The “Gift” of Massage

Last Christmas Eve, I was thrilled to receive two gift certificates to visit a massage therapist in our area……one certificate from my two youngest children and the other from “Miss Kitty and Betsy”. What affection they must surely possess to prompt the giving of such a thoughtful gift……so I thought......oh, so very naively......

Yesterday morning I had an appointment to use the first certificate. Upon arrival at her office, the therapist---with whom I’m casually acquainted---had me fill out a questionnaire. One of the questions was: “What is your reason for getting a massage?” I circled “relaxation” and also, “personal growth”. Hmm……that second one may have been a mistake. What is one way to experience “personal growth”? Yup……through PAIN!

As we turned to enter the massage room, the therapist said this: “For your information…….if you say or do anything inappropriate, I will kick you out.” I’m sure she's required to say that to everyone, but it caught me rather off guard. Without thinking, I blurted out, “Ok, I’ll try not to be inappropriate.” And, then I laughed. The therapist didn’t crack even the tiniest hint of a smile. Perhaps my fate was sealed right at that moment.

The massage room was dim, with soft music playing, a pleasantly-scented candle burning, the snowman water fountain gurgling, and that Aztec or Mayan pyramid photo looming ominously……(Didn’t they do human sacrifices at such places back in the bad old days?)

Soon I was comfortably situated face-down under warm flannel on a warm massage table. Heavenly! Then the therapist placed her lotioned hands on my back and began her work. Now tell me what you do in situations like that……do you talk or do you remain quiet? When I’m with talkative people I tend to keep quiet, but if I find myself with a quiet person, then I start babbling. Perhaps she wanted me to keep still, but I got the ball rolling by asking her where she took her massage therapy training. It seems the pain began right then……wow, she was really applying pressure around my shoulder blades. She told me she got started doing massages when she was a horse-trainer……and, I had no trouble believing that……I was quickly learning that she was a very strong girl.

Maybe I should have said, “Ouch……could you use less pressure, perhaps”, but I didn’t want her to think that I was a wimp. I instead asked her about the farmhouse and acreage she shares with her husband. That led to the therapist mentioning that she was trying to start a perennial flower bed. As her hands kneaded my back, I intermittently bit my lip and mouthed “Ow” sounds towards the floor and tried to distract myself by thinking of and saying the names of perennial flowers that grow around the house and buildings on our farm. Coneflowers…Black-eyed Susan…Butterfly plant…Phlox…Bleeding Hearts….which prompted the therapist to exclaim that she loved Bleeding Hearts, and I was worried that quite soon my heart might begin to bleed, actually, if she pressed any harder.

On and on it went……my certificate was for a half-hour......and the pain triggers were hit in the bulls' eye. Evidently, this was a “deep tissue” massage, not some paltry, shallow, half-hearted backrub, like I used to give during evening cares when I was an LPN eons ago. It could be that my back has a low threshold for pain......whenever I wear a shirt that has even the littlest bit of a tag, it feels like someone is pressing a bristly hairbrush on my upper back and neck. Those sensory nerves are working overtime, for some odd reason.

Finally, my time was up……no small relief, that’s for sure. How often haven’t I heard people speak of having been “through the mill”……well, this time I literally felt that way, too. But, the therapist surely knows what she’s doing and perhaps there will be therapeutic value to her intense working over of my back. Who knows……maybe she healed me of something. I know what you’re thinking……”Please heal Jeannelle of that disorder which causes her to write long, drawn-out blogposts.”

I’ll be interested to see how I feel in the days following this massage. The therapist encouraged me to drink “lots of water” the rest of the day. I’ll be keeping the ibuprofen bottle within easy reach, too. Please don’t let this single, isolated, iffy massage report pressure you into not getting one……a massage might be good for what ails you.

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P.S. – We had fun meeting my daughter’s friend. They both look so young, it almost hurt my eyes. He is quite a conversationalist, and told me the supper was “awesome”. Yeah…..its always good to butter up the mom, especially a sore, aching mom.