Here are some words I, a blue collar middle class type of guy, never dreamed I would ever say: my favorite masseuse is leaving. Think about that. What that says is that I actually have a masseuse whom I consider my favorite. The implication is that I have or had at least one and maybe several, even many, other masseuses. And now I will have to go through the process of replacing my favorite. I know you are probably thinking “Gee, tough problem to have.” How many of you have even had the experience of one masseuse? Who among you has a standing appointment each week for a massage with any masseuse, let alone a favorite. Have any of you ever faced this same dilemma? Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find just the right massage therapist, one who knows your needs and can provide the right care? I know all this sounds like my life is one of hedonism and rampant profligacy. Oh, if it were so.
Rather than hedonistic, my life is one of constant coping and battling the insidious effects of PD. Those weekly massages are just one weapon I can use to stave off for a little longer the creeping decline that my body experiences every day. Massage helps to fight off the rigidity that my muscles want to embrace. The expert hands of a talented masseuse are a great weapon to have on my side. Along with daily treadmill or bicycle exercise and stretching and weight training, I feel like I am doing all I can to stay ahead of the devil that is chasing me.
So, though I never would have considered massage as a regular or routine aspect of my life before, now I fear going on without it. And losing the masseuse who has taken such good care of me for so long is nearly traumatic. I don’t want to overstate the problem, but really it is difficult to find someone who understands what PD is and its effects on this old body. So the search is on for my next favorite masseuse. And if a little hedonism sneaks into the process I will just have to cope.