One thing about this therapy is that it's foreign to the American general public. People here have no idea what it is, let alone seeing the marks on the flesh after applying the therapy, so when they do see them, it's very likely they would mistaken them as something else. I'd never realized this until an ER nurse, who spotted two long purple stripes on my father's back, asked in grave concern, "What's going on with those marks?" What was surprising was that it was also my first time seeing them, from that angle anyway.
When I was a kid, I witnessed a few times my grandma applying this particular therapy to my grandfather. He lay on his stomach with her kneeling next to him, and she repeatedly scrubbed his back with a ceramic spoon that she dunked frequently in a bowl of water. The wood-board bed my grandparents were on was about the height to my waist, so from my angle of view, when I saw it, I merely saw the profile of my grandfather. At that age, I mostly spent time playing with neighbor kids, so I only had a glance when I was running in and out of the house passing the bedroom; I might have stopped at the door of the room occasionally, but I'd never really stayed in the room for long and taken time examining the formation of the scrub marks.
Anyway, back to what I was saying. My father was in the ER because he ran a high fever. Despite all my mom's efforts, my dad's condition kept deteriorating, so she had no choice but took him to the hospital. It was quite early in the morning when I got the call from my mom. When I arrived there, my father was already admitted and a nurse was tending to him. And it happened -- the nurse saw my father's back. The instant I heard the nurse's inquiry I knew what was going on in her mind, because, God, those two long dark purple stripes looked exactly like bruises. Bruises caused by, say, being whipped. Repeatedly. AND two large ones weren't something a nurse would or could overlook, so I immediately explained what those were and put an emphasis on its being a type of Chinese therapy in the hope that she wouldn't report the abuse to the police. The last thing I, well, we, needed was a cop showing up and asking questions.
During the course of my father's stay in the hospital for the following week, I had to explain repeatedly my dad's bruises to other nurses and doctors who examined him. Next time (not that I want it to happen to my dad again. Knock on wood), I'll just print this Wiki page out and show it to those healthcare professionals.
