Massage Tales

Massage Dog

When she comes to the clinic for treatment, she soaks her hands and feet in ice for hours, in order to stave off possible neuropathy from her chemo.  She speaks softly, with a musical cadence that makes me think of rocking chairs and lullabies.  She smiles when she sees me because this means “the end of ice.” 

She loves to undress for her massage, but today she can’t.  The cold of the ice lingers and she is unable to warm up her thin frame.  She climbs onto the table, fully dressed, and slides underneath four blankets.  She shivers, and the deep breaths she takes, trying to relax, waver with her shivering.  I spend the first few minutes just doing gentle compressions over the blankets, defining the outline of her body and gently wrapping the blankets closer to her until she stops shivering. 

I uncover one leg, wrap my hands gently around her calf to continue compressions.  She smiles in the way I know — the smile that comes before some beautiful thing she means to say. 

“There’s a dog!” she says, clearly delighted.  “A big, shuffling dog, sniffing around the bottom of the blankets.” 

I pause, hands still on her leg.  “Is this a good thing?”

“Oh, yes.  It’s a wonderful dog, just sniffing around.” 

We continue the massage.  Somewhere during the session, the nurse comes in to check on her.  She tells the nurse about the dog.  The three of us decide the dog’s name is Bennie — short for Benedryl. 

I don’t often hear about someone’s visual experience of a massage.  Whether it was the Benedryl or the open mind of a lovely person — I appreciate the experience.

This is my dad’s dog, by the way.  As far as I know, he has never been present at a massage.

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