“The Voyage” ….. a reflection on my journey becoming a full qualified acupuncturist with the NCA by Chris Buckley
I write this, a little heavy after my lunch, perhaps as my “small intestine” uses energy to sift the ‘clear’ from the ‘turbid’; helping me solve my dilemmas, make decisions, and move forwards.
I knew nothing of these things 3 years ago, then, I simply thought I’d eaten too much.
Before my lunch (which was lightly curried fish and lentils by the way) I completed and sent off my application for full membership of the British Acupuncture Council. The governing body for professional acupuncturists, entry to which requires the completion of a BAAB accredited qualification
In many ways the dispatching of that email closed a circle which started over 4 years ago. Then, I was googling “acupuncture courses” following a very successful acupuncture treatment on my shoulder. I was ready to do something more with my life, though I did not know what. I saw that to ‘do’ acupuncture I would need a degree to join the BAcC, and the place to do that was with the Northern College of Acupuncture in York.
In my 1st year at the NCA (you guessed it, I enrolled) I wrote a blog. I have recently, unbelievably, crossed the Rubicon and arrived at the far shore, intact, faced with many more options than when I launched my rickety craft 3 years ago. I thought it would be cathartic to look back and reflect on this adventure.
As with any voyage of discovery, there have been countless hazards and moments of delicious, profound vision. As Einstein mused:
“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science” (horribly referenced by the way, as I’m certain you will discover!)
All good Rubicon crossing stories have a distinctive departure point, a bridge, or a jetty and always a guide, a ferryman or even a monk or two. We got tutors. Our embarkation point was the big red door on the NCA. When we set sail, we could still see the place we had left, but it soon disappeared. Some, including me, thought they knew where we were headed (sticking needles in people can’t be THAT difficult) but all too quickly the misty confusion of TCM, bodywork, ancient philosophy and a completely different language totally obscured what we understood as ‘reason’. We were literally immersed into the depths of ancient eastern philosophy. In our rickety boat there was a real sense of vulnerability; confusion above and helplessness below. But our tutors, who we left the shore with were with us. They had all sailed this route many times before and, by now, halfway across, we had grown to know each other well. Most of the guides we liked and listened to. New tutors joined us midway, like experienced pilots who guide huge tankers through treacherous channels, they knew the terrain intimately. Their experience matched our enthusiasm, their rebukes steeled our resolve and the confidence that we would “make it” was unswerving.
Mid-way through year 2 we had an exam. It was, due to covid, to be taken remotely. It was timed and was ‘open-book’. I mentioned the ‘small intestine’ earlier, one of several codified bodily ‘systems’ central to TCM. When these systems become unbalanced, they display symptoms indicating patterns of disharmony. You learn the systems, understand their patterns and when confronted with a case (or two, as I recall in the exam) you diagnose the patterns finally explaining how you would treat them.
Naturally It was a very important exam with a high weighting towards the final score and I put in a LOT of time revising. Two months after the exam I received the email informing me I had just scraped through. I still have the notes (unprintable). I was apoplectic with my tutors, the college, Covid and of course, myself. I literally could not communicate with my family. I “fired off” an ill thought through e-mail to my personal tutor (it’s embarrassing recalling this now, as an example the e mail begins… “I am experiencing, as you seem only too well placed to know, a visceral, emotional reaction to my shitty grade”. .. it careers downhill from there. This result marked a low point in my course. I decided I knew nothing, and it was all nonsense. I could so very easily have jumped ship at that point and would have been quite happy to slip away into the swirling cold waters of despair which battered our little boat on a daily basis. Like an experienced air traffic controller, my tutor brought me down without so much as a bump, he explained, as I was thrashing around with my disappointment, that in many ways this was good, I should learn from where I went wrong, I should revisit my revision over summer, that he had been in the same boat! He was strong, committed, and confident we would get to the other side. This was a perfect example of his tough love and I believe it was one of the best lessons I learned in my 3 years. Of course, he was proved to be right in the end.
Even the NCA could not anticipate all the hazards we might encounter on our crossing. The turbulent fast flowing waters of college life would inevitably throw things up which had the real potential to not just knock 1 person out of the boat but sink all of us. We were instructed well in the arts of learning, reflectivity, timely organisation, and preparation. Inevitably life happened and we did loose (and gain) new team mates on the way, some of our tutors came and went but the majority were with us from beginning to the end. But, only 6 months into our journey a small scratching noise under the boat developed into a very unsettling permanent screech, which did not go away for many months. Covid was upon us.
Opportunity comes in many guises, yet the potential and actual threat posed by covid revealed where we were weak in knowledge and where we could improve our technique. Great lecturers can hold the attention of 15 people sat (mostly) in their spare bedrooms or on their kitchen tables for 8 hours on a wet Sunday in January. They prepare, enthuse, and empathise. There can be little doubt that being forced to adapt to a blend of remote and class lecture pushed both college and students alike to up their respective games. We complained about the remote sessions (but not about the reduced upheaval of not travelling). In clinic we had to improve our attention to cleanliness and housekeeping (which will stick with us forever) and in the communities in which we now all work we are faced with legacy illness such as long-covid in its many manifestations. None of us chose to travel the path less travelled, but in this case it may well prove to differentiate us as excellent practitioners.
Our Rubicon ran deep. Based on a philosophy which, in some examples originated 4000 years BCE and a holistic, naturalistic and shamanic way of perceiving the human body we were always in for challenging journey. We spent many hours plumbing the deep mysteries of the origins of TCM, 5 Elements, the evidence base and western biological teachings. During our revision and further reading, we bought piles of books, we slithered down rabbit holes (27 pulses; I thought there was just 1!) and crossed time and space through worm holes that started with paracetamol and ended up with the enhanced perception of blind Japanese acupuncturists. We peered into the inky black depths of our TCM teachings and then suddenly the mists cleared, and one by one pennies began to drop. Often the mists were closing in as soon as they began clearing so we would only get a glimpse of something so wonderous it took the breath away.
“It makes sense, yet no sense at all”
As one of the very few male students, who consequently lacking a uterus (and thus, some might say, the lack of any meaningful opinion on the matter!) I was, for the first time in my life, involved in a deep and very meaningful discussion about a woman’s cycle, from birth (and before) to death (and beyond). The sheer complexity, variability, and beauty of this utterly dominating, challenging and, in too many cases, fatal combination of two ’X-chromosomes (thanks Dad it seems you gave me a y) I found to be revelatory. In my third year Woman’s (and Men’s!) health occupied a significant amount of study. When viewed and understood through the lens of TCM and compared with the myopia of the more reductionist western approach, I was at times astounded with the skill and deep understanding of our tutors in describing treatments using only needles, a profound understanding of yin and yang and the patient’s body. A sympathetic view of a woman’s cycle spans TCM and western philosophical opinion and for me cast light on the possibilities of each complimenting the other.
In the closing months of year 3, after the madness of the final exams and various submissions we relaxed into some of the more esoteric acupuncture techniques. Not only did these sessions take “mind boggling” to a higher level, but the simplicity by which their complexities were described was in itself an art form. It was clear that many of these methods would provide a glimpse of our future pathways, of further study and learning and specialisms to use with more challenging conditions. We were now exposed to the real philosophers of TCM, very experienced tutors who had not only practiced for decades but had themselves become revered experts in their chosen areas, many having written books and papers, most residing in the NCA library!
I have likened our journey from start to finish to crossing a terrifying, fast flowing deep and mist-shrouded river. Many of us, me included, had never embarked upon such a journey. In my late teens, when I knew better, I had momentously decided not to take a fully funded place at university (those were the days!).
Whilst considering a 3-year full time university education as a ‘mature’ student a work ‘colleague’ commented; “3 years Chris, you know what you are like! If you had said 1 year, I think I’d, be a bit more supportive”. Those words remained with me throughout the course. Motivation is strongest when you are set to prove somebody wrong. However, despite the need for retribution, I was nevertheless naïve and oblivious to the process of learning itself.
NCA furnished with the “Rubicon crossers guide to safely getting to the other side”, a kind of hitchhikers guide to the galaxy. It came as a selection of expertly written online guides and handbooks, recommended reading and priceless assistance from our librarian Cath plus of course the combined experience of our tutors. For me though it was too much, too fast, like drinking from the fire hose. As we set out on our journey my confidence and enthusiasm ensured I leapt long before I looked, I did not stop, stand back a survey the terrain, nor did I think through the critical path I should try to take. I was not strategic in the way I planned my work. Think of my bounding from one steppingstone to another and then suddenly running out of stepping stones! But slowly I learned the techniques of learning. Not only did I land on the other side clutching my degree certificates, but also with a sense of having developed something else. Like the waters of the underworld’s river Styx our crossing gave a sense of greater invulnerability, a newfound confidence; improved self-belief and, in my case, an appetite to use these latent abilities again.
And finally, the other bank emerged, the mist got patchy and then cleared. For me the landing happened rather slowly, (I expected it to be more like the arrival of the fastest single handed round the world yacht skipper with fireworks, music and champagne) it was more like our boat just smoothly ran aground on the other side; washed up. I had arrived, I had completed my degree, I’d made friends with my travelling companions, I’d made friends with some of the tutors and NCA team, I’d discovered a lot about myself. I was longing to go back over the course we’d all travelled, I had a strong feeling of loss. As it turned out I did want to get to the other side, but did not want the journey to finish. I still don’t.
During my period at NCA I’d participated on a few marketing webinars where prospective students learn about the course (as I had done in 2019). I was a student representative answering questions out of NCA management earshot about what it was REALLY like to be a NCA student. On my last webinar, I was asked what I found to be the hardest aspect of the course. My answer was easy and surprisingly emotional. For me the thought of leaving this Rubicon behind was the hardest thing, I would miss all of it. The difficult challenges, the confused learning, the tentative needling technique, the uncertain diagnosis, and the absolute meltdowns faded very quickly and for a period left a large hole in my life.
And so now I stand on the far shore, buoyed by my achievements possibly confused by my future directions. Which path should I follow, specialist, generalist, lone practitioner, or part of a group? All as it turns out! I have watched our boat return back into the mist to pick up more students at the beginning of their course. I have looked forwards and just started walking, my rucksack full of needles, moxa herbs, massage oils and glass cups. I think for a while I will just walk and see where the path leads but I know that soon I will want to find another, perhaps slightly smaller river to cross, embark on a new adventure, use my skills to get me to another riverbank. Till then I will remain connected to the college helping on some of the points classes, going to the occasional CPD course and keeping close to some of the new friends I have made.
Oh, and sticking a few needles in from time to time!
Chris is starting his acupuncture in Holmfirth alongside NCA graduates Alex and Duey https://clinic118.co.uk/
