Pain

I know pain.

I spent a lot of time on two problem feet. I've snapped a tibia in two and still tried to walk on it. I've had appendicitis. I've experienced many injuries in my lifetime.

But nothing—nothing—compares to my first massage.

I know. A massage is supposed to be relaxing. Sometimes, there can be a pressure spot that's uncomfortable but it shouldn't be agonizing. And certainly, not for the whole massage.

In 1998, DW and I visited Bangkok, Thailand, for a relaxing vacation away from our hectic lives in South Korea. I had just been abducted and I needed some rest and recuperation. We heard that Thailand was amazing, and so off we went.

We arrived in Bangkok at about lunchtime and headed to the historical district that contained the Grand Palace and several temples. Over the years, I've shared images of this area in other blog posts.

But there was another famous place that DW and I wanted to explore, given that I had recently experienced my abduction and needed to decompress. I needed a massage, thought DW, and what better place to get my stressed nerves and muscles worked out than the oldest massage school in Thailand, at Wat Pho.

Not far from the temple with the reclining Buddha was a building that housed several masseuses and clients—Thai and foreigners alike—in one big room. Both DW and I were assigned a masseuse, and through gestures, we showed them what they could touch and what they couldn't touch.

Because my feet were sensitive (my right foot had already had reconstructive surgery but my left foot was still decades away from treatment, and both feet had acute osteoarthritis) I made it clear that they were to be left alone.

I mean, I pointed to both feet and shook my head in a definitive 'no.'

I was kneaded like dough for a loaf of bread. I was bent into positions where I thought my bones would snap. I was pummeled. I was compressed. I was made to feel that I wished I was dead.

The masseuse totally disregarded my warning about my feet, even when I screamed out "NO!" as they were bent so much that I thought she was trying to make my toes touch my heels.

I literally cried and fought to breathe at times.

This torture went on for a half an hour but it seemed like hours.

When she was done, she let me lie still for about five minutes before helping me to my feet. I had been lying on a mat on the floor, which had made it easy for her to walk on my back.

Once on my feet, I felt... amazing. There were no knots in my muscles that I could feel. I felt as light as the wind, was almost worried that I could float away.

DW also said that she was twisted into a pretzel and pummeled, but she too felt wonderful after it was all over.

And the massage only cost us about the equivalent of five dollars, Canadian.

I almost wanted to go through it again but we had things to do, places to see. After all, it was only the first afternoon of our vacation.

DW took the following photo of me after the massage. The red is not from a sunburn: both of us glowed after the massage.

It was, indeed, the most pain I had ever experienced, but I have no regrets. In fact, when we reached our island resort on Ko Pha-ngan, I had a second massage right on the beach. It wasn't nearly as painful as the first massage, thankfully, but was just as effective.

Happy Thursday!