So in my quest to do lots of things I have never done before I decided to have a shot in a flotation tank.
I was a bit anti trying it to be honest – to me they just seem a bit hippy dippy and basically a very expensive bath. But then I saw a groupon offer and the experience billed as ‘decreasing anxiety and depression and improving sleep’ – I was sold. As I work with @shrinksquad to keep my weight going down – I am discovering that being knackered all the time is probably making me fat – so this seemed a great plan
But menopausal feckin brainfog kicked in – and I got all the way there and realised I’d forgotton my bloody swimsuit which was carefully hanging from the front door where I left it so i could not possibly forget it!!
I popped in to apologise and reschedule. ‘It’s fine’ the therapist Chanel said – ‘you can go in naked’
NAKED!! NAKED!! Seriously?? I am quite tall and fair and wondered for a minute if she had mistaken me for a free and easy ‘happy being naked’ Swedish person rather than a repressed uptight ‘6 layers minimum even in the sun’ Scot. I spoke in my most Scottish voice to emphasise this point but she was bright and breezy and in five mins had me chucked in a room with a shower and the huge tank.
Before I went in I asked if anyone ever drowned in one of them as I tend to fall asleep anytime during the day given half a chance (not night time obviously – that would be too feckin convenient!!). She laughed and assured me no-one had ever drowned in one. Hmmm – my Doctor said that no-one ever gained weight simply due to the menopause and we all know what a crock of shit that is.
So I carefully climb in and get settled – ears stuffed with the earplugs (the only bit of advice the therapist offered – “just keep them in whatever you do”).
I look around for a shelf for my phone but there is nothing. Once I close the feckin lid I will be completely cut off. I am starting to panic slightly – but close the lid down. I am brave. I am strong. I say to myself as I lie gripping onto the exit lever and with one hand over the emergency button just in case. My arms hurt and I realise I am completely frozen stiff in terror. There is no way I am turning the feckin light out – is claustrophobia another bloody menopause symptom!. I lie like that for about 15 mins – my arms frozen and getting sorer and sorer. This is not how I imagined it. Finally I make myself release my grip a little and do a little frog motion with my legs to propel myself off the edge of the tank to try and loosen up.
FUCK FUCK FUCK. That was not a good idea – my fat thighs had been blocking the entrance to my ‘down below’ bits (see how repressed I am – can’t even use the anatomonically correct language). And now about ten litres of very salty saline solution is whooshing up inside me. I am ready to scream. Menopausal readers – if you suffer atrophy then you will probably be wincing right now. If you don’t – just imagine about 90 boiling hot razors being stuck up inside you and you will get the picture!! And then just wait for that fresh menopausal hell symptom to catch you up!!
I lie for a bit longer – how long have I been in this feckin thing? I decide to put the light out – just give it a go – it might be ok?. I turn to the light and my earplug falls out – just as I click the light out. This throws me into a panic and I resemble a panicking fish out of water as I splash around trying to find it . Then I go into a bigger panic – which button was the light and which was the emergency button?
I breathe – don’t panic don’t panic…. If I hit the emergency button 20 year old Chanel the therapist may never recover from having to haul my naked menopausal still very overweight body out. And it might end up on youtube. Oh God. I have to get it right. Can’t find feckin earplug and remember Chanel’s dire warnings. OK – light back on – and it is staying on!
I lie a bit longer in the tank. I am not enjoying it. But I am Scottish and therefore want my moneys worth. I am desperate for a wee but remember that there are no toilets in the bloody room and can hardly walk bollock naked down the corridor past the nail technicians just to go to the loo. I hold it in then start to wonder – how many people have just decided to wee in the tank. Am I lying in a pool of mainly wee?
Shower time is a nightmare – the claggy saline won’t come out my hair. I have to walk about for a week with it resembling the time I permed it with a home perm then added generous dollops of sun-in when I was 14! Not a good look then – definitely not now!.
But I live in hope that the promise of good sleep will come true. Nope – three night terrors in one night – all about being hemmed in a big feckin enclosed water coffin!!
I call my solicitor in the morning and adapt my will to ensure cremation and that my ashes be scattered within an hour! The fear of being enclosed will last a very long time I suspect….
Then three days later my ear starts to play up – the one with the missing earplug…..
Has anyone ever tried a flotation tank and enjoyed it?