The Massage
I had a massage yesterday.
I’d received a gift card for the massage many months ago, but I still hadn’t used it. You see, I’ve had this disgusting rash for months due to a drug I take with chemo. (You can see evidence of the rash on the newsok.com video, when I’m talking about making memories.) Since I can hardly stand to look at the rash, I just couldn’t bring myself to make some poor massage therapist put her hands on it, even if that is kind of her job.
Anyway, I’ve stopped taking that particular drug, thank God, and the rash is nearly gone. So it was time to cash in. Plus, I’ve been having back issues.
Still, I must admit I’m pretty uncomfortable when it comes to massages. I’ve got so many issues with my pathetic body that I’m unsure of the protocol involved.
First, my right arm is, uh, missing. That’s a little awkward. So we have to begin by covering how much pain I have in the “scarred area,” or whatever we’re calling it that day. Plus, with no right shoulder, forearm or hand to rub, the timing’s all off. The masseuse has to call an audible, adjusting her schedule along the way.
Second, I have a port. That’s a little awkward. A port is an implanted device the doctors use to access my arteries during chemo. (In other words, that’s where they plug me in to pump poison into my system.) For a massage therapist, however, a port is known as an “area to avoid.” So I had to alert her to that fact.
Third, I have a titanium pump about the size of a can of tuna implanted in my stomach. That’s a little awkward, if not shocking. If the massage therapist had touched this area without knowing it’s there, I’m fairly sure she would’ve screamed. So more disclosures.
Fourth, my body is cold to the touch, only minimally warmer than your average cadaver. That’s a little awkward. The massage therapist would surely consider dialing 911 if she didn’t know about my temperature issues. So I told her about it.
Fifth, I’m missing a large muscle in my back, due to a reconstructive surgery I had in those early cancer days. That’s a little awkward. Massage therapists like to trace up and down most of your major back muscles in order to work things out. I thought about explaining, but all these pre-massage disclosures were cutting into my actual massage time. So I stayed quiet, hoping she’d figure it out by the scars.
Same for the large splotches of missing hair on my legs, a result of chemo. These make me look like I’ve been shaving my legs, but have somehow missed entire areas here and there. Awkward! But there was no time to get into it. Plus, who really cares, when it comes right down to it, if the masseuse secretly pegs me as a possible cross-dresser?
I also failed to mention the area on my foot where skin is peeling off due to chemo. That may have been a mistake, however, as I’m pretty sure the poor woman was dadgum startled by it. But hers is a profession where some sort of surprise would seem rather commonplace.
Afterward, I felt kind of guilty, putting her through the drama that is me. Hopefully, the tip I left will result in some measure of forgiveness.
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