I really don't know where to begin. This is so horrible and yet, weirdly funny. I have told similar stories before that were equally, ehem...'difficult' but this one...oh this is so much more!
I began my morning checking my email while it was still quiet. Mom was still asleep and that allowed me some precious minutes of undisturbed personal time. My laptop remains permanently on the coffee table next to my mother's chair. I realize that bending to type is a bad position for one's back and have suffered back strains when working that way; but with my caregiving duties I find that it is really the only way I can work and still keep an eye on Mom.
As I bent to answer an email I noticed that my back became tight and I rectified this by sitting back on the sofa and placing my laptop on my lap to finish typing. With hips thrust unnaturally forward and tilted, my body staged a revolt. I didn't realize this until I heard Mom walking about upstairs and rose from the sofa whereupon my back locked stubbornly refusing to move or allow my legs to propel me forward. I howled in pain sending Skip running to see what was wrong.
"I can't move," I told him as he helped me maneuver myself back to the sofa.
"What can I do?" Skip asked with concern.
"I dunno...just...um...get me a pillow."
Skip grabbed two pillows and pushed them behind me. "Can you lift your legs? Can you twist? Can you bend?" he asked trying to assess my injuries.
I answered with moans and groans.
Meanwhile Mom continued to pace upstairs growing impatient that no one was coming to get her. This was the moment we had dreaded -- the reason that I never left home overnight because I didn't want Skip to have to help Mom get into her clothes. I wanted to spare him the sight that could never be forgotten. A naked 98 year old is not something one normally sees and frankly, it's just not the way I wanted my husband to remember my mother. But...As the saying goes; desperate times call for desperate measures; and Skip looked pretty desperate when he walked towards the door saying that he would take care of dressing Mom for the day. I listened on the monitor as Skip greeted my mother. Then I heard him explaining what was going to happen.
"Here are your clothes. First put on your undergarments and then your sweater and pants. I'll wait at the door and when you are ready, just call to me and I will help you with your shoes and socks."
For most people that would be sufficient, but with my mother the instructions might as well have been in Latin! After a sufficient amount of time, Skip walked back into the room and I heard him exclaim in an agitated voice, "No Mom! You need to put your bra on...no wait...NO! NOOOOOO!!! It was too late. I knew exactly what had happened. Mom couldn't dress herself anymore. She had whipped her nightgown off so that Skip could assist her. Later, when Skip came downstairs looking like he had just smelled something terribly disagreeable I asked if what I thought he saw he had actually seen. "Oh yes!" he told me with utmost displeasure. His eyes rolled so many times I thought for sure they would get stuck in a permanent 'up' position.
The day progressed without any change in my condition and that night Skip helped Mom back into her nightgown and to bed. I had hopes that I would feel better the next day or the next, but alas, the condition remained the same and Skip grew used to assisting with dressing Mom. I felt awful about it but Mom was oblivious. Then yesterday when we thought it couldn't get any worse, the perfect storm struck.
I was feeling a little better and decided that I could make lunch for the three of us if I stood in one position, no bending, allowing Skip to fetch ingredients and dishes.
"Can you get Mom something to drink?" I asked as I flipped the omelet.
Skip must have thought that an omelet meant it was more like breakfast and poured my mother a glass of orange juice. I didn't notice this however, until she had finished almost half of it. I reminded Skip that orange juice usually caused my mother huge digestive distress. Skip argued that it would be fine and ignored my protests.
I felt the familiar tightness in my back and realized that I needed to return to my lying-flat position on the sofa. Skip assured me that he had everything under control. When Mom finished lunch Skip washed some grapes and gave some to Mom. Mom, being oblivious to how much she had eaten or how she felt, readily downed the grapes and sat down to watch some TV while I (upon discovering what she had eaten) told Skip that she was going to be sick. No sooner did I make this proclamation than my mother gave a gulping cough and got up quickly. "Hurry!" I yelled. "Skip! Mom's going to throw up!" Skip rounded the corner waiving his arms and rushing behind her as she slammed the door to the bathroom. We heard the loud heaves from the other side of the door.
"Not in the sink!" Skip reminded her but knew already that it was exactly what she was doing. Mom had forgotten where to throw up and it wouldn't be the first time we would gaze at a sink full of vomit. (This is the nasty part but I just have to go into the dreadful details.) I could hear Skip almost gagging as he told Mom to go wait outside. He was cursing quietly as he recounted to me what had happened.
"I told you," I reminded him. I didn't like being right this time. It was just too awful and I felt so sorry for Skip who was the one who had to clean up the sink. There was no washing down a full lunch that had not even been digested. Skip left to get a scooping bucket, some Lysol and latex gloves. Before he could begin his disgusting task, Mom was already headed back to the bathroom looking panicked.
"Wait, wait," he yelled hastily rushing her to the toilet. It was only the last minute that he noticed that the toilet was not flushed and when he went to flush it, it began to overflow. "Hold on! Wait...here's a bucket. Use this." He practically threw the bucket at my mother as he lifted the back of the toilet lid to stop the flow of water.
"What's going on in there?" I called. When Skip told me of the emergency I tried to get up off the sofa but quickly discovered that my back had locked up again. I began flopping around like a dying mackerel while Skip ran back and forth from the bathroom to the garage and back with mop, bucket, and paper towels.There was more retching and then came Mom's announcement, "I have to go to the bathroom. I'm gonna be sick".
Skip managed to get the toilet flushing in the nick of time and ran out of the bathroom to await the outcome. He didn't wait long (and frankly would have gladly waited longer -- like for the rest of his life). Mom had managed to make a mess of things (I won't elaborate). Skip could be heard saying, "Don't move. Where are your panties? Oh no! Um...just wait. I need to get you some clean clothes." Then he ran out of the bathroom to the laundry room where a clean load of Mom's clothes awaited folding. I saw him flash past me to the bathroom and heard him instructing Mom what to do. Take off your shoes and socks. No, your shoes...your SHOES. No those are not your shoes. UGH. Okay. That's okay. Your socks need changing too. No...keep your pants on until I leave. NO...NOOOO. Oh well. Okay then. Here. Take these." About 5 minutes later Mom emerged in a whole new outfit. There was much clanging and banging in the bathroom; then the door opened and Skip handed Mom the bucket. "If you need to throw up use this bucket." Mom gratefully took the bucket and retched loudly. "What can I give her?" He asked me.
I was tempted to reply 'No orange juice,' but helpfully told him where some anti-diarrheal medicine was. Mom swallowed the medicine with a chaser of water and promptly threw it up in the bucket. The whole 'event' lasted for about an hour. She was miserable, Skip was miserable and I was miserable. When Mom began to feel better, as is the way with Alzheimer's, she soon forgot the entire episode. Skip, however, was still cleaning up. When at last Skip emerged from the bathroom after another hour, having cleaned and polished everything, I hugged him tightly. Feeling around his shoulder blades I asked, "Does your back itch?"
"What?"
"Does your back itch where your angel wings are growing in?" We both laughed. Yes, my wonderful husband had done what most people would never do. At that moment I realized that our wedding vows that we recited 49 years ago were being strongly tested -- that 'Through sickness and in health' part. I doubt that either of us thought about a package deal that included in-laws as well. Both of us promised to share our lives with each other (and evidently with others too). Skip demonstrates his love and devotion to me every day, but this...THIS is the ultimate affirmation of both sharing and caring. How amazing this man is! I am so grateful to him for getting us through the day.
As I write about this my emotions are mixed. The most unpleasant things provide us with positive insights, and lessons learned. I am also reminded that I find humor in the strangest things for as I recount this I begin to laugh out loud. The image of Skip almost airborne flying from garage to bathroom while I could do nothing more than observe and yell instructions is worthy of a sitcom. The bonus is to find the gratitude, and the gifts these experiences bring. Skip is my gift (and my mother's as well.) He dug deep and did what he needed to do. For me, I found compassion for both my mother who was suffering and for Skip who was also suffering. The greatest gift is to know that we are all three sharing the journey. It is the caring that bonds us and binds us to each other. I do not want to minimize this for as we continue on we see this every day and in every way.
Wednesday, November 15, 2017
Friday, November 10, 2017
A Day at the Spa
When speaking to care givers I always remind them of the importance of de-stressing. "Take care of yourselves," I tell them. Find activities to relieve your stress.
I am reminded of this when I think of my first foray into the de-stressing activities such as massages and the like. It was many years ago but has totally shaped how I feel about going for a massage. I know refer to it as PTSD -- Post Traumatic Spa Day!
My very first massage was at the request of my girlfriend, Joanne who wanted to celebrate her birthday by inviting a group of ladies to join her at a spa. She showed me the packages they offered and I selected one for total relaxation. Since I was working in a very stressful job, I thought that this sounded quite desirable. It included a lymphatic massage, a whole body muscular massage, a mud bath, an herbal bath, and a mineral body wrap. I had never indulged myself in any of these activities so I had no predetermined bias one way or the other. On the day of our visit, I sat expectantly in the lobby of the spa awaiting my first 'procedure'. When a young woman appeared in the lobby calling my name I rose and greeted her. "Follow me," she said without any social pretense. I walked down a long hall and into a cubicle where there was nothing but a massage table, a bench with a bottle of massage oil, and a hook on the wall. "Take off your clothes," she commanded abruptly. Obediently I began disrobing until I stood in front of her in my undergarments. "Take everything off," she told me. I paused looking around embarrassed and confused. Wasn't there supposed to be a sheet or a robe or something? Unless I was missing a secret cupboard where a stack of towels, sheets and modesty robe were stowed I thought that I would have to endure a slight amount of humiliation by getting naked in front of a stranger.
"Um...oh. Okay," I agreed removing the rest of my garments along with my dignity. I sat down on the paper-covered table and the young lady told me to lie back while she began working on massaging my lymph glands. Now for those who know about the lymphatic system the lymph glands are prominent in certain areas that one might not want a stranger massaging. I giggled nervously and told the masseuse that I expected her to buy me dinner first. (One must resort to humor in times like that!)
The more I was um...uh...'manipulated' the quieter I became. I had to do something. I couldn't stand the silence. I began small talk. "Soooo, Have you been here long? Um...what's your name?" I learned that her name was Crystal. I continued, "So Crystal, do you like Sushi? Did you have to go to school to learn this?" I found out that Crystal was only a part time massage therapist and her real interest was ballroom dancing. Oh lucky me! I had drawn the short straw and got Crystal the ballroom dancing masseuse. I endured a half hour of her chattering on about tangos and waltzes feigning interest while praying that she would finish soon. At long last Crystal told me that she was done. "Now, don't you feel better?"
I muttered something affirmative just so she wouldn't try to repeat anything to make me feel okay. It's kind of like when you go to the dentist and after being worked on something doesn't feel quite right and the dentist makes you open you mouth so he or she can file away at a tooth some more. Finally out of desperation you tell the dentist it feels fine. So it was with Crystal. "Yup. It's good. Yeah. Wow. Amazing."
Crystal smiled victoriously and announced that she was now going to give me a nice relaxing massage.
RELAXING! Seriously? How could I relax? I kept thinking about how violated I felt. (Oh I know, I know. All reputable message therapists tell me that I should have had a sheet or towel or something, and how unprofessional...)
Anyway, when my 'relaxing' message was over, I was escorted into another building. "Good riddance," I thought as I bid good-bye to my torturer. In the next building I was greeted by an efficient young lady named Alice who immediately escorted me to a changing room. Again I was told to take my clothes off but this time I was offered other options.
"Walk down the hall and leave your clothes here but keep your shoes on. Then grab a sheet from the shelves and go down the hall to the showers. Take your shoes off, then leave the sheet on the shelf and take a quick shower before wrapping in the sheet. Then get your shoes, bring them back to the changing room over there, get your clothes, go to the lockers here, and leave them, taking a number and carrying back with you . Make sure to grab a towel and then go to the mud room. I'll meet you back in there." She pointed at a curtained room in the front of the building by the door. I was still trying to figure out where the changing room was and couldn't remember if I was supposed to take a shower first or take my shoes off first. I was beyond stressed and my mind felt like mush. I walked back to the changing room timidly and fought to remember my instructions. When I finally found my way back to the 'mud room' Alice was waiting for me impatiently.
"Well finally!" she complained. "I thought that you had gotten lost."
(I was!)
"Okay then." She changed her mood like an actor changes roles. Suddenly she was smiling broadly and enthusiastically. "Time for your mud soak." She pointed at a boiling pit of mud with bits of debris floating on the top.
"Yech!" Every fiber of my being rejected dipping itself into that cesspool of germs and disease. "I don't think so," I objected.
"Oh c'mon. Just step in. You'll love it." She reached for my sheet and tugged it off, urging me forward towards the mud. I stepped tentatively into the mud finding a step with the tips of my toes. I stopped as I felt the gooey warmth of liquid dirt surrounding my feet. "Step down," Alice encouraged. I took another step and sunk to my knees. Just then the entry door slammed, causing my curtain to blow open. Realizing that someone could look into the room and see me standing there -- au naturel, I quickly dipped into the mud covering up to my shoulders. The mud line was topped with a layer of dirty water. I didn't realize how my boobs would float above the mud making them unruly appendages. Someone walked past my room and the curtain fluttered. I packed mud atop my floating pontoons.
"That's it," Alice exclaimed. "Cover yourself in mud." I protested belligerently; but with one more swing of the door and blown curtain I grabbed globs of mud to cover my face, my arms and even my hair. Alice seemed pleased. "Alright then. Just sit back and relax. I'll come back for you later."
I figured that whatever disease I was going to contract from this pit had already permeated all of the crevices and now I might as well enjoy the time I had wallowing in the warm gooshy, ooshiness. I lost myself for a moment as I began (for the first time that day) to relax. Unfortunately that would not last long. Somewhere in a break room out of sight, Alice looked at her watch and announced that it was time to water down the pachyderm. Entering the small room she grabbed a hose and told me to get out of the confines of my muddy retreat. With the water pressure of a fire hose she shot water at every inch of me announcing that I needed to bend over so she could be sure to find all of the mud. Once again I was reduced to a quivering, yet compliant child as I submitted to Alice's ability to leave me utterly humiliated. Then I was given my sheet and escorted into the bath room where a warm tub of herbs awaited my next soak. There was no relaxing. I merely sat in the tub whimpering and hoping that this torturous day would soon end. I counted the minutes I was left alone to mull over the events of the day. I pictured the image of me...in all of my splendor being treated with all of the respect of a meatloaf. "HRMPF!" I snorted indignantly. I felt myself stiffen even more as my mind urged my muscles into a posture of protest.
Alice reappeared after about 20 minutes telling me that my bath time was over. (Thank God!) Oh but there was one more treat in store for me: The Mummy Wrap! Alice handed me off to Nurse Ratched who began covering me with bandages soaked in a mineral mix. Then she escorted me into a "Slumber Room" where mummies were lying on beds and snoring restfully. "Just lie down and sleep," she told me.
"Wait!" I could barely speak through the gauze covering my face. "I have an itch," I told her.
"Where?"
"By node..."
"What?"
"Node," I struggled to tell her. I wiggled my nose under the bandages to show her.
Nurse Ratched offered to scratch it for me then inched me onto my table for indefinite slumber. "There," she said. "Is everything comfy now?" (I sensed sarcasm.)
"Umhum," I mumbled as she left the room. Meanwhile, I pondered the sadistic nature of the people who put together these spa packages as I lay there immobilized, helpless and quivering. Oh yes, and still itching.
I am the kind of person who finds humor in even the most difficult of situations and as I thought about the various images that came to mind now, I began to laugh. I couldn't control it. It rose from my throat and burst forward in spasms of loud guffaws even through gauze.
"Jessica? Is that you making noise?" Nurse Ratched asked as she hustled back into the room. Then discovering it was in fact the troublemaker with the itch, she sternly told me that if I didn't quiet down I would be ejected from the slumber room because I was disturbing the others. I laughed louder, uncontrollably, and with gusto. Firm hands gripped me and walked me out. I did not experience the joy of another minute of total relaxation in the darkened crypt. My fellow mummies were free to go back to sleep. Ah, but I was free to join my friends in the dining room for lunch.
They were already there, the entire group assembled and sharing stories of how they had a FAB-U-LOUS salt rub, how the herbal splash was DEEE-VINE, how the dip in the floral scented healing waters was A-MAZ-ING, and how the facial masks left them glowing! Then, they turned to me. "And how were your treatments?"
I was babbling unintelligibly as I tried to explain that we must have been in a different spa. How could it be that my experience was so different from theirs? I tried to enjoy my lunch of weeds and tofu topped with some sort of yogurt slime but everything reminded me of the pit of mud.
When at last we were released and freed to go home, I finally breathed a sigh of relief. Having spent a week's wages on this indulgence I wanted to report what a joyful experience it had been but when I saw my husband I rolled my eyes and ran for the bathroom where I peed mud. Skip asked how I enjoyed myself reaching for my shoulders and commenting that my muscles felt unusually tight.
"Are you tense?" he asked.
"Tense? Who me?" I began to laugh. "Why on Earth would I be tense?"
The visit to the spa will forever hold a place in my memory as an experience of a lifetime...one not to ever, ever be repeated. Oh...and for the record, I will not submit to any kind of body work. Yeah, I know -- my loss.
I am reminded of this when I think of my first foray into the de-stressing activities such as massages and the like. It was many years ago but has totally shaped how I feel about going for a massage. I know refer to it as PTSD -- Post Traumatic Spa Day!
My very first massage was at the request of my girlfriend, Joanne who wanted to celebrate her birthday by inviting a group of ladies to join her at a spa. She showed me the packages they offered and I selected one for total relaxation. Since I was working in a very stressful job, I thought that this sounded quite desirable. It included a lymphatic massage, a whole body muscular massage, a mud bath, an herbal bath, and a mineral body wrap. I had never indulged myself in any of these activities so I had no predetermined bias one way or the other. On the day of our visit, I sat expectantly in the lobby of the spa awaiting my first 'procedure'. When a young woman appeared in the lobby calling my name I rose and greeted her. "Follow me," she said without any social pretense. I walked down a long hall and into a cubicle where there was nothing but a massage table, a bench with a bottle of massage oil, and a hook on the wall. "Take off your clothes," she commanded abruptly. Obediently I began disrobing until I stood in front of her in my undergarments. "Take everything off," she told me. I paused looking around embarrassed and confused. Wasn't there supposed to be a sheet or a robe or something? Unless I was missing a secret cupboard where a stack of towels, sheets and modesty robe were stowed I thought that I would have to endure a slight amount of humiliation by getting naked in front of a stranger.
"Um...oh. Okay," I agreed removing the rest of my garments along with my dignity. I sat down on the paper-covered table and the young lady told me to lie back while she began working on massaging my lymph glands. Now for those who know about the lymphatic system the lymph glands are prominent in certain areas that one might not want a stranger massaging. I giggled nervously and told the masseuse that I expected her to buy me dinner first. (One must resort to humor in times like that!)
The more I was um...uh...'manipulated' the quieter I became. I had to do something. I couldn't stand the silence. I began small talk. "Soooo, Have you been here long? Um...what's your name?" I learned that her name was Crystal. I continued, "So Crystal, do you like Sushi? Did you have to go to school to learn this?" I found out that Crystal was only a part time massage therapist and her real interest was ballroom dancing. Oh lucky me! I had drawn the short straw and got Crystal the ballroom dancing masseuse. I endured a half hour of her chattering on about tangos and waltzes feigning interest while praying that she would finish soon. At long last Crystal told me that she was done. "Now, don't you feel better?"
I muttered something affirmative just so she wouldn't try to repeat anything to make me feel okay. It's kind of like when you go to the dentist and after being worked on something doesn't feel quite right and the dentist makes you open you mouth so he or she can file away at a tooth some more. Finally out of desperation you tell the dentist it feels fine. So it was with Crystal. "Yup. It's good. Yeah. Wow. Amazing."
Crystal smiled victoriously and announced that she was now going to give me a nice relaxing massage.
RELAXING! Seriously? How could I relax? I kept thinking about how violated I felt. (Oh I know, I know. All reputable message therapists tell me that I should have had a sheet or towel or something, and how unprofessional...)
Anyway, when my 'relaxing' message was over, I was escorted into another building. "Good riddance," I thought as I bid good-bye to my torturer. In the next building I was greeted by an efficient young lady named Alice who immediately escorted me to a changing room. Again I was told to take my clothes off but this time I was offered other options.
"Walk down the hall and leave your clothes here but keep your shoes on. Then grab a sheet from the shelves and go down the hall to the showers. Take your shoes off, then leave the sheet on the shelf and take a quick shower before wrapping in the sheet. Then get your shoes, bring them back to the changing room over there, get your clothes, go to the lockers here, and leave them, taking a number and carrying back with you . Make sure to grab a towel and then go to the mud room. I'll meet you back in there." She pointed at a curtained room in the front of the building by the door. I was still trying to figure out where the changing room was and couldn't remember if I was supposed to take a shower first or take my shoes off first. I was beyond stressed and my mind felt like mush. I walked back to the changing room timidly and fought to remember my instructions. When I finally found my way back to the 'mud room' Alice was waiting for me impatiently.
"Well finally!" she complained. "I thought that you had gotten lost."
(I was!)
"Okay then." She changed her mood like an actor changes roles. Suddenly she was smiling broadly and enthusiastically. "Time for your mud soak." She pointed at a boiling pit of mud with bits of debris floating on the top.
"Yech!" Every fiber of my being rejected dipping itself into that cesspool of germs and disease. "I don't think so," I objected.
"Oh c'mon. Just step in. You'll love it." She reached for my sheet and tugged it off, urging me forward towards the mud. I stepped tentatively into the mud finding a step with the tips of my toes. I stopped as I felt the gooey warmth of liquid dirt surrounding my feet. "Step down," Alice encouraged. I took another step and sunk to my knees. Just then the entry door slammed, causing my curtain to blow open. Realizing that someone could look into the room and see me standing there -- au naturel, I quickly dipped into the mud covering up to my shoulders. The mud line was topped with a layer of dirty water. I didn't realize how my boobs would float above the mud making them unruly appendages. Someone walked past my room and the curtain fluttered. I packed mud atop my floating pontoons.
"That's it," Alice exclaimed. "Cover yourself in mud." I protested belligerently; but with one more swing of the door and blown curtain I grabbed globs of mud to cover my face, my arms and even my hair. Alice seemed pleased. "Alright then. Just sit back and relax. I'll come back for you later."
I figured that whatever disease I was going to contract from this pit had already permeated all of the crevices and now I might as well enjoy the time I had wallowing in the warm gooshy, ooshiness. I lost myself for a moment as I began (for the first time that day) to relax. Unfortunately that would not last long. Somewhere in a break room out of sight, Alice looked at her watch and announced that it was time to water down the pachyderm. Entering the small room she grabbed a hose and told me to get out of the confines of my muddy retreat. With the water pressure of a fire hose she shot water at every inch of me announcing that I needed to bend over so she could be sure to find all of the mud. Once again I was reduced to a quivering, yet compliant child as I submitted to Alice's ability to leave me utterly humiliated. Then I was given my sheet and escorted into the bath room where a warm tub of herbs awaited my next soak. There was no relaxing. I merely sat in the tub whimpering and hoping that this torturous day would soon end. I counted the minutes I was left alone to mull over the events of the day. I pictured the image of me...in all of my splendor being treated with all of the respect of a meatloaf. "HRMPF!" I snorted indignantly. I felt myself stiffen even more as my mind urged my muscles into a posture of protest.
Alice reappeared after about 20 minutes telling me that my bath time was over. (Thank God!) Oh but there was one more treat in store for me: The Mummy Wrap! Alice handed me off to Nurse Ratched who began covering me with bandages soaked in a mineral mix. Then she escorted me into a "Slumber Room" where mummies were lying on beds and snoring restfully. "Just lie down and sleep," she told me.
"Wait!" I could barely speak through the gauze covering my face. "I have an itch," I told her.
"Where?"
"By node..."
"What?"
"Node," I struggled to tell her. I wiggled my nose under the bandages to show her.
Nurse Ratched offered to scratch it for me then inched me onto my table for indefinite slumber. "There," she said. "Is everything comfy now?" (I sensed sarcasm.)
"Umhum," I mumbled as she left the room. Meanwhile, I pondered the sadistic nature of the people who put together these spa packages as I lay there immobilized, helpless and quivering. Oh yes, and still itching.
I am the kind of person who finds humor in even the most difficult of situations and as I thought about the various images that came to mind now, I began to laugh. I couldn't control it. It rose from my throat and burst forward in spasms of loud guffaws even through gauze.
"Jessica? Is that you making noise?" Nurse Ratched asked as she hustled back into the room. Then discovering it was in fact the troublemaker with the itch, she sternly told me that if I didn't quiet down I would be ejected from the slumber room because I was disturbing the others. I laughed louder, uncontrollably, and with gusto. Firm hands gripped me and walked me out. I did not experience the joy of another minute of total relaxation in the darkened crypt. My fellow mummies were free to go back to sleep. Ah, but I was free to join my friends in the dining room for lunch.
They were already there, the entire group assembled and sharing stories of how they had a FAB-U-LOUS salt rub, how the herbal splash was DEEE-VINE, how the dip in the floral scented healing waters was A-MAZ-ING, and how the facial masks left them glowing! Then, they turned to me. "And how were your treatments?"
I was babbling unintelligibly as I tried to explain that we must have been in a different spa. How could it be that my experience was so different from theirs? I tried to enjoy my lunch of weeds and tofu topped with some sort of yogurt slime but everything reminded me of the pit of mud.
When at last we were released and freed to go home, I finally breathed a sigh of relief. Having spent a week's wages on this indulgence I wanted to report what a joyful experience it had been but when I saw my husband I rolled my eyes and ran for the bathroom where I peed mud. Skip asked how I enjoyed myself reaching for my shoulders and commenting that my muscles felt unusually tight.
"Are you tense?" he asked.
"Tense? Who me?" I began to laugh. "Why on Earth would I be tense?"
The visit to the spa will forever hold a place in my memory as an experience of a lifetime...one not to ever, ever be repeated. Oh...and for the record, I will not submit to any kind of body work. Yeah, I know -- my loss.
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