After about a week, the symptoms seemed to subside. We were triumphant. The ear infection was defeated!
Or so we thought. A couple weeks later, it had returned. Back we went to the doctor and repeated the cycle. My little one dreaded the medication, I dreaded giving it to him, and the dreaded ear infection went away for a few weeks until it returned again.
By this time, I was ready to try something new. I made an appointment with the holistic doctor. When we got there, I was impressed and terrified by the beautiful waiting room that doubled as a store. My little guy found everything to be fascinating and went around “investigating” all the little stuffed animals and snack bags that resided on the shelves. By the time we got into the examination room, I was exhausted from restraining him. The room was beautiful, like a massage room at a spa where the decor theme is vaguely “zen.” I sat down on the brown leather chair. My guy plopped down next to me, forcing me to scoot over for him.
When the doctor arrived, he got down to my little guy’s level and took a sniff. “Smells yeasty,” he diagnosed. That was the end of the exam. Was I crazy to expect a little more? Perhaps. But I decided this must just be the way it is in holistic doctoring, so I let it go. Next, he introduced a young woman and introduced her as the acupuncturist. I knew she was going to be at our meeting, but assumed it was just to give an opinion – but I was wrong. She came with her little box of needles and was ready to go.
My dog was about to have acupuncture.
I could not believe this was happening. My mind raced. How much was this going to cost? How does she know the dog will stay still for this? How the heck is acupuncture going to cure an ear infection?
“Ummm … I didn’t realize you were actually going to perform acupuncture on my dog today …” I stammered.
“Oh! Well, we believe this would benefit your dog. Let’s see if he’ll let me do this,” she said in an optimistic tone.
She was already kneeling next to my 65-pound puppyish dog, who was very happy to meet this nice lady. The acupuncturist deftly slipped the first needle into a spot in the middle of his forehead, where it bobbled about precariously. He looked like a unicorn. I was impressed. She worked quickly and got a few more in. With each jab, my dog looked back at her with his big toothy grin. She was scared. I continued to hold his collar to keep him facing towards me. “He’s very treat-motivated,” I offered. She quickly left the room and brought back a frozen yogurt cup. It was like a giant push-up that didn’t need to be pushed up, since my dog has a very long tongue. My dog was very happy.
Well, for a little while. Yogurt only goes so far. She managed to get in about ten needles, I think, before my dog finally just looked at me, glanced back at her, back to me again, and then -- as dogs are known to do -- shook himself, from head to tail, as if he had just jumped out of a bath. The needles flew off of him, exploding out of his fur like a giant fireworks display. It was awesome. It took all the self-control I had not to burst out laughing.
“Okay. Well, I guess he didn’t like that. Let’s try the electronic acupuncture. Let’s see if he’ll let me do that,” said the acupuncturist. She left the room and returned with what looked like a large transistor radio with a cord and a probe-like wand attached to it. She proceeded to take the wand and press it to my dog’s body parts. Whenever she placed it on a specific part of his body, she would press a button and a beep would come out of the radio-like main component. Touch, beep! Touch, beep! Touch, beep! This went on for a few minutes, with my puzzled dog looking at me for an explanation. I had none. If I hadn’t felt ripped-off already, this was the clincher. I felt like I might be being punked, so I glanced around to see if there were any hidden cameras in the room. Surely the cameras would show the word “SUCKER” stippled into my forehead, as if written in tiny needles.
When it was over, I paid a lot of money for the treatment, some Chinese herbal medicine to help combat my dog’s “dampness” which was contributing to his ear infections, and some Zymox, a topical medicine for yeast infections.
I believe in acupuncture for humans, but I felt pretty stupid about my dog’s session, since I was pretty sure the traditional acupuncture needles were not in long enough to have any impact, and the acupuncture machine seemed like a complete hoax. We drove home in silence. My dog seemed unaffected by any of this. To him, it was a place where he got a big yogurt cup.
Once home, the dog went to sleep, which is was not particularly unusual. He seemed completely normal until the doorbell rang – and he lay there, barely lifting his head for a pathetic, monosyllabic “woof.”
What is wrong with my dog? Was it the herbs? Was it the Zymox? Was it his ear?
The dog had lost all of his personality and energy. He resembled a giant sack of rice. When he did not even react to food with his usual enthusiasm, I was concerned enough to call the holistic vet’s office and ask if this was normal. “Well, ummm, sometimes the acupuncture is a little draining and they get kind of wiped out.”
Okay. This sounded like somebody just telling me what they thought I wanted to hear, and I didn't believe my dog had an effective acupuncture treatment, so I was still left to try to figure out what was wrong with my dog. I was back to watching my dog lie around, lifting only his eyelids and the tip of his tail when I walked in the room. While I was busy worrying about the dog, the phone rang. It was my mom. I told her that my dog just had hari (literally, “needles” in Japanese), and she said, “What? Oh my gosh! Oh, I remember I did hari before and it made me so tired … I couldn’t get out of bed for three days!”
What a relief. Apparently, the acupuncture treatment did have an effect on my dog. I felt less ripped off. The “SUCKER” label on my forehead was fading. I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to appear on some viral hidden camera video. My dog was just sleepy because of the acupuncture.
