I really needed my massage tonight. It hasn't been a bad day, or a bad week. However, the air quality is low, at least in my lungs' opinion, and I'm using my rescue inhaler more than usual. I haven't slept long for the past two nights, or particularly well.
So I ate a Happy Meal homeopathically as I drove to the spa. This was my first time with a new therapist, as the one I'd seen the first three times is trying something new. She was good, very good, and I liked her personality. I absolutely adore my new therapist.
I could not get comfortable lying on my belly, even with a boob pillow. First the belly wasn't happy. Then I couldn't get my face comfortable. I ended up propping myself on my elbows while she worked on my legs. Any time I even thought about lying flat, my lungs said,"Sure, try it. That'll be fun." Finally I asked her if it would get in her way if I were to lie on my side. Bingo!
Next time we're going to try a prenatal massage from the get-go, given the glorious Buddha-ness of the first curve I ever had.
My legs are happy for the first time in months. She was able to reverse some of the edema in my ankles that is resulting from insufficient sleep. Nobody had touched my mid-back in years, because it's not one of the parts that stamps and throws hissy-fits like my traps and deltoids and hips.
Ordinarily I prefer firm massage with plenty of work on trigger points. Tonight I knew in advance that that would make me feel worse, not better. So we went with a lighter but still significant pressure. Swedish massage, which many people find comforting, just feels to me as if I'm being mugged by butterflies.
On the drive home from my massage, I listened to the classical station, which was playing the last bit of the Emperor Concerto, then followed it with this as the pianist's encore. I almost wept with joy.
I'm crazy-tired but not sleepy. Time to make up my nest and call it a day.
No comments:
Post a Comment