Following the last surgery, I made a whole bunch of massage appointments. Obviously, I waited until I was healed enough to lie facedown on the table, but as soon as it was safe, I was in there, ready to be worked over. I had left my membership active through all the obstacles over the last few years, through two rounds of cancer and a pandemic that kept us all hiding in our homes for the first year. I have a bunch of pre-paid time saved up, for all those months I skipped going. Now I'm going in for two 90-minute sessions a month, and this is incredible. It is keeping me moving when my body is trying so hard to shut me down in protest of my increased activity.
Today's body work was pretty intense. I'll assume the massive tender spots I went in with were a result of increased fibro or lupus activity. (I assume more of the former.) I didn't let the therapist hold back at all. She dug through all kinds of super-sensitive connective tissue, and now I'm practically throbbing in places like the base of my skull, upper arms, and behind my knees.
There's always a point mid-way through a session when your brain turns into cold porridge, and any conversation with the therapist becomes nearly impossible. I have very chatty relationships with my two therapists, so I continue to try to talk. I figure they know when I've hit that point, because I make much less sense. Today, that mush-brain appears to have lasted a lot longer. I'm still pretty goofy, even after chilling all day and napping pretty hard this afternoon. I'm counting the minutes until I get to go to bed. There's less than half an hour to go now. Maybe I'll just go ahead and work my way that direction.
No comments:
Post a Comment