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With a history of use that can be traced back to the Stone
Age, acupuncture is an ‘alternative’ medicine that is increasing in popularity
in the West. It can even be said that the traditional Eastern practise of
inserting needles (which are said to be smaller in radium to that of an average
hair and therefore the technique is supposedly painless) into the skin to
relieve a variety of ailments has become somewhat fashionable. The theoretical
basis for the success of acupuncture relates to the balance of Yin and Yang
energy. For example, if a patient is suffering from piles, the patient’s haemorrhoids
are merely a ‘manifestation of a disturbance of Yin and Yang’. A course of
acupuncture results in the balance of energy being restored via ‘the judicious
stimulation or depression of the flow of energy in the various meridians’ and
hey presto, his bum-grapes are gone. So, simple as that then…What adds to my comfort is the fact that acupuncture is
so well regarded in China that it can be used on occasion as an alternative to anaesthesia. Although no
concrete medical facts can found as to just why needling should have
this affect (one theory relates to the promotion of pain-relieving endorphins),
there is no doubting that, in skilled hands, the results are remarkable.
Putting my scepticism aside for one very brief moment, this
technique helps thousands upon thousands of people. It appears that guidance for how to treat each complaint using acupuncture comes in the form of a ‘grid reference’- using the equivalent of an Ordinance Survey map of the human body. Each disease can be combated by targeting a number of key areas, so the formula for combating the disease may involve a few needles in key areas. So it’s a bit like that Battleships game then. A2! Miss! G12! Miss! F5! Hit! You sunk my haemorrhoids! In an attempt to sooth my nerves further before the session I adopted the ‘knowledge is power’ technique of gathering information about what can possibly go wrong. My pulse quickened when confronted with paragraphs beginning ‘Fainting; Stuck Needle; Bent Needle; Broken Needle’ and the all terrifying ‘Management of Inadvertent Injury to Important Organs’ Bloody hell. Locating an illustration of an adult male with two needles protruding from him (one in his brain and one in his spine) with the captions ‘incorrect depth’ and ‘incorrect direction’ also had me reaching for the paper bag to calm those panic breaths. Too sodding right incorrect depth! File under the heading ‘I went for acupuncture and ended up having amateur brain surgery’. Armed with this information I headed for my friendly high street acupuncturist. And, in fairness, I nearly made it too the door before the pictures of the man who’d been kebabbed forced their way to the forefront of my brain…It was at this point in my research that I decided journalistic integrity or not, I’m not bloody doing it. There’s no way I’m going to turn myself into a human pin cushion for the sake of anyone. In other words I came to the conclusion that ‘this therapy is not for me’. So, after doing the journalistic equivalent of hiding under the duvet from the acupuncture beast I was left with the slightly less terrifying prospect of finding another therapy to sooth my angered soul. Baring in mind that this is the premiere edition of ‘The Bat o’ Fury’, I surely had to aim high in order to avoid a stabbing of a different kind, courtesy of the editor. That had been the thought behind the trip to ‘Needlesville’ – start with a bang. We had not planned for my cowardly custard streak. Still shaking from my ‘brush with death’ I set about looking for a therapy that was for me. After trawling through a few things, all of which were tossed onto the pile marked ‘for another issue when I’m not feeling quite so delicate’, I came across the perfect therapy. Something unusual. Something adventurous. Something small, furry and, apparently, edible. Guinea Pigs are a popular household pet in Britain. Indeed, across the years we had several at home when I was a boy. During that time however I never discovered their apparent healing properties. That was because I’d never heard of Curanderismo, an Andean healing practice involving the use of Guinea Pigs. One of the more well-known facts about Guinea Pigs is that they are a common delicacy in certain South American countries. I am reliably informed that globalization has allowed for this trend to spread northwards and there are now several street corners in New York City where one can obtain roasted guinea pig on the move. Surely then the McGuniea Pig Drive-Thru is only a matter of months away… I was aware of the culinary importance of Guinea Pigs in South America. Years of family-enforced games of Trivial Pursuit and the like had firmly embedded that fact in my mind under the heading ‘may come in useful one day’. Yet I was unaware of the social and cultural value of the guinea pig in south American life – both historical and contemporary. Guinea Pigs are not pigs. And they do not come form Guinea either. They are, however, a popular pet, snack and spiritual scapegoat with a colourful history. For example, did you know that Elizabeth I had a guinea pig? Neither did I. As a species they’re both friendly and hardy little things. So we know they taste great in a bap and make the perfect family pet, but what can they really do for you? Well, a lot more than meets the eye apparently. With a complex technique that involves the use of an expert Curandera to administer the ‘healing’, they can supposedly remove whatever ailments you’re suffering from. For a terrifying few seconds I had visions of the small fury thing shooting up my trouser leg before burrowing into my ‘inner being’, emerging some time later from my ear with my anxiety clamped between its teeth. Happily, this is not the case. The technique requires one to strip down and have a wet guinea pig rubbed up and down all over as it ‘removes’ the illness and transfers it to its own little body. As proof that this works, when the treatment is over the guinea pig is killed and sliced open so you can see the enlarged internal organs where your affliction now resides… Given that The BoF is run on a minimal, practically non-existent budget, a trip to Ecuadorto see a genuine Curandera for help with angst-induced stress is kind of out of the question. Instead, I obtained partial funding for a trip down the road to see my niece and her pet guinea pig, Chip, for some amateur therapy. At this point it seems pertinent to mention that we at The BoF, do not condone animal cruelty in any form, medical or otherwise. Hence, old Chip will not be sliced, skinned and gutted for the sake of journalistic integrity. In fact I think it’s fair to say I’m more scared of him than he is of me. If the little hairball so much as looks at me the wrong way, he’ll be going back in his cage with a ‘no thank you very much, lets try yoga instead’ As the morning of the ‘healing session’ dawns, it becomes increasingly apparent that the therapy is going to have to be self-applied. Although my wife and I have travelled well past that famed point in married life where ‘the man asks his woman for help with a moist guinea pig’ I feel that this is my journey, not hers. Besides, should I die tomorrow, I do not want that to be her residing memory of me. Also, as fate would have it, all other contributors to The BoF are mysteriously ‘unavailable’. Not that I’m surprised. Enthusiasm did seem at an all time low and I could sense the negativity from the off. It was to be a solo mission. I decided it was best to choose a day where my niece would be at school, a safe distance away. Although, as I repeat, I would ensure that no harm would come to Chip, I didn’t want my niece to be lying on a psychiatrist’s couch in 30 years time tracing all her problems back to ‘that time she saw her Uncle with the guinea pig’. I was also unable to confess fully to my sister why I needed time alone with her daughter’s loveable pet. While I tried to sidestep her intrusive questions with a rambling explanation about a ‘project’, her suspicions were aroused to dangerous levels following my request for her to close the curtains, fetch a bowl of water and leave me alone for 20 minutes. I think Chip knew, you know. The telepathic ability of
animals is a topic for another day, but the look that guinea pig gave me as I
striped down to the bare essentials was a knowing one. I was fully prepared for
him to ‘not fancy it much’ and make a bid for freedom, but in fairness to Chip
I think he quite liked the bowl of water. There weren’t too many details of how
to moisten the little beast in the paraphernalia I’d read, but logic decreed
that a gentle dipping was favourable to a ‘good dunking’. It’s fair to say that this bout of therapy was fairly unsuccessful. I would surmise the reasons for that as follows: - Not having any idea what I was doing (the major
drawback) It may be some time before I manage to open a general practice that heals solely with the guinea pig. Although it has to be said, that was never the intention, was it?! So, the fight goes on! To one day find a therapy that’s for me. It’s certainly not acupuncture – that falls down on the old ‘you mustn’t think the therapy is going to kill you horribly’ pointer before it even gets off the ground. It may, however, be Curanderismo. I can not really judge what I have not seen with my own eyes and I can honestly say that I’ve added to my ’10 things to do before I die’ list. Right after ‘repair family ties with sister and niece’… *** Chip was not harmed in the making of this article. In fact, he got a wash and the nice, juicy, organic carrot out of it. That’s right; we blew the budget on the guinea pig…
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