Dr. Na Zhai Clinic Acupuncture & Chinese Medicine

The Journey  

 

I was proud to become a doctor after five years of medical school—especially in the small town where I grew up. But reality soon set in, and I found myself struggling constantly. The promise of healing that modern medicine seemed to offer felt increasingly hollow.

A childhood friend came to me complaining of a headache that had plagued her for months. I ran every test I could think of, but all results came back normal. I tried various medications, but they only offered temporary relief. Eventually, I had to look her in the eye and say, "I'm sorry." This wasn't an isolated incident—it happened almost daily during my three years of practice at a large local hospital. I felt deeply hurt, confused, and utterly lost. 

Meanwhile, some of my classmates working in the emergency department were filled with pride and heroic spirit. They were saving lives from strokes, heart attacks, car accidents, and more. Suddenly, it dawned on me: modern medicine excels in the ER, but it falls short when it comes to chronic conditions like my friend's persistent headache. Why? Because acute and chronic illnesses have fundamentally different pathological backgrounds. The mistake lies in applying the same protocols to entirely different conditions.

Then one day, my headache-stricken friend returned—radiant and joyful. The painful, bleak, and weary expression she once wore had vanished completely.

"Hi Doc," she said with a smile. "I'm pain-free now. No more drugs. I knew you were worried about me."

Surprised? Ashamed? Seeing a new direction? I couldn't quite name what I felt.

"What happened? Who helped you?" I asked eagerly.

"My mother took me to a Chinese doctor who diagnosed me with a digestive disorder," she explained. "He was right—I often had stomach pain, no appetite, and diarrhea. But the headache was what bothered me the most."

I wanted to ask why she hadn't told me about her stomach issues, but I stopped myself. After all, I was the doctor—I should have assessed her whole body, not just focused on her headache. Shame washed over me.

****** 

Actually, my major in medical school was Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM)—my mother's idea, not mine. TCM has been practiced for thousands of years and remains prevalent even today. Like most Chinese people, my mother deeply believed in it, lived by it, appreciated it—TCM was simply part of her life. I didn't want to upset or disappoint her, so I entered the TCM program. But I poured all my effort into studying modern medicine instead, because I had my own life-saving experience that shaped my beliefs.

My parents were workaholics. My father was a chief engineer in the railway industry, and my mother was a schoolteacher. When I was a little girl, they sent my two brothers and me to a boarding school. We could only come home once a week.

At the age of ten, I fell seriously ill—later diagnosed as typhoid. I was so sick: high fever, nausea, crushing fatigue, headaches, and abdominal pain accompanied by diarrhea. All of it tormented me to the point of utter exhaustion. The school nurse thought it was just some kind of flu and didn't take it seriously. I couldn't attend classes and lay bedridden in the dormitory day after day, with no sign of improvement.

Back home during the weekend, the doctors in the ER identified the real problem, and soon I was saved by those little pills. The immense relief after a week of devastating suffering was powerful. It planted a seed in my heart—the noblest calling of being a doctor who saves lives. Not a TCM doctor, but a real one.

By then, I wanted nothing to do with TCM. Not only did it seem old and outdated, but I also had a bad experience with it compared to modern medicine. I once watched a TCM doctor give my elderly brother acupuncture treatment for his asthma—every day for months. Although his asthma eventually disappeared completely, the torture wasn't just from the needles, but from the ordeal of enduring it day after day for months. What I hated most, though, were the herbs. My brother had to drink a big bowl of black herbal liquid twice a day, morning and night. Each time, he would receive seven bags of herbs for seven days, and later the formula would be adjusted according to his symptoms. My mother had to cook it for two to three hours every day—the terrible smell filled the entire room. Everyone around me seemed okay with TCM, but I wasn't. Or so I thought.

******

I decided to visit the Chinese doctor who had healed my friend. I had to—the contrast was too stark to ignore. It was like going from a dark night with no hope, no direction to a bright day full of joy and life. Simply put, it was too obvious to overlook.

Through him, I truly experienced what it meant to be a healer. I knew then that I wanted to become a doctor just like him. But still, the acupuncture needles placed on various parts of the body looked and felt almost absurd. Did they really work? How? And why?

To find answers, I quit my job and stepped into the scientific world—to find out whether acupuncture is genuinely effective or merely some kind of psychological effect