(You read the title and thought this was going to be about the kids, didn’t you? Nope! They are still off being a pain in their father’s neck!)
So, a few years back I had a car accident, and the technical medical term for what happened as a result of that is that my neck is now utterly borked. Specifically, the left side of my neck. Difficult night’s sleep? Sore neck! Stress? Sore neck! Pull a muscle anywhere in my body? Sore neck! Mercury in retrograde? Sore neck!
My neck is sore a lot of the time, is my point. Whiplash is apparently the gift that keeps on giving. But that’s okay! Because yesterday Otto and I went for MASSAGES like FANCY PEOPLE!
You may recall that a few months ago Chickadee and I went to a silent auction wherein I won something to be given to Otto for our anniversary. Well, that something was hour-long massages for each of us. Yes, that was back in April. Yes, our anniversary was in May. Yes, WE ARE SLOW. I know. But we did finally schedule our appointments, the only snafu being that instead of being able to get our massages at the same time, we’d have to go one after the other.
So yesterday we found the massage place, and the massage therapist was a small earth-mother type who looked like maybe she would simply sprinkle herbs on us and chant a little bit. I graciously allowed Otto to go first, and settled into the waiting area with some work.
An hour later, Otto emerged, hair askew, with the therapist lecturing him about carrying heavy camera bags. I asked him how it was and he said it was good.
Then it was my turn.
First we sat down and went over the information sheet I’d filled out, which included discussing my “prior neck injury” and the fact that I may be just a wee bit stressed out… say, no more than the normal amount for three or four people (combined). Then she left the room while I undressed and ducked under the flowered sheets and hand-pieced quilt (cozy! but weird!) to the soft strains of “relaxing” music.
The therapist came bounding back into the room and began. She did not sprinkle any herbs on me. Instead, she commenced pressing on various parts of my body with the weight of a person twice her size, because the massage therapist was apparently some sort of good-natured Hulk creature.
We chatted while she worked, except for the times when she would press hard enough that I would lose the ability to speak (or breathe), and then she would cluck something like “Oh my, MY MY MY, that’s a tight one, huh?” while I gasped and drooled onto the carpet.
At one point she asked me if it hurt too much, and I joked, “I have given birth twice, I think I can handle it!” Well, that totally backfired, because a minute later she was leaning into one of my hips and the pain was shooting all the way up to my neck and down to my toes and I began to wonder if perhaps I could get an epidural to go along with this “relaxing” massage.
It was nice, though. You know, the “hurts so good” kind of pain, where after everything goes numb and you nearly black out you realize that HEY, that doesn’t hurt so much anymore! And this is sort of making me sleepy! And it really is relax—
—and then she started working on my neck.
Apparently, what I think is a normal position for my neck is actually tilted to the left, on account of those beleaguered muscles are tightening so much, so often, I can no longer hold my head in a normal position. So this woman rubbed and pulled and kneaded and stretched and eventually put my head squarely atop my neck in such a way that it felt NORMAL and was UTTERLY PAIN-FREE.
It was a miracle. I walked out of there feeling better than I have in years.
Otto and I left and went and got healthy smoothies (that seemed an appropriately crunchy follow-up activity) and made our way back home. Where we then spent the next several hours slapping venetian plaster on the dining room walls, until our arms fell off.
I’m not necessarily saying this was poor planning on our parts, I’m just saying that this morning? My neck hurts.