Between Heaven and Earth

If Lin's case is typical...

Two years ahead of me in medical school, Lin, a physician, suddenly collapsed from a hemorrhagic stroke while at Taoyuan Airport picking up his daughter in April 2024. He was rushed to a teaching hospital, where he survived the ordeal but was left with severe impairments: his right limbs were contracted and stiff, he couldn’t recognize family members, and his speech was incoherent. The doctor informed his wife that recovery was unlikely, advising her to find a long-term care facility soon.

Dr. Huang, a classmate of Lin and also a PONAMS practitioner, heard the news and visited the hospital to treat Lin using PONAMS. Remarkably, Lin’s contracted hand relaxed right there. However, the hospital discouraged outside physicians from practicing in their facility, asking Dr. Huang not to return.

Once discharged, Lin became a “hospital volleyball,” transferred from one institution to another, with each hospital only providing minimum care. In six months, except for some progress through traditional Chinese medicine and rehabilitation at the Veterans General Hospital, other treatments showed no real effect. Acupuncture sessions dwindled from once weekly to biweekly, then monthly. Rehabilitation doctors barely showed any interest in Lin, treating him as an afterthought. Watching his condition worsened, his wife, worn out physically, mentally, and financially, finally brought him home, allowing Dr. Huang to restart PONAMS treatment.

After a month, Lin showed limited improvement; his hand could slightly unclench, but his legs remained weak—results that fell short of expectations. His worried wife sought my opinion through mutual friends. It turned out that in addition to PONAMS four times a week, he was also receiving traditional acupuncture, numerous herbal medications, and magnetic stimulation. Upon reviewing the herbal formula, I saw that it significantly counteracted the effectiveness of PONAMS.

I suggested stopping the herbal medicine. That night, after Dr. Huang administered PONAMS, Lin showed improvement. His wife, deeply moved, asked if I could come to see Lin in person. When I examined him, I inserted three scalp needles to test his response. Although unsteady and trembling, as I had anticipated, Lin stood up on his own for the first time in half a year.

Lin stood up on his own with 3 meedles after 3 minutes.

I advised his wife to stop all other treatments and focus solely on PONAMS. Amid her tearful gratitude and repeated bows, I felt little solace—just a heavy heart as I left.

Hospitals are supposed to save lives. They are places where priceless life holds on, where we entrust our hopes.

Yet, why would a senior physician in his own country, whose presence is informed ahead of time, who uses non-invasive methods and achieves such results, be barred from continuing his treatment? Is it that a friend’s acupressure support should be prohibited? Must “departmental pride” come at the expense of a patient’s health and life? Is it indeed pride in their department, or is it a defensive wall against feeling undermined—a need to save face?

“First, do no harm.” If a physician’s first response upon witnessing something beneficial for a patient is to obstruct, disregard the patient’s welfare, extinguish the glimmer of hope, or even destroy a family’s future—all because the treating doctor isn’t from within the hospital and the hospital won’t take responsibility—what meaning do those oaths once sworn hold? Are these the principles that should guide a healer, indeed anyone?

In Taiwan, I hold a medical license and have studied acupuncture. Some care facilities reluctantly let me practice PONAMS a few times before cutting me off. When I tried to help more people through Lu Bamboo’s pro bono service, I was rejected because my license was from the United States. And now, even a senior physician in this country is denied access. What, truly, are you all calculating?

Lin spent a month undergoing ineffective scalp and body acupuncture at a traditional Chinese medicine clinic, which puzzled me. The test I performed—a standard start for treating post-stroke sequelae with scalp needles—was basic and unembellished, not even PONAMS. Three needles, three minutes, for him to stand on his own, surpassed an entire month of scalp, body acupuncture, and various medicines. I wanted to defend my colleagues in front of Lin’s wife, but in the end, I could only shrug helplessly, blushing with frustration.

Clinical efficacy is paramount; success needn’t be solely credited to me. I have known Dr. Huang since our student days. I shared a dormitory with him, and his first acupuncture practice was on my lower leg at Zusanli. Many years later, we unexpectedly reconnected through PONAMS, and now, here we are again, united in Lin’s case. Dr. Huang as the primary doctor, me clearing obstacles—it is what Lin and his family need most and what is rightly due.

Outside, the sky was gray, and my heart was heavy with sighs. If Lin’s experience is no longer an isolated case in Taiwan but the norm—then let the heavens three feet above each of us be the judge.