My friend and I went for massages at a spa neither of us had been to before. We were given a form to fill out, providing them with a very brief medical history.
Because of my vision limitations, my spa sister was going to fill my form out for me. I could see that there were boxes to be checked on the form to indicate whether you had certain conditions or not. I told my friend that if she read me the condition, i.e. diabetes, I could check the appropriate ‘yes’ or ‘no’ box for each. She told me which column was which.
About five afflictions in, I confirmed to her where we were on the list. Confirmation of my confirmation was not confirmed. Spa Sister took my form and started correcting it, just as we were both called by our masseurs.
My new BFF, at least for the next hour, led me to the room where my knots and the problems of the world, well, really MY world, would be worked out. As she scanned my completed form, she asked me if I am taking any medication. I replied that I am and have taken medication for over 30 years and added that with said medication, “it” was controlled. The “it” I was referring to was high blood pressure, the only yes on my form.
My temporary bestie left the room so I could undress and contemplate for a nanosecond whether or not to go commando (I plead the fifth and anytime you plead the fifth, you are probably naked, I am just sayin’) and get face down onto the heated table (ahhhhhh). When Ms. Amazing Hands returned and made sure I was comfy, she asked what medication I am taking. I told her the name and I could hear her put pen to paper as I watched her sneaker-clad feet from my face cradle window.
As I heard her pump the oil bottle, I closed my eyes. She had me take a few deep breaths before she put her hands on my upper back and as she made contact, she said, “my aunt had epilepsy”. Already in relaxation mode, I muttered a noncommittal “oh” and that was the last I spoke for an hour.
The massage was incredible and as I got dressed afterward, somewhere from a part of my extremely relaxed brain came this thought: She thinks I have epilepsy.
I must have checked the ‘yes’ box for epilepsy, instead of hypertension when I attempted to fill out the form, and my friend didn’t have a chance to correct it before we were called. Oops!
My masseur (no longer my new BFF, the fickle non-epileptic, controlled-hypertensive that I am) was waiting for me downstairs with a delicious ice-cold glass of water. I thanked her profusely and hurried off to meet my friend at the front desk.
If a card arrives in the mail in the coming months, offering a maternity massage, I will know I checked ‘yes’ incorrectly a second time. I’d better warn the husband. After all, his form would require a ‘yes’ next to pacemaker/defibrillator and we don’t want him to have to check ‘yes’ beside the question, Has your defibrillator ever had to shock you?
