...More Like Didgeridon't

Theresa blows into the didgeridoo, causing a low, droning sound. It blends with the ambient music playing from a CD player in the corner, next to the lit incense and healing crystals. I feel the waves roll over my bare back as I lie face down on a massage table.

“The body is made up of different vibrations,” Theresa said before beginning the session. “When we get sick, it’s because these vibrations are not in the correct tonal relationship. By exposing the body to different sounds and instruments, we can realign the tonal relationship and help the body heal.”

She puts the didgeridoo down and picks up a tuning fork. She strikes it with a little hammer, slowly moving it across my body, inches from my skin. The vibrations drown out the usual chatter in my head, stalling the constant rush of thoughts and feelings, as if my brain waves are cycling at the same frequency as the fork. I forget I am a skeptic.

Before the session began, Theresa asked me if there were any specific problems I wanted to target. I mentioned I was having trouble holding down food, and was constantly nauseous. She seemed confident she could help, and would focus the vibrations on my stomach.

She puts the tuning fork away and places hot stones on my back. The stones burn a little at first, but my skin adjusts and any tension or apprehension I had disappears. She places a Tibetan singing bowl by my side and hits it. The sound seems to move back and forth around the bowl, high pitched and barely audible. She repeats the process several times, and by the end I’m nearly unconscious. Not the fully asleep kind of unconscious, but a half-dream half-waking state. Kind of like the five minutes in between the alarm going off after hitting the snooze. She takes the stones off my back and rubs in some fragrant oil. She tells me to take as much time as I need before getting dressed and leaves the room.

Ten minutes later, Theresa reappears along with my Aunt, who suggested and paid for the session. My Aunt is also a client of Theresa, and firmly believes in tapping into different energies for healing purposes. Like me, she was dealing with cancer. She has tumors in her lungs, and I am recovering from a bone marrow transplant to rid me of leukemia. Unlike her, I am not one to turn to New Age medicine, but at this point I’m open to anything.

“What did you think?” asks Theresa. I can barely keep my eyes open.

I tell her I am relaxed, and that the didgeridoo was the best part. There’s something calming about the low droning sound, as if it envelops you. Theresa gets up and opens a chest against the wall. She pulls out a didgeridoo, smaller than the one she used before. She hands it to me.

“Playing it offers just as many benefits as the sound waves themselves. You can borrow this for awhile, if you want.”

I take the instrument, put it to my lips and blow. Nothing happens. Theresa explains the proper technique, and how the air has to be forced through in a spitting like puff of breath. After a few attempts, I get it going for a few seconds. Theresa is impressed.

“Not many people get it that quickly.”

I thank her for the massage and her generosity, and I leave with my Aunt who drives me home, as I’m too high on oxycodone and marinol to drive myself. My Aunt asks me how I feel, and I tell her I feel pretty good, and that I think my stomach is a little better. We decide on another session in a month, and say our goodbyes. I take the didgeridoo inside and into my room and sit on my bed. I place it up to my lips and blow, but I can’t get it going. The only sound it makes is a quiet gasp of air, the breath dying as it’s forced through the hollowed out hunk of wood. It takes a few minutes for me to catch my breath, and a rumbling starts in my stomach, rising up through my chest and into my throat. I put the didgeridoo down and rush to the bathroom.