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.

No comments:

Post a Comment