aBigForehead

I found myself a new physio; the other one had moved on to pastures new.  I did some research and came across trigger points.

Horribly fascinated I ordered a self-adminster trigger point massage book from Amazon and looked for physios that use this as part of their treatment.

It isn't long before I find one around the corner from where I work.  I make my way there in anticipation. This physio turns out to be energetic, fast talking and extremely confident.  I can scarcely keep up with her instructions and questions.

She asks me to show her how I sit. I doubt I can mimic how badly I sit at my desk but whatever I do is still bad enough to her.  It seems, wait for it, that I don't sit on my bum properly. This is news to me.  She makes me arch my back exaggeratedly and to then to roll back until I'm sitting on my bum bones. Bum bones I ask.

She sticks a hand under my arse. Whoa, yeah, yeah those! She pulls away.

My hands are too far from my body when I type;  she pushes them back in, relax the wrist.  I do.  Relax it!  She grabs my hand and shakes it. Relax it! I stare at my skinny wrist; my hand looks floppy. Floppy it seems is not relaxed; relaxed is straight, neutral. Well, now that we get that straight she goes for my breast bone,  pull up but don't arch your back.  I pull up and arch my back; she pushes me back.

This sitting business is a nuisance.

She tucks my neck in and back.

It feels unnatural, which means I sit unnaturally normally I say.

There’s no time for reflection.

I demonstrate my range of movement to her- it's better as result of weeks of physio and stretching- and when I look to my left she grabs my head and pulls it farther than I thought possible. I like her already; she makes my neck go places it hasn't gone before.

I lie on my back and she checks my neck joints, C1, C2, C3 et co and says it's not too bad;  she suspects it's worse further down.  Rib No 1 on the left hand side to be precise.  She says, I'm going to do something and it's gonna hurt. I want u to breathe in and out 3 times. My mind has fixated on the soon-to-come hurt.  I've had this done myself and it's nasty she reassures me. She tucks her fingers into my rib area. OK. Breathe in. I suck in shock. Wait. Just get it over with it!. Breathe in. I do. She pushes down.

I'm fasting. I can't swear. I go blank instead.

Breathe out.

I let fear out.

Breathe in.

She pushes.

It's like labour, I'm in labour with a rib.

Breathe out.

Breathe in. Breathe out. And no baby to show for it.

Sit up.

Give me a break.

I sit up and she says look left, look right u should feel the difference.

I follow the instructions and my neck feels like it's on hydraulics, mililiqmililiq.  I grin. Free at last, free at last, God almighty I'm free at last.

She instructs me to lay face down and announces that she'll crack my back.

I'm squeamish about neck and back cracking.  I imagine paralysis taking hold but I have no time, she's on a mission. You'll feel like you can't breathe but that's fine; don't be surprised. Relax she says.

That word again.

I make an attempt, I'm wondering if it's any good when oh-dear, CRACK. I bounce back and breathe. Not much time to recover she's on a roll and moves further up my back.  Relax. Crack Part Deux.

One more time, it's a trilogy.

Crack.

Sit up.

It's like being in boot camp. I sit up expecting a concave chest.  Instead there is relief.  She sets me free with a warning she’ll test my sitting next time.  I go home, read the self-massage book and after Iftar self-massage painful trigger points on my neck and arse.

I want to marry a massage therapist, preferably one who specialises in myofacial/trigger point therapy. If you can make sense of the below:

and

write to nomadicexpression@googlemail.com. In return I promise to sit pretty, baby.