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Townsend Letter for Doctors and Patients, July, 2001 by Elise Hancock
* "I feel so relaxed."
* "It takes away the cravings."
* "I'm getting my life back."
* "This ain't no program. This is help."
That help is a modest walk-in facility in Baltimore's inner city, where people with addictions get treated with auricular (ear) acupuncture and respect, mostly by acupuncture students. Formally, the program is called the Penn North Community Health Initiative (CHI) of the Tai Sophia Institute, one of four CHI sites run by the Institute, but everyone calls it Penn North.
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Penn North works. "Our students have treated more than a thousand people over the past 44 months," says Bob Duggan, president of Tai Sophia Institute. "In this past year, since we've teamed up with I Can't We Can Housing and other community resources, we believe that more than half of those who arrive are doing well six months later. That's in a world where having 25% complete a 30-day program is often considered success."
Not only that, Penn North is economical to run; student volunteers (supervised by licensed acupuncturists) do most of the acupuncture, and there are only two full-time staffers. And the program involves no methadone, no substituting one addiction for another. There's just abstinence, acupuncture, and people helping people -- more and more people, at a cost of only $400 per year per client. Currently, the center is treating about 25 new individuals each month and outgrowing its space for the second time.
Fueling much of the growth spurt is I Can't We Can, a self-supporting, self-help group that relies on Penn North's acupuncture. I Can't We Can began in August 1997 when the founder, Israel Cason, banded together with a few buddies to help one another. Cason had attended a residential program in Pennsylvania, but "something was missing," he says. "People were getting clean, but they weren't staying clean." They got detox, but not the strength and tools to stay away from the life they'd always known. "What was missing was the spirituality," Cason concluded. "If you leave that out, the behavior can't change."
So Cason and his friends pooled their funds and leased a run-down house in Baltimore (with the understanding they would fix it up), where they set up a life-style that would help them change their behavior: Narcotics Anonymous, peer counseling, a highly structured day, doing everything as a group, and acupuncture. In just 16 months, the one house grew to a bustling seven, all of them self-supporting. Acupuncture is mandatory.
Penn North and I Can't We Can are separate yet symbiotic. Penn North is fortunate that I Can't We Can currently provides housing and a 24-hour support system for some three-quarters of clients, not for days or weeks but for months. Conversely, the self-help group benefits from low-cost acupuncture and Penn North's educational programs. "And we do referrals," says Tai Sophia Institute acupuncturist Rae Ellison, Penn North's director, "for medical care, housing -- whatever's needed. We make sure that Thanksgiving and Christmas happen." Recently, a Tai Sophia Institute student put I Can't We Can in touch with a contractor friend who gives the program leftover lumber for rehabing houses.
Bob Duggan sees Penn North and I Can't We Can as dancing together, a model of the way all health care will work in the future. "The patients will be responsible for their own health," he says enthusiastically, "and the professionals will empower the patients." The natural self-healing powers of the human body, mind, and spirit will be unleashed, and patients will flourish.
Penn North: helping with a different kind of needle
The Penn North Community Health Initiative is near the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and W. North Avenue, a blighted area in West Baltimore. Trash blows on the street, and the stained glass of a nearby church hangs in jagged shards. Inside the Kentucky Fried Chicken on the corner, a young woman panhandles. "I just need bus fare," she begs. Her baby waits outside in a stroller.
Inside the center, things are painfully clean, but no more fancy than the street -- fresh paint, worn industrial carpeting, posters, art by patients and visiting children. The furniture might be found in an alley or the Salvation Army: any chair that doesn't fold is likely to be lime-green '50s vinyl. The reception area is maybe 12 by 12, crammed with people, files, a green vinyl loveseat, a credenza loaded with pamphlets, and the desk of "Miss Natalie," administrative manager Natalie Mercer.
In the meeting room, people crowd into a horseshoe of miscellaneous armchairs. Some banter, while others read, doze, or gaze somberly into space. The supervisor (always a licensed acupuncturist and Tai Sophia Institute faculty member) and students from Tai Sophia Institute (me among them) circulate, inserting half-inch, hair-thin needles into five specific spots on each ear. "Take a deep breath," we murmur. "Now let it out..." On the outbreath, in goes the needle.