Saturday I went to an American chiropractor in Taipei. He confirmed my concerns (and then some) by telling me the physical therapy modalities are probably not doing anything to help me heal. He seemed surprised that I didn't get surgery. He looked at my legs and feet when I stand, and pointed out that my ankles are starting to pronate (sink inwards), my achilles are sloping where they should be straight, and my left kneecap is gradually turning inwards. My sacroiliac joint (low backbone) is out of alignment, which is causing the muscles in my left lower back to distend, which is causing this pain.
My heart twisted as Dr. M explained my deterioration--which is all a result of the accident. I've tried, not without fail, but I've honestly tried, to keep as positive about all this as I can over the past four months, though my life has been completely different. Never--not since I was a very young child--have I gone this long without dancing, running, sweating profusely, feeling my spirit, the world around me, and the love of God in my body. I try, with pilates, with the yoga poses that I can do, with attempts at meditation, to retain that connection but it's slipping away. I feel my legs shriveling, atrophying, my whole body shrinking with the lack of its accustomed level of activity. And at times, despite my best efforts, it feels that my heart and soul are doing the same.
Dr. M gives me some suggestions, like using frequency-specific microcurrent therapy, which accelerates cell growth and healing, special inserts for my shoes, and he gives my back an adjustment. He writes a prescription to take to a nearby x-ray technician, to get four pictures of my hips, spine and neck so that he can see better whats happening in my SI joint.
I hop into a cab and am at the x-ray shop in five minutes. It's a small, clean clinic that specializes in x-rays and AIDS tests. An assistant leads me to a room, motioning for me to change into a stiff green robe. The x-ray technician is a small, smiley man in his 60's. He is efficient and professional, whisking me from pose to pose in front of the camera, tilting my head up, yi dian dian, just a little more! I am a model. America's Next Top Skeleton. Each time I'm in the right spot, he jumps out into the hall, commanding me to "HOLD BREFF!" A second later he pops back in and puts me in the next pose. The whole thing takes about three and a half minutes. He tells me not to change just yet and goes into the hall to view the pictures on a big light box.
I sit in my robe on a stool to wait, and I can see my illuminated frame in the pictures on the wall through the open door. There, my clavicles, sloping down slightly from my shoulders, the same way they do when they frame my favorite silver sparrow necklace. And there, in the next picture, my skull in profile, looking much too large to be so perfectly balanced on the slender column of cervical vertebrae which drip down from my occipital bone like a dangly earring. I see my teeth, the upper ones jutting out slightly from my maxilla--proof of buck-teeth once reined in by years of braces and headgear, but have since continued their movement forward.
I see my pelvic girdle from the front. It looks like a large bowl. Are my hips even? I can't tell from this angle. Would I be able to see the problem Dr. M was looking for? I hadn't exactly excelled in Anatomy, but Dance Kinesiology had been more hands on, and I'd loved that class. I remember my self-analysis project, and how I'd discovered that I have shallow acetabulum, the hollowed notches where the heads of the femurs fit in. Shallow acetabulum allow for more turn-out from the hips--a desired asset for a ballet dancer. I wonder when--or if--I will dance again. I wish I could touch my bones, play with them, study them, the way we explored the curves, ridges, and condyles of the Dance Department skeleton, which got wheeled from studio to studio on its hanging rack with its plastic phalanges clicking and clacking along in the sweaty air.
I see my lower back and hips from the side, my tailbone tipped in its stubborn anterior tilt. It looked the same in x-ray as it used to in mirrored ballet studios. With one hand on the barre, I'd happily go about my plié and dégagé unaware of my sneaky tailbone until an eagle-eyed teacher would walk by, swat me on the bum and tell me to tuck, tuck, TUCK! Looking at the image, it was clear I'd forgotten to tuck for the picture.
The x-ray technician gives me the go-ahead to change my clothes. I pay $40 for the four x-rays, and I'm back out on the street, hailing a taxi. I'm amazed and impressed by the whole process, inexpensive and devoid of insurance politics--it wouldn't be so easy in America. But then, because I'm so frequently confused and clueless about life here, the rare occasions when things are simple really catch me off guard.
All afternoon I am out and about in rainy Taipei, shopping, going to another appointment, lunching at Sababa Pita... all the while toting the large, flat plastic bag that reads "FASHION SHOPPING COLLECTION" in gold print which holds my x-rays. I feel oddly attached to the pictures, in which I can see my past, and that show my most inside self.
But somehow, getting out of another taxi later in the afternoon, the bag slips below my other bags, and I jump out of the cab in a hurry, at a busy intersection... without the x-rays. I realize it immediately, but there's no way I can chase the taxi, which has dissolved into a sea of traffic, into a city of three million people and hundreds of thousands of yellow taxis.
I do not have a very good evening after that.I cry a lot, unable to accept being dealt this particular blow, which just feels unnecessarily cruel after so many months of unfortunate events. I email my chiropractor--in the minute chance that an unusually kind-hearted passenger found my x-rays, opened them and were able to find some sort of marking which showed where they were taken. Not likely. Good Samaritanism isn't a common practice here, from my observation. I finally accept the situation and am grateful that the x-rays weren't too expensive, and resign myself to making another trip to the clinic this week.
Sunday morning,minutes after tearfully explaining the whole story to my mom over Skype, I receive this email from my chiropractor:
Dear Elly,
YOU ARE IN LUCK !!!!
I just opened my email box this Sunday morning, called Dr Chang immediately, and YES the taxi driver brought them back to the Ba De X-ray clinic for you to pick up!
Dr. Chang has an excellent reputation and is very well-liked in the community, the driver knew who he was, and wanted to help a "foreign friend".
So, on this Sunday, we can give Thanks to people who still value their humanity and kindness above other things!
Have A GREAT Weekend!
--Dr. M
It feels like the rain has cleared, if just for a day, and I am grateful for this unexpected act of kindness, and reminded that there is goodness, even when when you've given up on it.
