Scar Tissue

And the question of asking.

He dug his big, fat, sausage fingers deep into the side of my neck and shoulder and squeezed, while I writhed on the table, moaned, and at times laughed. He was breaking up scar tissue, I could hear it crunching, and crackling within his monster grip. Rather than scream, it came out as an uncontrollable giggle. If that’s not a metaphor for my life, I don’t know what is.

He told me, “If you say stop, I will stop, but I suggest you let me do what I need to do, so you can get it over with and heal faster.”

He went on, “Many women have claimed this is more painful than childbirth.”

One of his patients wrote a review about passing three kidney stones, and how this “massage” was worse. The only thing I could think of that was more painful was when I had third degree burns on my feet, and all the skin fell off, exposing tendon and bone. That was worse.

Side note: I’m chuckling as I write this because I realize I’ve become one of those older people that just wants to dish on all the mundane deta…