just seemed to be hanging out or meandering from door to door. Tao walked into a room and spoke to a doctor who sat wearing a sweaty white coat, half unbuttoned, over a sweaty tank top. He told her the doctor who handled my request was not in and I could not be seen.

Many employees seemed to be sitting at desks sleeping or doing nothing and I found it odd that so many people needed care yet no one was able to give it. Another doctor told Tao that the doctor I needed had been taken away to go work for the Olympics and would not be back until September. So we went back to the first doctor to plead our case. He sat in his room, very busy swatting flies and watching people pass by his office door.

This time he told me to come in and sit down. He massaged my neck and asked me where the pain was. I told him and he deduced from this that my tendons were inflamed and I could use a topical spray to alleviate the pain. This was an herbal Chinese medication and although I had no experience with it, I was desperate. However, we needed to go back to the front desk and pay the registration fee first. Then we needed to pay for the medicine. Then we needed to go to the pharmacy window and pick up the medication.

Upon receiving the medicine, I learned from Tao that the doctor had no intention of applying it to my back so she was going to have to help me. We went to a restroom and I lifted my shirt so my teacher could massage the most vile smelling liquid into my back. This was only marginally awkward, of course.

The liquid smelled like wine that had turned, plum vinegar and iodine. The box was in Chinese so she translated it for me. Apparently my relief was going to come from a red flower from Tibet, some type of seed, the shell of a cicada and a wine the Chinese call "chicken blood." No eye of newt? Thinking this was the most ludicrous concoction I'd ever heard of, I was resigned to accept another day of painful misery.

Other than the wretched odor, there was no indication this stuff was on my skin but in less than five minutes most of my pain was gone. I couldn't believe it. I could turn my head in every direction and move without wincing. We left the hospital and I walked back to my dorm feeling better than I had in days. The whole experience cost me the equivalent of about three American dollars and although it was supremely inefficient it seemed oddly simple in the end.

I decided to stock up on my "chicken blood and bug" juice to bring home. The smell may frighten small children and attract alley cats but at this point I don't care. I can only imagine that when the ancient Indian caste system was developed, they created the level of pariah for those who wore "chicken blood and bug" juice on their bodies.