Schenectady Synecdoche

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May 11, 2005

Spa day

The beginning of the twenty-first century wasn't very auspicious for me. In each of the first three years, I had a surgery, a family member died, and a cat died—events ranging from unhappy to traumatic to heartbreaking. Clearly the toughest year was 2002, in which I had heart surgery and my beloved 20-year-old companion Fink died. Both of those pale in comparison to the death of my sister, the family member on whom I had always most closely relied. She had become the center of the family, and her out-of-the-blue ruptured brain aneurysm, stroke, coma, and death—all in the space of nine days—nearly did us in. The following month, I had the heart surgery.

By fall I was a complete basket case, and I was desperate for aid. I began getting every type of therapy I could—psychotherapy, physical therapy, massage therapy, you name it. I had never done any of those things before, but my depression and pain drove me to it. Plantar faciitis had gotten so bad that I was walking with a cane.

Although the car wreck this winter was something of a setback, things are a lot better now. I've learned to deal with Sandy's absence in my life and the unfairness of her death. I've rehabilitated the foot that I was ready to cut off. I've learned how to recognize the onset of depression and head it off before it makes too big a mess of my life. And I've learned how to be nice to myself.

I now get a manicure every week. It's like a discipline for me, a discipline to be good to myself. Manicures are entirely frivolous things, and it's easy to tell myself that I don't have the time or money, or that women in my social class don't wear nail polish, anyhow. Yada yada yada. So I keep going, every week.

And I get an hour's massage every week. It is amazing, how much it keeps the pain at bay, how much it disciplines me to relax and not be producing all the time, and how much it reminds me that I deserve to take good care of myself.

And I get a pedicure every third week—that's "spa day" when I get the manicure, pedicure, and massage all in one day.

Today, on the eve of my 59th birthday, I did what will now be my annual "super spa day": manicure, pedicure, hot stone massage, and hot stone facial. OMG, do I feel terrific. I'll admit, I was getting a little antsy by the end of a 2-hour stint on the massage table, but holy cow, there are zero knots in any muscles in my body. Nothing hurts.

It amazes me that it took me so many years to figure out that feeling good is okay and that spending time and money to feel good isn't a sin. Today for the first time (I suppose I've blocked it out till now) I began imagining the conversation between the members of my now-deceased extended Calvinist family. How would they react to my weekly salon trips and my tri-weekly spa day? They would be disgusted. I would have demonstrated my non-membership in the company of the Elect. I would have demonstrated my low class and low character.

If this is the road to hell, I am firmly set on it. I am only sorry that it took so many years and so much trauma for me to discover that I don't have to earn peace of mind.

Posted by senioritis at May 11, 2005 04:40 PM

Comments

Posted by: Nels at May 11, 2005 05:04 PM

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Posted by: Carolyn Ostrander at June 7, 2005 08:29 AM