“Pretty dramatic, isn’t it,” Newhouse cooed.
Jack glanced from the monitor to the man who was admiring the final film of his presentation as if it were a piece of art. What it was, in reality, was a bit of trickery involving X-rays, used to fool an unsuspecting public. What Newhouse and his ilk were doing was lending a false sense of legitimacy to chiropractic therapy by using something that was a legitimate tool in the hands of conventional medicine. Not only was that fraudulent, it was dangerous, exposing people to harmful radiation.
Newhouse acted surprised when he turned to find Jack staring at him with silent intensity. Newhouse quickly misconstrued Jack’s expression as awed appreciation. “Lydia will be happy to make you an appointment. I’m sure we’ll have an opening within the month, if your symptoms can wait. We are booked solid with follow-ups, and initial visits take considerably more time to go through the diagnostic procedure and X-rays. Don’t take the relaxed situation today as typical. Monday afternoons are booked lightly for continuing educational purposes. Usually, it’s pandemonium around here.”
Jack couldn’t believe what went on in that office. If it wasn’t so pathetic, it would have been funny. Understanding Newhouse was one thing. But what about the patients? Nichelle Barlow seemed intelligent and educated. So how could she be so foolish as to trust this man peddling phony therapy based on screwball ideas of innate intelligence?
“Mr. Stapleton?” Newhouse questioned. “Hello! I didn’t mean to overwhelm you quite so much. Are you okay?”
Jack shook himself out of his mini-trance. “Earlier, in the beginning of our conversation,” he began, “you said there’d been a falling-out among chiropractors? Somehow we became distracted and you never finished what you were going to say.”
“You’re right! We got off the track of talking about Daniel David Palmer, the founder of chiropractic, to talking about Davenport, Iowa, where he set up the first chiropractic medical school.”
“What kind of falling-out were you referring to?”
“Simple! During the nineties a whole bunch of turncoat chiropractors allowed themselves to be browbeaten by conventional doctors into limiting themselves to treating back problems alone.”
“You mean, giving up on treating such things as acute sinusitis.”
“Exactly! The AMA had been against chiropractic forever, instigating lawsuits and the like. They were afraid we’d steal their business, which of course we were doing, because patients aren’t stupid.”
Jack wasn’t so sure of that, but he didn’t interrupt.
“Anyway,” Newhouse continued, “sometime around 1990 the Supreme Court finally silenced the AMA, ruling in favor of chiropractors by stating categorically that conventional medicine through the AMA had tried to discredit chiropractic therapy to maintain a monopoly over health care in this country.”
Jack made a mental note to look into that ruling. Considering what he’d learned that afternoon about chiropractic, it seemed inconceivable the Supreme Court would have ruled in chiropractic’s favor, although he assumed that the ruling involved the monopoly issue only and had nothing to do with efficacy.
“You’d think that such a ruling would have helped chiropractic,” Newhouse continued. “But strangely enough it split us. A number of conventional doctors, obviously from seeing our benefits, started working with us, at least with those chiropractors willing to limit themselves. Over the years these traitors have been dubbed ‘mixers’ because they’ve been duped into limiting themselves to back problems exclusively and by doing so betraying the chiropractic movement.” Newhouse paused momentarily, then added derisively: “Meaning, of course, they are not real chiropractors.”
“And what are you stalwart patriotic chiropractors called?” Jack demanded, allowing a full dose of his infamous sarcasm to manifest itself.
For a beat Newhouse gazed at Jack almost as if Jack had slapped him. It was apparent the sarcasm hadn’t been lost on him, but he appeared more confused than affronted. Ultimately he ignored it and said: “We’re appropriately call ‘straights’ because we are true to our beginnings.”
For the hundredth time during his relatively short conversation with Newhouse, Jack had to restrain his reflex urge to speak his mind. Modulating his voice carefully, he said, “I’d like to ask you about another patient. Her name is Keara Abelard.”
“Ms.Abelard,” Newhouse repeated, allowing his sunshine face to reappear. “Another classy young lady. Did she also refer you to me?”
“Ultimately, I’d have to give that a qualified yes.”
Newhouse’s smile faltered. He was mildly confused again. Jack’s response seemed unreasonably convoluted. “She was a new patient,” Newhouse said. “Did she say something to you about her experience here?”
“Indirectly,” Jack said, purposefully trying to be somewhat mysterious to fan Newhouse’s curiosity. “Ms. Barlow told me she had suggested Keara come to see you but didn’t know if Keara had followed through.”
“She did. She came in as a new patient this past Friday. We squeezed her in because she said she was in considerable pain.”
“So you remember her distinctly?”
“Oh, yes. Quite distinctly.”
“How is that possible, given how busy you are? You must see a lot of patients to cover your overhead and pay the installments on your digital X-ray machine.”
“I remember names,” Newhouse said, looking askance at Jack. Jack’s comment seemed inappropriate at best. “I have a facility for it.”
“Do you remember her complaint?”
“Certainly. She had a severe frontal headache that was unresponsive to drugs. She’d had it for weeks.”
“So, you thought you could help her.”
“Most definitely, and I did. She said her headache melted away like magic.”
“Did you take an X-ray?”
Newhouse nodded. He was sensing there was something wrong with the conversation, but he didn’t know what it was or when it had started. Jack’s attitude had suddenly changed from being impressed to being strangely challenging.
“Where exactly were her subluxations?” Jack questioned.
“All up and down her spine,” Newhouse said, with a new edge to his voice. He didn’t like being challenged, especially on his own territory. “Her spine was a mess from ignoring it for so long. She’d never been to a chiropractor.”
“How about her cervical spine? Was that a mess?”
“The whole spine, including the cervical area.”
“So, you thought she was in need of an adjustment.”
“Many adjustments,” Newhouse corrected Jack. “We discussed a treatment schedule. I’ll be seeing her again twice this week and for four subsequent weeks. Then once a week for four weeks.”
“And if I remember correctly, an adjustment is another word for spinal manipulation. Is that correct?”
Newhouse made a show of looking at his watch. “I’m afraid it is getting late. I do have a few patients I must see. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“I’d like you to give me the courtesy of answering my question,” Jack said, standing his ground.
A wry smile crept across Newhouse’s face. He suddenly decided this uninvited visitor was a possible troublemaker and ought to be thrown out on his ass. Yet an inkling of concern that Jack might be some sort of city inspector instead of an oddball made him hesitate. Jack had, Newhouse thought, an authoritative air, an unexpected inquisitiveness, and a bold confidence that gave weight to his possibly being an official. And even though Newhouse’s office had never previously been inspected, he thought there always could be the first time, which could be a disaster. He knew for a fact that his X-ray room was not properly shielded in the ceiling. With all that in mind, he asked, “What was your question again?”