Acupuncture

San Clemente Family Photographer-3066 San Clemente Family Photographer-3077 San Clemente Family Photographer-3103 San Clemente Family Photographer-3104The office walls were practically covered in pictures sent in by previous patients; women and their baby bumps posing with him as well as images of newborns accompanied by the sweetest of thank you cards. Cards that read things like, “Thank you for helping us bring baby X into the world” or “You worked magic on my fertility issues so-much-so that I’m now pregnant again, thank you” and so on and so forth.

Little sentiments of gratitude from women that at one time lacked hope and then, BAM, got pregnant and seemingly owed all the good cheer to this unassuming, gentle doctor.

It’s not the first time I’ve done acupuncture. I gave it a try when I was pregnant with Hooper as well. It wasn’t a great experience for a lot of reasons. There was the one session that very nearly made me pass out. I seem to be prone to passing out, especially while pregnant. But the more annoying thing was when the girl who ran the place started texting me on a regular basis to see if I was in labor. She just became one more person to answer to and one more person to have to give the defeated “nope, not in labor yet” news to.

When he – the man in all the pictures that covered the walls like wallpaper – walked in the room I said, “I see you have good results with getting the babies in, do you also have good results with getting them out?”. “Oh yes, we do that too”, he said. I couldn’t seem to find one thank you note that spoke to the exit of said babies… but I wanted to believe him.

I was given the option to sit or lay down and I opted to sit. As he punctured my skin ever-so-slightly with the needles, I could feel my nerves twinge. My index finger started jerking. He told me this was normal. I sat there, the lights off, my fingers twitching, and my palms beginning to get clammy. I know what this means. Next thing I know everything is getting a bit fuzzy. I know I need to lay down but I’m not sure how to maneuver the contraption that is hooked up to the needles that are making my fingers do the jerky dance. I call out for someone to come help.

They unhook me and set me up once again, this time lying down. My vision clears, my hands dry, and my fingers continue with their herky jerky dance. A few minutes later, I’m unhooked, told to call “if” I need another appointment (which truthfully made me giggle internally — I felt like setting up at least five more appointments right then and there), paid $85 (insert big eyes here) and went home to sit on the toilet because beyond a few stomach cramps, I felt nothing.

The desperate part of me wanted to call first thing the next morning and schedule another appointment. But truthfully, I didn’t enjoy it, it wasn’t cheap, and I’m not having any issues with constipation.

And so, as I’m checking things off the ol’ natural induction list, I’m getting more and more comfortable with just waiting and trusting that sometime soon this baby will come. Because, well, it will.

Herky jerky fingers or not.

And so, I figure my days are better spent with my boys, savoring the last of the days where I have a one to one ratio in terms of hands to kids. Hoping that having a third grants me some monkey status, where my feet become equally useful as my hands. That’s a thing, right? Monkey status?

Documentary Review: Surfwise

Screen Shot 2015-05-26 at 2.50.16 PMAt least once a week, while sitting at my desk at my job, I think about giving up the conventional American Dream (or pursuit thereof) for something simpler, more fulfilling. Sometimes, my fantasies involve selling everything we own and moving to a foreign country where we can buy a house for $50,000. Sometimes, my fantasies involve buying a plot of land and building a tiny home, off the proverbial grid. I know I’m not alone in fantasies like this. Most of us stop and wonder how we really want to live. Some of us are courageous (or idiotic) enough to make huge changes; some of us just daydream.
Dorian “Doc” Paskowitz was courageous (or idiotic). He was a Stanford-educated doctor with a successful career. Well, outsiders would say it was successful. Doc described it as “the lowest point of my life.” He felt like a fraud. He was having insomnia, anxiety, and panic attacks. So, he gave it all up and went on what he calls “an odyssey.” He traveled to Israel and taught people in Tel Aviv to surf. After two failed, stifling marriages, he went on sexual adventures that he describes in a way that kind of made me cringe (My favorite quote of the film: “[Ellen] taught me to eat pussy, and that changed my life a great deal.”).Screen Shot 2015-05-26 at 2.50.34 PM
He scored every woman he slept with and decided to stop his shenanigans when he met Juliette. Why? His words: “I was appalled at her score.” They moved into his Studebaker and started a vagabond lifestyle that would last for decades. At the time of the documentary, Doc is 84 and they are still ridiculously happy in their marriage.doc3
Over the years, they had 9 (holy shit) children—8 boys, 1 girl. They all lived in one 24-foot camper (holy shit, again). They moved around a lot—often on the spur of the moment. They describe themselves as gypsies, although Juliette is quick to say, “But we were always clean” (they mention a rule about “clean assholes” that you have to hear for yourself). In their close quarters, the kids often saw their parents having sex. Nothing was private. Nothing.
Doc didn’t believe in them going to school. Their education was in the ocean, on a surfboard. Oldest son David says, “My dad was beaten down so hard by his previous life. He thought the world outside his core family to be dangerous.” So, in a way, they became like a little cult, living freely, never quite sure about their next meals or where they would wake up next. One son jokes that if it was his birthday and there were no gifts, Doc would take him to the ocean and say, “Son, I give you the sea.”doc2doc6
The Paskowitz family became known as “the first family of surfing” and started a surf camp in 1972. At the time of the documentary, the now-grown Paskowitz children still run the camp—some more involved than others. There’s friction about it—and that’s the interesting part of this film.
Doc and Juliette thought (and still think) that they gave their family the most idyllic, romantic existence. The kids don’t agree with this 100%. They are living the repercussions of never having a formal education. Abe, the third son, wanted to be a doctor, but realized it would take him until he was in his thirties to even catch up with basic education, let alone apply to medical schools. Navah, the only daughter, says that the lack of education would have been fine if they lived in the camper forever, but they had to go out in the world; they had to learn to function in a modern society that their father had shielded them from. Most of the children seem “normal” and well-adjusted, but it’s clear there are complicated feelings about their upbringing. David was estranged from the family for years because he tried to intervene in some legal issues with the surf camp.doc7doc5
I don’t think it’s as easy to give the finger to norms as daydreams make it out to be. There are always catches. That’s what I took away from this documentary. “Freedom” is hard to define. Doc thought freedom was shunning the “shoulds”; his kids, it seems, feel constrained by his refusal to embrace some conventions. Maybe it’s about balance, compromise—accepting some less-than-wonderful parts of our society in exchange for benefits of that society.
Doc Paskowitz passed away this past November, at 93. In the documentary, Juliette said he would probably want to have sex on his deathbed. I kind of wonder if that happened (and I cringe). No matter, I don’t think he lived or died with any regrets.
This post is written by: Kim Hooper | Writer