I had a muscle in my neck that cinched up like a girdle on a drag queen, so I went to my chiropractor, the Kook Doctor.
“My God, what did you do?” He asked. “This muscle in your neck is never like this.”
He was working on this muscle on the left side of my neck, and practically strangling me. I asked him what he was doing, which is what I usually do – I’m not always convinced he knows what he’s doing, but he’s so easy on the eyes, I have patience for him. Ease on the eyes, as you might imagine, is the first and foremost requirement in my healthcare professionals.
“What muscle?”
“The one that connects your chest to your neck. Keeps your head on, and is attached to the lymph nodes in your neck.”
Jesus, I thought. Heart – throat – head. As I had been working on advocating for myself, finding my voice, and declaring my needs, my throat had been ultra sensitive, getting strep throat several times over the past year. I couldn’t help but think it was related to the emotional work I was doing. For the past few weeks, they all had been interconnected in a variety of ways. The Kook Doctor massaged the muscle out, and for the rest of the night, snot seemed to drain from my sinuses down my throat.
He asked me about what was going on, and I told him the Paralegal was in rehab. He’s been tough on me around the Paralegal, thinks I should just be done with him. Thought that from the moment it started. I told him about Body Electric, and some of the stuff that bubbled up around shame, powerlessness, selfishness and fear. He told me that I should stop dwelling on moments with my father, and just let it go.
“How do you let something go if you’re not consciously aware of it?”
“If you’re not conscious of it, then it doesn’t matter.”
“But your body remembers, and you react emotionally.”
He’s enough of a Kook Doctor to know exactly what I was talking about.
“You’re not considering getting more panchakarma again, are you?”
“Considering it.”
“No! Don’t! I’ve never seen you so depressed and out of it as what you went through after panchakarma.”
“I had to process some stuff.”
“Listen, before you go for more panchakarma, you need to get a second opinion. Call the psychic.”
For a moment, I wondered what sort of alternate reality I live in that my chiropractor is recommending a second opinion from a psychic.
I could see in his face agitation and concern as he rattled on all the reasons he felt I should not get panchakarma.
“Listen,” I interrupted. “I think you need a hug.”
I threw my arms around him. He shut up and we just stood there for a moment, holding each other. The reality was I needed a hug, and not his judgment.
