Volunteering on the Burmese Border

Mae Sot, Thailand

The other day I nearly made the head of parliament faint while giving him acupuncture. He had arrived—with his entourage in tow—at the urging of a patient I had treated earlier in the week who had been suffering for years with a disc problem at L4, mild scoliosis, mild lordosis, severe sciatica. Apparently after one treatment she felt “cured” and enthusiastically brought her friend to me for knee and shoulder pain. Unfortunately, he was treated in a chair, it was his first time getting acupuncture, and he was afraid of needles. A couple fans pushed thick humid air back and forth in our cramped windowless cell. The sizzling afternoon heat acted to create an oven environment.

We aborted treatment and lay him down. I did not speak Thai, he did not speak English. However, we discovered that we both spoke French, so I apologized in French and explained I should have lain him on a treatment table. He was gracious about the whole thing and told me he would come back the next day.

He showed up the following morning, this time minus his entourage but with my patient. I explained in French that I would be using needles from America that were gentle and smooth, and that we would do a treatment on him that would be simple and elegant. He told me he appreciated it very much. I applied e-stim on his knee and shoulder, and afterwards rubbed a Chinese medicine analgesic on his joints. He stood up, gently testing his knee before declaring that it felt much better.

It was not until relaying this story to a volunteer pediatrician from the UK that I realized how amazing, bizarre, and unheard of it is that any Thai citizen, let alone head of parliament, would seek treatment in a free clinic for Burmese refugees. Thai citizens receive free treatment at a modern hospital. The clinic where I am volunteering, Mae Tao, is a series of simple cell-like rooms built on dirt. With the rainy season approaching, puddles of mud and bloody looking betel nut spittle create health hazards. Hoards of people camp outside of various departments (the eye clinic is extremely popular), sometimes waiting all day to be seen.

I’m glad the head of parliament gave me another chance. J’espere qu’il se sentira mieux!

Creating the acupuncture clinic

The first day I poked my head into the acupuncture department at Mae Tao clinic, I thought I’d just be observing, but next thing I knew they were shoving needles in my hand, calling me “Teacher, Teacher” and I needled my first patient with my purse still on my shoulder.

The acupuncture department was the brain-child of foreign acupuncturists. The first one hailed from Canada who trained a couple of local Burmese staff for one month. Then a German acupuncturist settled for a year. When he died, the staff kept the clinic open and performed acupuncture on patients, even though no one had formal TCM education. They have been without a TCM doctor for all of 2011; earlier this year an Australian acupuncturist visited them for two weeks. Then I arrived. I admit to being overwhelmed. I admit to wincing when I observe their needling technique, incorrect point location, incorrect needle depth, and bizarre point prescriptions. No one knows how to create a TCM diagnosis, so they copy the diagnosis given when the patient initially registers at triage. I have yanked needles that might cause pneumothorax, and needles that are just plain “wrong” when the patient is crying from the pain. They are using cheap, thick Chinese needles, donated from a sponsor from Australia. In spite of all this, the department is busy with a crowd of patients waiting to get in.

Teacher!

I have come to adore this term; the Burmese staff are comprised of five women and one man who is the supervisor, and they all call me “Teacher”.

“Teacher! We do this together,” from Lu Lu Paw when she wants my help needling.

“Teacher! New patient,” from Tinsu when she wants my help diagnosing.

“Teacher! I put cake in your purse,” from Mary who fills my purse with cream buns and instant 3-in-1 coffee packets.

The patients are lovely. The Thai patient with L4 pain presented me with Karen-inspired shirts which she designed herself, in addition to expensive apples! Another patient, old Burmese woman with grey teeth, approached me one day and plopped a bag of rambutan on my lap. I noticed one day women lowering their heads when passing in front of me, then it struck me: Good lord, they are paying respect!

English classes and iced coffees

Aleta and I met getting off the over-night bus from Bangkok to Mae Sot. I asked if she wanted to share a songthaew into town. On the way, I told her and her friend that I was in Mae Sot to try and volunteer at the clinic. It turned out Aleta wanted to volunteer also, so she tagged along with me the next day. The next day I ended up working all day and Aleta taught her very first English class to the acupuncture staff. They are diligent students and even pull out their workbooks between patients to practice sentences from the previous day’s class.

Aleta, for the record, is a medical database dream. The supervisor of the acupuncture department is seeing his dream come true while she builds a database from which they can actually run reports.

Personally, I am so grateful to have her moral support. She’s a down-to-earth American from Colorado, and we’re collaborating on projects to support the acupuncture department at Mae Tao. Initially, we planned to write letters asking for funds, but after seeing the lack of training, we changed our focus to ask organizations to come train the staff. We hope to attract an individual or group that has experience giving standardized trainings to community clinics.

Every afternoon at the close of the day, we walk down the dusty road under our sun umbrellas and sip iced coffees at a quaint cafe, overlooking the street below.

Your acupuncturist with dirt on her face

Mae Tao clinic engenders international interest for its humanitarian mission, its raison d’etre of providing free health care to Burmese refugees. Nearly once or twice a week, groups of foreigners join a tour of the clinic. On my first day, a group of Americans were getting a tour. I heard the Burmese guide tell them, “A volunteer acupuncturist from American has just arrived today” and as if on cue, they all looked in and there I was, standing barefoot with a patient. I heard one guy exclaim, “Cool!” and then he gushed about how cool acupuncture is and how cool it is for his wife.

Another day, Tinsu asked if I wanted thanaka on my face, a Burmese mask made from a mixture of clay, root, and tamarind bark. I consented. I don’t know why I was surprised, but she made it at the sink in our department. Tinsu smeared it on my face. I happened to be near the front door performing an orthopedic examination of a patient’s shoulder when a group from Singapore came snapping pictures. They got photos of me manipulating the man’s shoulder with large swirls of dirt on my cheeks…the Burmese staff all assured me that I looked “beautiful”.