The situation was further complicated the next day as my back spasms returned. The conversation left me feeling angry and confused. Why hadn’t he asked to see the bruising or apologize? I thought to myself. Brain simply offered suggestions to reduce the bruising. During the brief conversation there was no apology, no remorse no consoling. Over the phone I described the bruising to Brian. I needed to let him know what had happened. I couldn’t bare the thought of speaking to Brian, but Conrad was right. He offered tips on how to treat the bruising and re-assured me that this was not my fault.Ĭonrad also suggested that I speak to the therapist so that he was aware of the outcome of his actions. Conrad was quick to point out that there can occasionally be tenderness or slight bruising after deep tissue massage – but this sounded extensive. Unsure about the extent of my injuries and unable to bring myself to talk to Brian, I called my regular therapist in desperation. The next day he took pictures of my sides, underarms, shoulder and chest. He was angry and struggled, trying to make sense of what had happened. Each time my clothing touched the sores it was a constant reminder of the violation. Would he blame me for what happened? Why hadn’t I had the courage to tell Brian to stop?”īy the next day, I was stiff and sore. I hid the pain from my husband that night, but knew I would need to tell him. I knew I would need to keep my shirt buttoned up high. High up under each arm there were several round welts the size of ‘toonies.’ My collar bone had similar size bruising in various areas above and below the bone. The bruises stretched across six ribs each at least four inches in length. Within a few hours the welts and bruising began to surface. When the session ended I quickly dressed, cancelled my adjustment with Dr. I wanted to get up and leave but I was too scared to ask him to stop. When he asked me to turn over I wiped away the tears. I bit my lip and prayed for it to be over soon. But Brian didn’t back off when I squirmed. Grabbing, digging, penetrating, so deep that it took my breath away. Still lying on my front I felt him move his fingers around my collar bone. I kept my head down convincing myself that this was part of what needed to be done … after all, Brian was a licensed professional … he must know what he is doing? “Surely this couldn’t be right?” The tears filled my eyes as I tried to pull away from the pressure. As he worked up under my armpit, I found myself clenching my fists. Brian moved to my other side and continued in a similar manner. He said he knew it hurt and asked me to breathe through it. I let Brian know that the pressure was too much. His fingers dug deep into my side rib area as I struggled not to scream. Almost immediately he began to work on my side. After all, it made sense to go to see someone in the same clinic as my chiropractor.ĭuring the second massage, Brain began with little warm-up. I decided to book a second session with Brian to see if he might be a good fit as my regular RMT. The session was fine but did not deliver the same peaceful meditative experience that I was used to. However, I was open to seeing the results of the treatment. The first session with Brian was vastly different from my experience with Conrad. A bi-monthly massage was not just a luxury anymore, it had become a necessity. Not only did my back pain subside but the added benefit of meditation proved to create a wonderful balance in my life. In the spring I discovered the wonders of deep tissue massage after a colleague recommended it. The X-rays revealed bone degeneration in my neck, T5 and L2 & 元 regions and my hip was slightly rotated. A minor car accident from years earlier had begun to show signs of damage. I had been battling chronic back pain and muscle spasms for over six months. “What had happened? Why had this happened? How could I have let someone do this? Was it my fault?” These were the questions that echoed in my mind as I thought about the painful deep tissue massage I had earlier that day. I stood in shock as I looked in the mirror at the bruises that covered my sides, underarms, chest and shoulder. The names of the people involved in this account have been changed. Note to reader: This is a true account of an experience submitted by a client.
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