Last week, my massage therapist, who I’ve been seeing since last December, texted to let me know she was being called out of town the day we were to meet again. She offered me an appointment on that same day with another therapist in the practice. I hesitated to accept the new slot because it was for late in the afternoon, meaning it would be dark when I left her office. I don’t like driving in the dark. Overcoming my worries, trusting that my 2020 cataract surgery would enable me to see well enough get home, I said yes.
When I arrived, the massage therapist I had never worked with before greeted me at the door. She was friendly and it turned out offered perks my regular does not. Her table was covered with a bio-mat, which provided even heat and multiple benefits attributed to infrared light. Plus, she placed weighty cushions on parts of my body she wasn’t working on, which helped ground me in the present moment. I had made the right choice!
When the time was up, she instructed me to roll on to my side and sit up slowly. Before turning towards the door, she added, “I can help you if you want.”
My knee-jerk first thought was, “Does she think I’m old? I don’t need any help getting up.” A second later, a second thought: “I’m really relaxed. I feel almost dizzy.” She opened the door preparing to depart.
There wasn’t much time to decide. “What if I said yes?” How pleasant it would be not to struggle I thought, while at the same time I wondered what exactly she would do.
I stammered, “Yes, I could use some help.”
The next few moments are blurry. As I pushed myself up, I felt her embracing me gently—I don’t remember exactly how she did it—but soon I was sitting upright, still feeling relaxed from the massage.
I looked out the window before leaving the office and my throat tightened seeing how dark it was. I informed myself that I knew my way home and it was a simple route, just two right turns. I mused how quickly life happens. I’d had to make a quick decision about trying out another massage therapist. Then there wasn’t much time to decide if I would accept help. Even as age slows me down, there are still times when I have to respond quickly.
When the idea surfaced to write about getting help to sit up, I felt more than a touch of shame. Are you really going to admit that to your readers?
But when I recalled what I’ve read about aging, that regardless of how much exercise I do, I won’t always be strong and vital and may need help, I had an “Ah-ha” moment. Nicky! Not letting anyone help and fighting through aging entirely on your own? Is that the kind of person you want to be?
IMAGE: Use your imagination.
