No, I haven’t turned to writing horror. But cold showers, now… surely there must be a tale hanging from that. Starting with this: I hate cold showers. Hate hate hate cold showers. But I’m, well… here’s the thing: I’ve been seeing a terrific massage therapist for chronic, painful muscle tension in my neck, shoulders, back; well, really just about every muscle I own. The massage is great, and I love it, but the tension is persistent. And Stef, the massage therapist, referred me to Steffi, an acupuncturist, who had successfully treated Stef for deep muscle tension very similar to what Stef was trying to address in me.
I’ve seen Steffi a few times now, and being poked with needles is downright weird, especially when electricity is applied—but on the other hand, it actually seems to be helping with the chronic tension. And Steffi says, you need to start ending your nice, warm showers with a good cold shower blast. Reduces inflammation and promotes circulation and like that. Also, do a bunch of breathing exercises, which can help with your pulmonary fibrosis, which is the other thing I’m contending with, which causes shortness of breath and poor oxygenation. (I guess I’ve never mentioned the pulmonary fibrosis before; it was fairly recently diagnosed, and its cause is idiopathic, which I think means it was brought on by idiots on the internet. If it’s not that, then we don’t know the cause.)
Anyway. Steffi, affirmed by Stef, says I ought to subject myself to icy conclusions to all my warm showers. I’ve been trying this, for not quite a week now. I hate it. It’s making me dread taking nice, warm showers. And yet… And yet, after I yank off the cold water, I feel strangely energized, invigorated, and—dare I say it—renewed. Also, cold.
I don’t know how this will end. But if it doesn’t kill me, perhaps it will make me stronger.