Stress and the Disappearing Client

This client was as regular as clockwork. Once a week, during the day, she would come in for a massage to help with an achy hip and stiff neck.

Over the course of several sessions, we identified some contributing factors, such as a high truck step-in that aggravated her hip. We also changed sleeping pillows and adjusted her sitting and walking posture. She liked her massages most of all, however, because it helped with the stress of caring for her ailing husband.

One week she had to take a break for a cold, the next week I was on vacation. She made an appointment for the third week, but called to cancel.

Time slipped by, I called and left a message here and there. I thought something was up. Did I do something she didn't like? Was she seeing another therapist? Did my office look dirty? When clients disappear, you go over the questions in your mind. Is it possible that they have voted with their feet? That’s what most people do, when it comes to doctors, hair stylists, massage therapists, etc. The feet vote and they make tracks.

I looked over my notes and decided to just wait and see. As far as I could tell, she had gotten good results and was doing better each time she saw me. I knew something was up, and my radar, it turned out, was working just fine.

I saw her last week. “ I've driven passed here so many times, and I wanted to stop in,” she said. “But I just couldn't. I had to go to the hospital and be with him.”

Her ailing husband, turned out, had major surgery that did not go well. He had not one but three drug-resistant internal infections after surgery. It had been touch and go for months, to the point they had said their goodbyes to each other one night in intensive care. She had slept in the horrible orange visitor chairs, ate cafeteria food, went home just long enough to feed the dogs.

I suppose that massage therapists expect clients will increase their visits during periods of high stress, but I must admit there are some things that capture all of one’s attention.

“It sucks when all of the people at the hospital know your name,” she said.

I have to agree. I had been on vacation in Hawaii five years ago when my spouse had a heart attack. We had stayed in Honolulu for an extra month while honey recovered from a bypass. I had slept in those horrible chairs, ate the scary cafeteria food (in Hawaii they love SPAM!) and in general ignored myself while taking care of my sweetie. Two nights before we left, I realized I felt about 140 years old and went for a long massage. My, my how it felt good.

“All that matters now is that he is better and you can relax,” I said. “And believe me, I know how you feel.”