Hello?
It's me again. I figured you might wonder what in the heck happened over here. No, I'm not dead.
I'm a MASSAGE THERAPIST! Almost all licensed and everything. So far, I'm 'certificated' (I got my certificate from finishing my program) AND 'certified' (meaning that I passed the National Exam, and so, have been certified). I am not yet licensed because ... I'm lazy? I need to get fingerprinted/background checked, and then I need to submit paperwork. Gah. I hates paperwork.
Would you like to hear what it's like to become a massage person? From the inside perspective? And what it's like for a family to deal with the mom/wife being a music teacher, but adding full-time school? And trying to figure out what to do NOW?
I think I might tell that story. It's kind of interesting, in a very "lavender-scented lotion and Enya-background-music" kind of way. By the way, I suspect there is such a thing as Enya poisoning. My little safety tip to you.
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Monday, August 12, 2013
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
In Which I Do Not Begin At The Beginning
So today, October 10th, I went to class. Again.
You might remember that I'm in my first semester of Therapeutic Massage school. It is awesome. It is fun. It is DIFFICULT. And there are a whole buncha classes.
Mondays are 10-2, "Body Systems for Massage," or "what the body is made of, and what you call it, and how it all works." Harder than one might think, given that we have been walking around in these bodies for several years at the least. But yes, it's fun and tough.
Tuesdays (10-2) are Ther. Massage 1. First half of classes are (up to last week) theory, such as "if so and so is hurting here, what might you do?" or "If so and so has a suspicious, oozing, dripping, stinky sore, what might you do then?" (Answers: check with their doctor, and OMG RUN AWAY) The second half of the day's class is hands-on, where we practice our new-found skills (not the running away, though). BEST. CLASS. EVER. Free massage once a week.
Wednesdays (10-12) is Pathology. Here, we talk through all the gross, nasty stuff that can happen to a person's body and/or mind. Not pretty. Nobody ever brings snacks to this class, if you get my drift. The pictures... oh, the pictures. This is a really tough one, because if you've never had it, you have probably never even HEARD of hypoparathyroidism. Etc. (FYI: Even Blogger hasn't heard of that one.) (It's when your parathyroid glands --right behind the thyroid-- underproduce, and because of that, not enough calcium gets taken from your bones into your blood stream and ...bad things happen.)
Thursdays (10-2) have a short-semester class that is super duper practical "how to be a massage therapist" class. For instance, how to talk to physicians and get them to call you back, or how to handle a client who shows up late. What to wear, what not to say, how to not get sued. Where to locate your (future) office, what art to NOT hang on the walls, how to not give yourself carpal tunnel, what to do if you meet up with a client and her boyfriend at the mall.
(Answers: use accurate medical language, and leave a working phone number; mention the lateness but don't give them extra time at the end of the session. Wear scrubs or khaki pants/polos unless you're in a place that doesn't make sense; no sex, politics, or personal stuff about the therapist; don't ever date a client and don't give medical advice. In a place on the first floor or someplace accessible by elevator and WITH a bathroom; anything abstract or that could be interpreted as unprofessional or threatening/weird, use good body mechanics, and don't say hi unless she does first.)
There's also an online class called "Medical Elements of Massage," which is basically a medical terminology class with a smattering of "here are some commonly-used drugs and how you might need to change things to make sure you don't kill anybody." This is actually pretty hard, since it involves learning lots of Latin and Greek terms and word bases.
We're also supposed to do lots of home practice, so I have a personal goal of giving 150 full or partial massages by the time I finish the program. You see, one of our teachers said that "you don't really know what you're doing until you've given, oh, 150 massages," so I want to get those out of the way before I go out and try to get paid for this.
Whew. It's fun, but lots and lots of time. But really, what better job could there be?
You might remember that I'm in my first semester of Therapeutic Massage school. It is awesome. It is fun. It is DIFFICULT. And there are a whole buncha classes.
Mondays are 10-2, "Body Systems for Massage," or "what the body is made of, and what you call it, and how it all works." Harder than one might think, given that we have been walking around in these bodies for several years at the least. But yes, it's fun and tough.
Tuesdays (10-2) are Ther. Massage 1. First half of classes are (up to last week) theory, such as "if so and so is hurting here, what might you do?" or "If so and so has a suspicious, oozing, dripping, stinky sore, what might you do then?" (Answers: check with their doctor, and OMG RUN AWAY) The second half of the day's class is hands-on, where we practice our new-found skills (not the running away, though). BEST. CLASS. EVER. Free massage once a week.
Wednesdays (10-12) is Pathology. Here, we talk through all the gross, nasty stuff that can happen to a person's body and/or mind. Not pretty. Nobody ever brings snacks to this class, if you get my drift. The pictures... oh, the pictures. This is a really tough one, because if you've never had it, you have probably never even HEARD of hypoparathyroidism. Etc. (FYI: Even Blogger hasn't heard of that one.) (It's when your parathyroid glands --right behind the thyroid-- underproduce, and because of that, not enough calcium gets taken from your bones into your blood stream and ...bad things happen.)
Thursdays (10-2) have a short-semester class that is super duper practical "how to be a massage therapist" class. For instance, how to talk to physicians and get them to call you back, or how to handle a client who shows up late. What to wear, what not to say, how to not get sued. Where to locate your (future) office, what art to NOT hang on the walls, how to not give yourself carpal tunnel, what to do if you meet up with a client and her boyfriend at the mall.
(Answers: use accurate medical language, and leave a working phone number; mention the lateness but don't give them extra time at the end of the session. Wear scrubs or khaki pants/polos unless you're in a place that doesn't make sense; no sex, politics, or personal stuff about the therapist; don't ever date a client and don't give medical advice. In a place on the first floor or someplace accessible by elevator and WITH a bathroom; anything abstract or that could be interpreted as unprofessional or threatening/weird, use good body mechanics, and don't say hi unless she does first.)
There's also an online class called "Medical Elements of Massage," which is basically a medical terminology class with a smattering of "here are some commonly-used drugs and how you might need to change things to make sure you don't kill anybody." This is actually pretty hard, since it involves learning lots of Latin and Greek terms and word bases.
We're also supposed to do lots of home practice, so I have a personal goal of giving 150 full or partial massages by the time I finish the program. You see, one of our teachers said that "you don't really know what you're doing until you've given, oh, 150 massages," so I want to get those out of the way before I go out and try to get paid for this.
Whew. It's fun, but lots and lots of time. But really, what better job could there be?
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
To Pee, Or Not To Pee.... (story)
My mother is a sweet lady. I love her to bits. She's polite. She's well-dressed. She's pretty and articulate and makes a mean grilled cheese sandwich.
But. Put any one of her cubs in danger or distress? You're asking for a smack-down.
Once, many moons ago, there was an elementary school near our house. The principal there was rather ... old-school, shall we say. Apparently a kid at the school did some drawing on the walls of one of the bathrooms, and This Is Vandalism.
The principal decided that meant that NONE of the kids in the school should be allowed to use the bathrooms At. All. There was an announcement made over the loudspeaker that day, telling us that the very next day would begin the great No Bathroom Access All Day punishment. The vandal had not confessed, and It Would Be So until we knew who did it.
My mother was incensed when she heard this. "It's not healthy!" said she. "It's not SAFE!" "You need to be able to go to the bathroom!" she cried, pacing about. "What is WRONG with those people?"
So, in her quiet, wearing-a-nice-dress way, my mom staged a sit-in the very next day. She simply went to the principal's office and told the principal, the secretary, and the school nurse (to whom she gave a serious scolding about this) that until the kids were allowed to use the restrooms, the adults would not be allowed to either. All. Day. And my mom said that she'd make sure of it.
I can only imagine that at that point, she crossed her legs, arched an eyebrow, and sat back. Waiting.
Guess what!
The bathrooms were opened. Kids peed freely. And my mom, no doubt, picked up her handbag, gave a gracious smile, and strode out of there with perfect posture.
Thanks, Mom.
But. Put any one of her cubs in danger or distress? You're asking for a smack-down.
Once, many moons ago, there was an elementary school near our house. The principal there was rather ... old-school, shall we say. Apparently a kid at the school did some drawing on the walls of one of the bathrooms, and This Is Vandalism.
The principal decided that meant that NONE of the kids in the school should be allowed to use the bathrooms At. All. There was an announcement made over the loudspeaker that day, telling us that the very next day would begin the great No Bathroom Access All Day punishment. The vandal had not confessed, and It Would Be So until we knew who did it.
My mother was incensed when she heard this. "It's not healthy!" said she. "It's not SAFE!" "You need to be able to go to the bathroom!" she cried, pacing about. "What is WRONG with those people?"
So, in her quiet, wearing-a-nice-dress way, my mom staged a sit-in the very next day. She simply went to the principal's office and told the principal, the secretary, and the school nurse (to whom she gave a serious scolding about this) that until the kids were allowed to use the restrooms, the adults would not be allowed to either. All. Day. And my mom said that she'd make sure of it.
I can only imagine that at that point, she crossed her legs, arched an eyebrow, and sat back. Waiting.
Guess what!
The bathrooms were opened. Kids peed freely. And my mom, no doubt, picked up her handbag, gave a gracious smile, and strode out of there with perfect posture.
Thanks, Mom.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Yes or No?
It has come to my attention that a teacher at my kids' school refuses to allow the kids to say "No" in her classroom.
How do I know this? Tonight's dinner is an excellent example.
Me: Would you like some more mashed potatoes?
Kid1: Probably not.
Me: What? Yes or no. More potatoes?
Kid1: Not really.
Me: The only two possible answers here are "Yes, please," or "No, thank you." You know that. More potatoes?
Kid1: I ... well ... I don't...ummmm. No. No more potatoes.
Me: "... please..."
Kid1: No more potatoes, please.
Me: Why was that so hard?
Other Kid: Kid1's teacher doesn't allow "no" in the classroom. I think it's to cut down the negativity in the class.
Me: "......(mentally) whuck? ..." Um. I'm sorry about saying this, but no. NO. You need to have the courage to stand up for your answer, be it yes or no. And if a teacher or anyone else can not cope with hearing a "no" answer, they shouldn't ask yes/no questions. That's the risk you must accept when you ask a person a yes/no question. The person might actually say "no."
Other Kid: May I have some more potatoes?
Me: No.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)