I have spent the weekend at a conference doing one of my favorite things — talking to other nerds about nerd things. The weekend started with discussion of the adaptations of lymphatic drainage protocols for specific types of plastic surgery, and ended with speculation on the titles of our future TED talks.
Mine is: “The Metaphor is Everything.”
But that’s not what I wanted to talk about today. Today I want to talk about certainty. Or, more accurately, capital-C Certainty.
The end of the first day of the conference featured a panel of super smart guests, ready to talk about their particular view of oncology massage. It was a house tour of the neighborhood where you’ve always wanted to live — a chance to peek into the day-to-day lives, the medicine cabinets, and the private closets. (Metaphor. See what I mean?)
The first speaker made an entrance. She strode out from the wings of the stage and solemnly said her name and her specialty, then went on to spend her allotted time sharing images and stories of her work. I found the images and stories fascinating. I found her approach challenging.
After she introduced herself, she talked about the specific training she received, similar to mine, as it turns out, and talked about the danger of deviating in any way from the tenets and protocols of that training.
Here is where I admit that I have been deviating from the tenets and protocols of that training pretty regularly. I have a whole new kind of clientele — young, healthy people recovering from plastic surgery. For them, the exact protocol is often not as effective as some critically reasoned deviations.
I found myself becoming more and more uncomfortable as she spoke. She has been doing this a long time. She has gotten great results with some really challenging cases. She knows what she is doing. She is certain of it.
That is what made me uncomfortable. The certainty of it.
There are so many things in this profession that we were “certain” of — that massage increases systemic circulation, that mechanical pressure can change certain body tissues from solid to a more pliable gel, that we should never touch people who have cancer. Thank goodness enough open-minded, curious, smart people have challenged these and other certainties and proven them mistaken. Because of these people, who were uncertain, we can reach more people and provide much better care and education about these bodies we live in.
Certainty is a hard stop. It is the period at the end of a sentence and “The End” written at the bottom of the page. Certainty freezes us in time. I don’t want massage therapy to become dusty and desiccated like those life-size dioramas that used to terrify me at the Natural History Museum.
We are, like the bodies we work with, living and growing. We may be educated, we may be experienced, we may be confident — but I hope, for own future growth and the benefit of our clients, we never become certain.