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Three people — eyes closed, their breathing slow
and relaxed — are already reclining in La-Z-Boys
in the treatment room when a man, a walk-in, crosses the
threshold of Communi-chi’s front office, housed
in Beacon Hill’s El Centro de la Raza building.
After filling out a questionnaire addressing health issues
past and present, he enters the room and, locating a seat
in a corner, eases back until his legs are buoyed by the
chair’s elevating flank.
Held in a state of repose, he turns his hand palm up to
acupuncture practitioner Serena Sundaram, who lays her
fingers on the man’s inner wrist. She gauges his
pulse. Then, moving with quiet efficiency, she delicately
inserts small acupuncture needles in the auricles of his
ears, the flesh between thumbs and forefingers, the skin
separating big and index toes. Sundaram checks on the
other patients, sometimes applying the slightest pressure
to the thin, nearly invisible stainless steel filaments
rising from points on their heads, hands, and feet, before
closing the door behind her.
In her wake, soft music, overdubbed with the strains of
chirping birds, plays. Sunlight streams through a bank
of eastern-facing windows. And four patients, seated in
one room together, are experiencing a phenomenon relatively
new to Seattle: community acupuncture.
“The basic difference with community acupuncture,”
suggests Jordan Van Voast, Sundaram’s business partner,
“is less on an exotic style: Let’s just create
an acupuncture treatment that people can afford.”
It’s this tenet – that the benefits of acupuncture
should be available to all people, regardless of income
level — that sits at the heart of the model practiced
at Communi-chi. The business name echoes this philosophy,
with its play on the word community, substituting the
last syllable with chi, the Chinese term variously translated
as “energy flow” or “life force.”
“A roomful of people getting treated simultaneously,”
says Van Voast, “will create a feeling of healing
that all people can draw from.”
What gives the community model its own life are three
principles, drawn from the bylaws of the Community Acupuncture
Network: Treatments are on a sliding scale, topping out
at $35; patients are treated en masse; and clinics must
operate sustainable business models that offer economic
recompense to the practitioner. At Communi-chi, patients,
based upon their income, can receive treatments for as
little $15, while seated in one of the nine fleece-covered
La-Z-Boys cast in a circle in the treatment area.
“In a way,” says Sundaram, “it’s
reframing health care.”
While acupuncture (which comes from the Latin pairing
of acus, “needle,” and pungere, “prick”)
has been traced back some 5,000 years, the community model
harkens to the “barefoot doctors” of Maoist
China. Trained from anywhere between six to 18 months,
these individuals treated rural citizens, focusing on
preventive care that even the poorest could take advantage
of. While the system of barefoot doctors was abolished
in the early ’80s, its philosophy of affordable,
preventative health care survived.
In the Northwest, this model is best exemplified by Portland’s
Working Class Acupuncture, which treats hundreds of people
a week. Locally, Evergreen Treatment Services, a methadone
treatment center, offers acupuncture in a communal setting.
Laura Thomas, sole proprietor of Community Acupuncture
and Healing Center of North Seattle, says the standard
mode of acupuncture in the United States — which
centers on one-on-one treatments that can range between
$60-$125 a session — sometimes bears the veneer
of classism. Insurance billing was also difficult, she
says. And though she only has one table and a chair upon
which to practice at the moment, she looks to the model
as one that can address the country’s health care
inequities. “I think it’s going to take grassroots
organizations or clinics [to do it],” says Thomas.
Sundaram believes that, even while Communi-chi is only
a month old, making acupuncture accessible is the first
step in helping people experience greater health. Having
been treated herself, when she was nine, for a heart murmur,
she thinks that removing the treatment’s usual costs
will make any fear of needles dissipate into the ether.
“Putting down $15 for something new makes it easier,”
she says.
[Resource]
What to learn more about local community acupuncture? Check out the Communi-chi
website, www.communichi.org,
or contact Community Acupuncture and Healing Center
of North Seattle, (206) 226-9014.
The Community Acupuncture Network is a collection of practitioners and patients
working to make acupuncture more affordable and accessible:
www.communityacupuncturenetwork.org.
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