Wrestling towards recovery

If someone had walked into a particular corner office yesterday morning, on the 4th floor of a particular downtown building, they would have been witness to a scene looking strangely like an all-female wrestling match. Except that I was already horizontal from the get-go, my eyes were sealed shut from fatigue, and the only person weighing me down was Susan – my cranial osteopath.

Overall, there was no cause for alarm; Susan was merely trying to coax my sacrum into more fluid movement, so she (naturally!) had to weave her arms and upper body around my limbs like she was holding on to dear life; digging in, wrapping herself up around my somewhat still-stiff body. Searching for my body’s ground zero.

But, the devil is in the details. And yesterday’s details overflowed with shriekin’ pain. So much so that Susan had the foresight to pump me up with enough drugs – homeopathic ones, naturally – before she began pummeling and poking around. Subsequently, I became sedate and malleable enough for her to continue with her full-frontal, contortionist attack. She came at me from every direction, from my feet, my left side and right. She even took a stab at me while I lay on my stomach. My backside quivered. What can I say: she quite literally knocked me out.

Not altogether different than what we were up to!

In fact, I still can’t determine whether my in-session hallucinations were a product of her remedies or my muddled and pain-addled mind: I had a vague recollection of the Memorex commercial in which a glass breaks when Ella Fitzgerald hits a high note. I suppose the memory was relevant to my current state: My innards were screaming, cringing and pelting expletives at Susan’s brain (silently mind you), at decibel levels undoubtedly high enough to break glass, shred paper and trigger a tornado in Texas.

When the referee called time, signaling the conclusion of the (heavily-tilted in her favor) match, Susan slid a few arnica (i.e. calm thyself) pellets down my throat for good measure – possibly to preclude any imminent retribution that I might have been cooking up.

And then, as I began to dress and regain my composure, my body still in the throes of post-match shock & awe, I remembered the adage, that what doesn’t kill makes you stronger. So by the time I waddled out of the building, I had already decided that when I am strong enough, I’m going to ask Susan for a rematch, just to even it out.

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