Massage and Mr. King

After a two year hiatus, I went for a massage the other day. It's taken me this long, after moving, to find a new massage therapist. And this would be why? Because I'm a bit of a weenie.

Massage therapy hurts, when one has fibromyalgia. Before I was diagnosed, when we all thought I had rheumatoid arthritis, I went often. It was important, I was told, in order to keep my muscles in shape, since pain held me back from true exercise.

But oh! I can't begin to describe the pain during treatment.  My therapist, at the time, did not completely believe in the first diagnosis...she could hardly touch my skin and it would hurt. But she did what she could, and after a couple of days recuperation after treatment I did feel a little better.

And then I moved to another area, saw another specialist and was finally diagnosed correctly. I was put on medications to combat the extraordinary nerve pain. The pills took awhile to work...but here I am, today, with little pain...and little memory, due to a combination of the drugs and fibro itself. But that's another story.

It was time to try massage therapy once again, especially with the long, cold Winter soon to arrive, where walks and gardening activities come to a close.

My new therapist is a young woman who completed her three years of training three years ago. She is very competent; she knew instantly how to treat fibro. I did not even have to tell her when my muscles cramped...she noticed immediately.

My worries were for naught.

She was silent throughout the treatment...and so was I, as a consequence.  But my imagination keeps me occupied, whenever I am captive to a treatment, whether it be the dentist's chair or a massage table...or just waiting in a queue.

I'd heard on the news that Stephen King was contemplating writing a sequel to The Shining. He recanted his thought shortly after he made it, saying it wasn't possible...but perhaps.  He answered his questioners just as a Master Writer will.

Whoever knows where the Muse will take a Writer, never mind a Writer like Stephen King?

And so, it gave me huge fodder for thought, during the massage, about young Danny Torrance, his mother Wendy and Dick Hallorann. Where would they be now?

In particular, I think about Danny, all grown up, with all his special skills. Has he found another evil Hotel, another Overlook? Or did he, during his teen years, deny his gifts, with all the disparate perception that goes along with that age?

He could not have come through those horrific scenes with his Dad unscathed emotionally. I envision a young boy who eventually rebels, runs away, becomes a criminal.  Or perhaps Danny manages to find peace, goes through school and university...and then runs into another unspeakably evil horror.  I wonder...will Danny eventually be taken over himself? 

Perhaps Dick Hallorann would once again come in to save the day...

A particularly hard jab from the masseuse brought me back to reality...she had lulled me into complacency for a bit, while she gained some knowledge about my muscular system.

But now the hard part began. Still, I felt she held herself back, as she manipulated my larger muscles back to how they should be. 


I think, perhaps, my next massage may not be as gentle.


But the story of Danny, or any one of Mr. King's characters will keep me occupied for the duration of it. 


And then the thought comes to me...I wonder if Mr. King ever thinks about what has happened to his characters, after he's put them through the emotional wringer?


There could be many sequels if he ever did so...