A familiar pattern has resumed its course, with my therapeutic treatments forming an essential part of my daily routine. It all began (or should I say restarted) with a scheduled rendez-vous with Pascale, my massage therapist. She’s not your typical massage therapist, mind you; her touch is far from timid and I’d probably be wasting her time if I was seeing her for, say, a more cosmetic, relaxing type of massage. In fact, Pascale palpates my sub-epidermal layers till she’s found the hot-spot(s). It’s deep-tissue, myo-fascial release… or bust.
Let’s just say that she hit the jackpot with me last week; she found hot-spots here, there and absolutely everywhere! Say it ain’t so… I was certain, after an absence of only a few months, and though I continued my routine of swimming, physio exercises and walking, that my musculoskeletal strength would have noticeably improved. Heck no. She made minced meat out of me – and my fascia. But all with the supple hands of a seasoned and caring practitioner. Ok, I was pretty sore for the next couple of days. But it’s the good kind of sore. The kind of soreness that makes me think that something good will come of it.
And then, just two days later, as the massage-soreness was beginning to depart my body, I had an appointment with Susan, my cranial osteopath. Oh no, I thought, as I sat in the waiting room. Am I making an awful mistake, subjecting my body to Susan’s handiwork (well, what else can I call it?) – so soon? Didn’t I need to give my body more time to rest and recuperate? It was too late to bolt at that point, even though I had second thoughts when I saw Susan wearing stilettos… maybe this isn’t such a good idea, after all (I thought to myself).
But, of course, it was magic. Because Susan did as Susan does: she went straight for the jugular: There’s no tiptoeing around, no guesswork. In fact, she said that she’d been studying for an international exam on visceral manipulation the past week, and the nerve pain in my pubic bone was exactly the topic she was learning more about. And so, guinea pig that I’ve been and still am, I spent the better part of the next almost-hour being poked and prodded, while Susan contorted herself around me into a variety of pretzel shapes.
The fact that I permitted Susan, through her manipulations, to inflict such a high level of pain on my body only proves one thing: She knows her stuff. I know that not because of the pain, but because I’ve been through it enough times to know the after-effects. The relief – albeit temporary – that follows. A modicum of release, even if all-too-subtle. And I believe, yes I do, that in time, the incremental shifts that Susan triggers throughout my body, will manifest in a better-aligned, pain-less existence.
I’m not into gambling, but if I were, I’d put my bets down on their modus operandi any day.