Series: Four Lives, One Last Chance - A Year In Drug Court: Part 30 Of 41

ACT V. ACUPUNCTURE

The sound of crashing waves and falling rain drifts from a small radio,
filling one of the upstairs rooms at the Drug Court offices with a soothing
aura.

Parole Officer Rod Charity, wearing latex gloves, walks up to a client

sitting in a chair along the wall and swabs each of the man's ears with
alcohol. Then he inserts five tiny acupuncture needles into various points
on the addict's skin.

The Newport News Drug Court counselors and parole officers have been
schooled in the use of acupuncture. They are fervent believers in the
ancient art's potential to control cravings and bring calm to the stormy
lives of the addicts.

The needles penetrate spots on the ear believed to represent different
regions of the body known as meridians. They correspond to emotions such as
anger, anxiety and fear. Theoretically, the needles stimulate energy in the
meridians.

Many of the more spiritual addicts, such as Linwood, rarely miss a chance
to have acupuncture. The more guarded ones simply sleep through the
sessions without submitting to the tiny pinpricks.

After a few minutes, all the needles have been distributed, and the addicts
have settled into their seats. A few of them already have begun to drift
into sleep.

Gary Ford, one of the therapists, comes in the room and turns out the
lights. Standing in the middle of the room, he instructs the clients in a
soft, assuring voice.

"Go ahead and get focused. This is the time to start to get centered," he
says. "Containment is important. Control is important."

Charity rolls his eyes at this New Age talk, closing the door on his way out.

But Ford continues.

"Give thought to what the week has been like," he says.

Nelson, an addict sitting behind Ford, looks around the room anxiously as
the counselor talks.

"We only got, like, 25 more minutes," he says.

His smart remark prompts Ford to stop and drop his soothing tone.

"Yeah, and I may talk my ass all the way through," he barks.

Then, as if he flipped a switch in his mind, Ford returns to the soft pitch.

"Work to identify one area that you can feel and see the success," he says.
"Give thought to today. Give thought to one goal you'll complete today."

Tanya huffs as she thinks of her most important ambition.

"Sleep," she says to herself.

Ford shoots her a disapproving look, but he lets this comment slide.

"For it is these feelings," he says, wrapping up his speech, "that will
energize you and move you forward in your recovery."

Ford leaves the darkened room, and the addicts continue to rustle. After a
day in court and a few hours of jostling and joking with one another, they
take a few minutes to settle down. Nelson, for one, is leafing through the
newspaper until Tanya punches him in the arm.

Eventually, a few clients start to put their heads down, and nearly
everyone closes their eyes. Some tilt their heads back and fall asleep.

Just one man remains antsy, looking around the room, his legs bouncing.
Then, he, too, comes to a halt. His hands rest in his lap, his head hangs
down on his chest. His shirt flaps in the breeze from a nearby fan.

Silence finally reigns among the addicts. For many, this is the only time
in a busy day to be calm, to reflect or maybe just to sleep.

The 25 minutes go by in a blink, and Ford comes back into the room.

"Let's slowly start to open your eyes," he says quietly. "Get oriented to
your surroundings. I'm going to turn the lights on."