Yesterday, in an effort to relieve the back pain that I’ve been in all week, I went to see my favorite massage therapist in the whole world. C has been there for me through the years. Through the boyfriends, the jobs, the sprains, and the slips. He’s my therapeutic rock. Not only do I get an hour to two hours of his time every month while he kneads the pain out of my back, neck, shoulders, and anything else that hurts, but the time is also well spent in conversation. It’s like therapy. Only better.

I’ll never forget the first time I saw C. I had just joined Massage Envy (If you ever decide to join–use me as your reference!!) and had seen a few different therapists. When I saw C for the first time, he asked if I had a regular therapist. I told him, “nope! I just see whoever is available.”

His next words to me were, “Let’s see if we can change that.”

Since that day, I’ve been a C-fan without question. I feel like I’m cheating on C whenever I go to a different therapist (and since his hours correlate with the normal working hours of normal people, when I have a full time gig, no C for me.) Regardless of his Wisconsin-loving Bear-hating ‘tude, he’s pretty much the greatest thing since sliced bread. Plus he thinks I’m really funny.

With the back pain this week, I tried to get in all week. Finally I was squeezed in this morning. JOY! As we chatted and C beat the crap out of Angry Lower Back, this conversation played itself out:

Me: “Sometimes, I think I’m a hypochondriac, but then I realize that I have legit pain…”

C: “Hypochondriacs feel legit pain. But I don’t think that you’re a hypochondriac.”

Me: “So, if I think that I’m a hypochondriac, does that mean that I am?”

C: “No, if you were a hypochondriac, you’d come up with more interesting ailments.”

Me: “But what if I’m a lazy hypochondriac?”

C: “So you would have come up with a disease, but you didn’t feel like Googling your symptoms?  I don’t buy it.”

Me: “Well, I could just say it’s all cancer. Like that angry ball in my lower back. It’s a tumor right?”

C: “Yep. Tumor. Definitely. You should have a fundraiser to pay for all of your medical bills and care. Then you can give me a cut of the money, when you’re magically cured.”

Me: “OK. So, massage therapy will cure my cancer. Then you can give me a cut of the money from all your new clients. When can we start?”

OBVIOUSLY, we were both joking around. But it’s nice to have a therapist who totally gets my humor. A massage therapist, that is.