Bits of life

F-20 Words-575

for another ten minutes, during which time Johnathan fell asleep. This therapy must have been quite relaxing as Ashley’s gentle finger tips dug into the spinal-cord, feeling the discs with care and caution.

“This is not massage but therapy. In a massage the masseur uses his palms and fingers to press down the muscles. What I do is different as you see. I use the fingertips only to feel the discs and the contours in between. We have to be careful while doing this,” she explained.

“I have never seen anything like this before. What is this technique called?” asked my mom who came in a while ago and was observing the whole exercise.

“Good question, Mrs. Mackenzie. This was invented by a man called Bowen. So the therapy is known after him as Bowen therapy,” replied Ashley.

The next thing she did was to use the blower. She plugged in the blower into the electric socket on the wall by the table and switched it on. She had let the hot air blow along the spine where she just did the therapy.

“The hot air will help the oil to spread around and let the muscles soften and relax,” said Ashley as she worked.
After that she did more of Bowen therapy and turned Steve over on his back. She stretched his hands and made him do the exercise of folding and stretching. She did the same with his legs too. She taught him two more exercises, which appeared to be a combination of yogic asans (steady and disciplined postures practiced by ancient Indian monks and mendicants.) and exercises.

Thus an hour passed without our knowledge. So deeply absorbed we were in what she was telling and doing that we hardly noticed the passage of time. I realized this was not the usual common kind of physiotherapy, I know of. It appeared unique. Needless to mention my curiosity to know from whom she had learnt this technique.

As Johnathan relaxed slipping into easy sleep, we walked out. I made some lemonade, poured it into three tall glasses and served them to mom and Ashley. I took mine and sat with them in the living room. Sipping the soothing drink, I asked Ashley the question that was teasing my mind for some time.

“Where did you learn this skill Ashley? I don’t think it was included in your course books while you were training for physiotherapy. Do you have time to tell us about it?” I asked her.

“Yes, I have a plenty of time before I go back and relieve Nancy. Do you remember Jim, we had an Indian girl in our class at school?” she reminded me of our class mates.

Indian girl? I searched my mind and found her. Her eyes and hair were dark and she was tall and well-built. She was a good basketball player. Often, our team used to lose to hers. oh yes. There used to be one. Her name was Deepa. She hardly sounded different. Her English was the kind we spoke. Her American accent was perfect. We never had the feeling that she came from an immigrant Indian family. Her great grandfather migrated to the States, in the fifties to find job. The family never looked back. They paid annual visits to their parents and brothers. Family business flourished and her grandfather and dad too made it their career.

“You mean Deepa? I do remember.