Monday, August 5, 2013

Massage Client Relationship Part 3 of 3


Let’s rewind a bit.  Remember Mr. Executive who was sitting outside calling me repeatedly?  That was when?  Back in April, May?  Can’t remember.  Well, he is off his ban now. He caught up with me this week and I agreed to do a massage for him.  He was punctual.  

Very punctual.  Half hour early. Strange how people change.  He wasted no time filling me in on what happened in his world in the name of massage.  He was over in Miami where he got the foot massage.  Foot massage? 

 Yes, the one where they walk on you.  Oh!  He explained that a very hot towel was placed on his back for a few minutes, then the walking began.  It felt like: Wow!  Okay. Then he is working out at a gym where he is supervising himself.  He added extra weights to his routine and he body did not like that, so he tried to get a massage.  

He said that he called me several times got voice message.  He said he found a Therapist.  This field is very small, so a client says something and the mind zooms in on the tiny Massage Map of Trinidad, so I had an idea of where he went.  The massage was good.  It could have been rated very good, but he complained that the Therapist did not understand him, so her strokes became intense too soon and his body did not like that.  

Hmmm.  Listen, you can’t please every client.  And I am only too aware that he might have said the opposite thing to the Therapist, so we have to be selective about what we believe.
He also spoke of a prominent tennis player who said he went into early retirement because the painful massages after the games were too much for him.  He wanted to know why sports massage was painful.  

I said to him what I would have said in class.  It is for each Therapist to justify their actions. We have gone back and forth over the issue of micro-trauma from repetitive muscle use.  These tissues need delicate treatment after a game, especially an intense one.  

There are basic guidelines for post-event massage, but sometimes there is nothing quite as exhilarating as hearing an athlete scream. You’re serious?  Who is this guy?  No, I’m not serious.  And he recounted when his arm was injured and the Doctor sent him to a Physiotherapist and the guy poked his arm with different tools and he had screaming moments.  

I told him that’s the point where the Therapist becomes a Musician and is testing the scales.  However, more needs to be done to make the client aware that the higher their range, the greater the success of the treatment, so they should not emit modest groans, but go for the full scream.  

You’re not serious, right? Okay, so he has been away for a few months and he is out of synch with me.  No, I am not serious.  But you can consider the principle of fighting fire with fire.  Similarly, inducing greater pain than what is being experienced can nullify the pain entirely, but not necessarily immediately.  

Probably in a few hours, or the next day.  Really?  Really.  How come you don’t do that?  Oh, it’s my ears.  They can handle loud music, but not whining humans.
When he turned over for me to do the front of his body he decided that that was his opportunity to understand what took place on the day that he was waiting outside.  Was I to tell him that that was the last straw?  

That he was on suspension?  I told him I prefer not to talk about it as the details are vague at this time.  He said he was concerned for my safety and wondered what could have happened so suddenly.  He even considered that I was being robed? Robed?  Of what?  I asked if he’s ever heard of a ‘man of straw.’  Yes.  That’s me.  He laughed.  Well, at least he got a joke.  

Then he asked me what is embolism.  Is he serious?  A Massage Therapist is supposed to know that?  I thought we were supposed to be pretty and docile and seeking every opportunity to wiggle our frames to get an extra dollar.  He asked if it was clot blood.  I told him when we think of a clot we can think of cells responsible for clotting.  

They are called thrombocytes, taking us to thrombosis.  Embolism could be a clot or some other fragment like bone from an arthritic joint, bouncing along the freeway of our blood vessel.  Real-ly?  Maybe not, but that’s my impression of it. Ooooh.  I told him that there is the argument that thrombosis is static while an embolism moves.  

As Therapists we are supposed to be wary of this so that we don’t activate movement.  If we work with the movement theory, then thrombosis in terms of a clot is only thrombosis during its formation.  At some point it moves, even if it’s just a millimeter, but the Doctor would not trouble the patient with that information.  If it moves much more than that then it becomes an embolism, and at whichever point it gets stuck, because it is static, it should be called thrombosis again.  He said a friend of his recently died suddenly and he learnt it was embolism.  

I told him the theory of embolism being associated with movement makes it impossible for his friend to die of that.  He had to have died from thrombosis.  It stuck somewhere and prevented oxygen and nutrients from entering that area.  Anyway, we are all entitled to our opinions.  He should have asked a Doctor or check the Internet, instead he saved the question for me.  Sweet.
I had to reacquaint myself with his body, so the massage went over the time by about 15 minutes.  When it was all over I left him to rest a bit.  Duties call, so the rest was short-lived.  He sat up on the table and was about to say something when I heard a splitting sound and his body did a dip.  Okay, so there’s visual-effects in my living room now?  

Perfect.  He is over 250lbs and was sitting at that half-way point where the hinges meet.  He got off the table.  I turned it over to see what went wrong.  The hinges were perfectly in place. Nothing was bent.  I set it up back and tried to understand what happened.  Made no sense.  

He got into his clothes then came to check.  This meant reenacting.  Fine.  No snap this time, but his body dipped.  We looked again.  The board itself had broken, but not dislodged, so it looked perfect until you applied pressure.  Now would you believe that this man paid his flat fee and walked out that door?  No contribution towards repairs, or promise of such.  

Some people are not worth the trouble they give.  Now I have to arrange transportation to cart the table off to some repair place. Thank God I have one to replace that in the interim.  There is negative energy that makes you uncomfortable, then there is negative energy that breaks things.  I have never heard of a broken table from any Therapist (not saying it never happened), and I have decided that our client/therapist arranged has (obviously) ceased to be beneficial.
Well, one of my friends from back home will be going to Panama for a 3-week vacation so she will be here in transit for 10 hours on tomorrow.  I told her I will send a taxi for her and she can spend the time with me.  She wanted to know what she can expect when she comes.  She asked if I have the snake in my living room yet.  Did I tell her about that?  She must be my friend.  She is the kind of friend who I talk to a few times a year yet it is as if we have been talking all the time.  

The gaps disappear when we reconnect.  Oh, yes.  I remember.  Years ago when I was in Belmont she had introduced me to a friend of hers from Arima who has extensive knowledge of snakes, and he and I had sat down and discussed the pros and cons of a snake in captivity.  He was willing to help me set up the whole thing, but I changed my mind.  So no, the snake is not here.  

I told her the only excitement would be a massage - she could be a model for the students to work on.  She laughed.  Said she has gained too much weight to expose herself to my students, besides, she might break my table.  Ha!  I told her someone has already beaten her to that.  What?!  I was just joking.  I know, but it seriously happened by a guy who is constantly asking if I am serious.  

She wanted to hear the story and I related it to her. When I was finished she said: You know what that is about, right?  I asked what.  Karma, she said.  Really?  Yes!  You taught me that.  (I hope I haven’t taught anyone else that.  

It’s an insensitive concept).  So I taught you that, huh?  Yes! Okay.  Accepted.  I wonder what lesson she’d learn if I leave her sitting in the cold airport on tomorrow.  Oops!  Can’t do that.  Mom is sending some of my jewelry with her.


 The End

“Any wine will get you high.  Choose the purest.”

Friday, August 2, 2013

Massage Client Relationship 2 of 3


By Rinalda,

I crossed the street and stood by Express House debating a matter.  There was a certain place I wanted to visit, but each time I decided on such, the rain came down heavily.  So I stood there smiling and eventually said aloud, to myself, that I will go another day.  The rain began to ease.  Yes.  I guess I have quite an imagination.  

As I waited it out a Bobo came and stood under my umbrella.  I thought he was just passing by, but no, he stood there mumbling that he will shelter for an hour or two.  My eyes widened.  Then he indicated to someone over the road to come and join him.  I looked to see who he was calling and saw no one.  

I gathered that whoever he was talking to was not visible to me.  He continued standing under my umbrella pulling at his beard.  He then whispered that when I bring up the bag of weed I should hail him up and let him know what time it is.  My eyes went wider. He then ducked out from under the umbrella and went to shelter in a doorway.  My eyes followed him.  

This was very interesting.  I eventually got back to minding my own business when he returned.  This time he stood at the back of me and whispered that I’m the one he is talking to.  I turned my head and held his stare for a moment, then decided to ignore him. He came to the front, still under the umbrella, and remarked that he liked my hair.  All this time I had not moved an inch.  

I looked at how he ducked in and out without touch me or the umbrella.  I decided that it was time to get out of Port of Spain, but I did not want to walk off first.  In less than a minute, he ducked out again.  I got a taxi and came home.
Yesterday I went to visit another mover and shaker...  Sunset massage overlooking the gulf.  Once I was out of the elevator I started pushing brochures under doors, then turned the corner to continue and there he was standing.  Thought I would have had to knock on his door, but he thought otherwise.  

We greeted and he escorted me around to see the three bedrooms so that I could make my pick.  I told him the living room floor would be best.  He got a sheet and spread it on the mat and settled down.  We talked; his first massage plus conversation.  When I mentioned that it was too dark to see the clock across the room, he said I didn’t strike him as being concerned with time, so just massage and he will pay. Fine.  

He had a torn ligament (or more) in the rotator cuff on the right side about two years ago which has caused the right bicep to be reduced over time.  It used to be larger than the left.  The muscle seemed to have shifted medially.  He felt it should have been healed by now, but it is still painful, especially when he lifts weights or swing his golf club.  I explained that ligaments are not muscles, so overnight recovery is asking too much.
When he was comfortable enough he told me that he had just passed his medical exam, which is required because he flies something, and wanted to celebrate with some weed.  He asked if I knew where he could get some good weed.  I spent the next few seconds laughing.  I told him, no.  

Fine.  Actually I have a few golf-playing clients like him who always have weed on display like it’s their furniture who often smoked before the massage.  I thought to connect him with one, but then, ethics…  I’m still doing massages for them because I ignore them.  If I’m suddenly seeing, and in this case, referring persons, everything would change.
When the massage was over we sat in the kitchen talking some more and I had cranberry juice since beer was not an option for me.  He gave me the latest novel he was reading by Robert Ludlum and I was ready to leave.  He was not ready to let me go so he decided to drop me home.  We ended up going through St. James instead of up Wrightson Road 
because we were talking too much and he missed the turn-off.  

When we eventually got onto the highway, we were going at top speed with no seatbelts.  He said it should not be an imposition and I was glad about that.  I did not know that he thought San Juan was somewhere near Piarco until I noticed, at the speed we were going we were going to go pass the Barataria roundabout if I did not alert him.  I told him he needed to get into the left lane.  

It had to be done quickly, which meant swerving in front of a Police car at short notice. He did it anyhow and asked if I could imagine what would happen if they pull us over.  No.  I did not want to.  Besides, why would they?  We were in one of those recent model silver-gray Kia SUV with spanking new number plate.  The Police know better.
The weed conversation resurfaced.  I decided that this was a test of some sort.  I told him we will look for a dark street and drive up and ask.  He was excited.  He said he liked this side of me.  Uh-huh.  And he did drive up a street, and I saw some young men liming, and I told him to pull over.  He said he wanted $600 worth of weed.  I only had $100 on me apart from a few dollars change because he had paid in US currency.  He said he could go to an ATM.  

I said let’s try this first and if it works he could then go to the ATM.  Fine.  I wind down the window to talk to the young man.  After saying: Good night, I could not articulate what it was that I wanted.  The guy stood there smiling at me, and my client leaned over to explain.  We both ended up saying the same thing together.  The guy said the person who sells is not there and he could not help.  I told him thanks and we drove up the street, turned, and came back down.  All the young men were standing on one side now.  

My client suggested that we stop and ask when we can expect the seller.  Fine.  He stopped, and before I could ask, the very young man held out his hand with a sample.  My client took it and smelled it and said he did not like the quality.  That was accepted and we drove off.  I reached over and touched him.  Your hand is wet!  Yes it was.  I was sweating profusely.  The whole exercise was killing me and he was cracking up with laughter.
He took me home and wanted to know why my door was open.  I told him my son was there.  So we sat outside and had a conversation about his son who is 29 years old and behaves older than him.  Good for his son, he must have gotten that from his mother’s side because his Dad is very spontaneous.  Speaking of spontaneous, he wanted to kiss me before I disembarked.  I told him I only do hugs.  He did not want that.  

Then he said, you’re like four different persons.  I liked you back there with the guys, but I’m glad I met my mind first.  He read the blog and thought that I was a mystic and wanted to be in my ‘aura.’  So he called me and I sounded like a mature woman and he felt comfortable with me.  But when I showed up on his lobby I was totally different to what he imagined and he wanted to kiss me.  I asked if he was satisfied with his massage.  

Yes.  You have smart hands, you know, like a smart phone.  I like your feet, there’re probably smart too.  I bet you have smart lips.  I bet everything in between your hands and feet are smart.  Where do these people come out from?  He leaned over.  I told him he could kiss my cheek.  No.  Lips.  I asked if he knew that kissing on the lips facilitates the transference spirit via the breath.  No one talks to me like this.  I love it!  

Give me some spirit.  He is incorrigible.  I then told him I think I want to write about our encounter so it would not be wise for me to become embroiled.  Embroiled?  Wooooo!  I want to be embroiled with you.
I’m stepping out of the vehicle now, Sir.  No, wait, did I mention that I won’t mind seeing you without your clothes? No, I guess you were just thinking it.  Yes, I was.  Do you look good without them?  I’m like a cloak rack.  What?  A cloak rack.  I look better with things hanging on me.  I don’t agree with you.  Do I get to go now?  No, wait.  I want to say that you are a unique person.  

Meeting you was not normal and I will cherish it.  It’s funny that an old whipper snapper like me can bring out the child in you.  Whipper snapper?  What’s that?  He just laughed.  Sometimes I get a massage and it’s like a piece of crap, but this was good.  Thanks.  

I think that you are definitely not normal and it would not be wise to be around you often or I might not recognize myself sooner than later.  Do I get to go now?  Yes, I will let you go to your son. Thanks.  He gave a little bow and I said: Namaste.

Look out for part 3 to be posted tomorrow. 
“Any wine will get you high.  Choose the purest.”