massage without the happy ending…

As I’ve mentioned previously, I’ve been experiencing more pain than usual in my back and neck. At least part of it is caused by the golf-ball sized knots I have.  My dad kept encouraging me to go get a massage, and I kept making empty promises that I would.

It’s not that I don’t like getting massaged. Lying naked on a bed in a dim room with soft music playing while getting warm oil rubbed over me by a perfect stranger is totally my cup of tea. Unlike most spas/salons, no one there will judge what I’m wearing, because it comes off two minutes after arriving anyway. And, I may never see the massage therapist again, so I don’t need to be embarrassed by my pale, see-through skin. Nor do I need to be embarrassed that I make sex noises when getting massaged.

Just kidding.

My issue with massages is that it hurts to have even slight pressure on my back or neck. I get nerve pain sometimes with dysautonomia. My left hand/arm often tingles or burns, and my back is like a fricken minefield. If you don’t know where to touch, something could blow up.  Even a light pat on the back will ignite a fire in my nerves and can give me an instant headache. So, an hour of having my back rubbed sounds like heaven in theory, but hell in application.

Knowing that I wouldn’t go without some convincing, my dad bought me a gift card for a national massage therapy chain. I’m lucky to have a great dad, and to show him how much I appreciated it, I went ahead and booked an appointment. These days I’m trying to force myself to try more things, even if they could make me sick. I look at each situation as an adventure where I have to defeat obstacles in order to rescue the handsome prince (i.e., make it home safely to the BF).

I was a little nervous as I arrived but was also looking forward to relaxing. It had been a difficult week and I was ready to be pampered. The receptionist sat me down in the “zen” room, complete with fake water fountain and soft buddhist chanting, while I filled out the paperwork. It asked the typical questions – what hurts, where, what medical conditions do I have, etc. I filled it out in detail, with the exception of the last line.

I’d like to think I’m pretty open-minded and felt comfortable leaving the details of my massage up to the professional. Do I want my head massaged? Sure. Foot massage? Sounds great. Abdomen? Get to it. Gluteal region? If you wants to rub my ass, that’s your problem. Pectoral? Hmm…

I assumed this question was directed towards men, as men must carry a lot of stress in their chest muscles from all of their super manly pectoral exercises. I don’t think I have a lot of stress in my chest, and wasn’t quite sure how I felt about a booby massage, but I didn’t want to come off as stuffy and rigid. So I left it blank, figuring it didn’t apply anyway.

The massage therapist was very friendly and took all of my nerve and joint pain into consideration in order to provide the best massage possible. Lying on my stomach, I closed my eyes and instantly relaxed as her hands worked their magic. She quickly found the stubborn knots in my back and cautiously kneaded them out. It was painful, for sure, but that good pain where you feel the blood flow and your muscles respond.

After about 40 minutes, the massage therapist asked me to turn over on my back. I tensed for a moment, remembering that I had not circled the “no” to a pectoral massage. But I didn’t want to seem “uncool” – after all, I was into the whole 60’s free-love movement (at least, as much as someone born about a decade later could be). So, I rolled over and took a deep breath.

The therapist began by massaging my neck and collar bone region. It felt nice, and I relaxed.  After a few moments, she slid her hands under the sheet pulled up to my armpits and began to massage my shoulders and arms, my rib cage, and then over to what must be my pectoral region. A few minutes later the massage was over. I dressed, tipped and left pleased that I had the courage to give it a try, and happy that it had felt good.

However, I woke up the next morning in a lot of pain. My back and neck muscles were extremely sore, I had a migraine, and I threw up. The massage therapist was very skilled – she just had a bad canvas to work with. Dysautonomia sometimes makes my nerves feel like they are misfiring, and too much stimulation often leads to a migraine.  Afterward, I learned that massage therapy dilates blood vessels temporarily lowering your blood pressure and heart rate.  Blood vessel dilation can make it more difficult for someone with dysautonomia to get blood back up to their heart and brain. That is why us POTSies are constantly taking measures – such as medications, exercises and compression socks –  to constrict our vessels, prevent blood pooling in our lower body and promote blood return to our heart and brain.

I’m determined to give it one more try, as I was due for a migraine anyway, and it may have happened even without the massage. But next time, I’m hoping for the happy ending.

On the bright side, my boobies feel fantastic.

“There is more wisdom in your body than in your deepest philosophies.”

~Friedrich Nietzche

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