I got a massage last weekend by a three foot tall man named Sick.
OK, so he wasn't really three feet tall, but he was a very small, very round, man and his name was Sick.
I am not joking, his name really was Sick!
Let me back up for a minute.
I got a letter from a reader last week asking for an arm update.
• "What's going on with your arm?" she asked.
• "Is Dr. Painless helping you or not?" she continued.
• "I also want to know if you've heard from The Torturer," she added.
She's not the first to ask, and I will have an update for you soon. There's both a lot and nothing at all going on regarding the above three questions.
I will write more about it … on July 30th, to be exact.
My stomach goes into knots just writing that date.
(Excuse me while I go vomit.)
July is a very emotionally charged month for me. Some of you understand, and some of you never will.
Anyway, there will be an update soon.
I've joined a day spa so I can have someone work on the damaged upper right quadrant of my body every few weeks.
I know the idea of an Orange County fancy day spa sounds lovely, doesn't it?
However, with my situation it's all about increasing circulation to the areas of my body which don't work properly. And, to be honest, it results in incredible amounts of pain after each visit. All my damaged nerves go berserk sending pain impulses to my brain and central nervous system after I have even the most gentle of massages. And yet, it's important for me to have massages anyway.
What I'm trying to explain is, for me, this isn't the type of enjoyable day spa experience YOU would have if you were joining me.
When I book my appointments, the spa always asks if I prefer a male or female masseuse and I always say, "I don't have a preference."
Because I don't.
I've had good and bad male and/or female masseuses in my lifetime and gender has nothing to do with how qualified they are.
And so that's how it came about that a little, round man, resembling one of the talking M&M candies on TV commercials, came and introduced himself to me in the waiting area of the spa the other day.
"I'm Sick," he said.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I replied.
"No, my name is Sick," he countered.
I … smiled … and then, I smiled a little longer. I wasn't sure what I should say to a man named Sick.
Sick spoke very broken English. I have no idea what country he moved here from, but communication was a real struggle.
Maybe some of you know what country might have a lot of Sick children?
Or, perhaps, Sick adults?
Sick showed me to a room, told me to get comfortable, and left for a few minutes.
I shrugged off my robe and slid my naked body, face down, under a sheet onto the warm massage table.
Sick rejoined me.
I had decided to try a different, more extensive, type of massage this time. July is a tough month for me and I thought a more extensive massage would be a nice treat to myself.
I attempted to explain to Sick that he would need to be very gentle in the areas I'm "damaged." He nodded to let me know he understood and then Sick began.
I sighed in anticipation.
I couldn't wait to feel Sick.
A minute later, I almost leaped off the table stark naked and ran out.
Sick must have thought I was telling him to use lots of pressure as he massaged me. I nearly jumped through the roof, it hurt so much.
It took a few minutes, and a few puzzled looks from Sick, but we somehow found a way to communicate.
What can I say?
We might have had a dubious beginning together, but Sick has quite a set of hands.
In a matter of minutes, he had rendered me completely unable to speak. Speaking would require effort on my part and I was much too relaxed to put forth any effort.
Fingers as light as butterflies worked over my bum shoulder/shoulder blade/arm and other damaged parts. Deep, firm, rhythmic strokes, massaged the undamaged areas of my back, neck, hips, legs …….
When I had decided to try a different type of massage, I hadn't known what to expect.
Basically, Sick turned my body into jello. I was that relaxed.
In fact, I did something with Sick I've never done with any other masseuse before.
I fell asleep.
I, the non-napper, the can-never-fall-asleep-insomniac, fell asleep with Sick.
"It's time to turn over now," he said softly and I awoke with an embarrassed start.
I flipped onto my back.
Sick began working on the rest of me.
Inside my head, my half-dozing brain rambled with thoughts like these:
• Wow, I fell asleep, Sick.
• Amazing Sick hands!
• No one will ever believe an M&M man named Sick did this to me.
• I've never felt this good, Sick.
• Who knew Sick could feel so amazing?
One thing's for sure –
Next time I go in for a massage, I need to get Sick again.
© Twenty Four At Heart