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When Deep Tissue Cant Meet Deeper Needs: A Personal
Account of Hurricane Katrina

Rhonda A. Aucoin, LMT, was just one of the millions affected when Hurricane Katrina made landfall in the Gulf Region on August 29, 2005. In this mtj exclusive, she shares the ups and downs of rebuilding life and business after such devastation.

The week after Hurricane Katrina, I was in Brentwood, Tennessee. The national media was reporting devastation on many levels. I had no idea what, if anything, I would be going home to.

The mental and emotional rollercoaster ride was like nothing I had ever experienced before. During one of the moments that I was feeling survivorish I realized that I still might have my massage therapists license in my truck from the last house call I made before the storm hit my home state of Louisiana.

Feverishly, as though I finally had something I could control, I tore my Chevy Blazer apart, tossing duffle bags, ice chests, folding chairs and other evacuation supplies onto the pavement. And there it was! If my home and office were destroyed, I could still support myself, my partner, and family and friends by doing house calls. Although it hadnt dawned on me that there might not be any houses to call upon.

At some point, someone suggested that my business might be nonexistentno more building, no more clientele. But denial had its place. My response was that as long as I had my hands, I had my business.

Going Home At Our Own Risk
No one had any real idea of how long we would be away from home. But I knew I had to be as close as possible to the New Orleans metro area so that when I got the word that all was fine and I could return, I'd be close by. More denial on my part, but in this case, denial kept me moving and motivated.

Eventually, we made it back to Belle Rose, Louisiana, and I got busy handing out business cards that I hastily made with sticky notes, careful to include my license number as required by state law.

There were actually a couple of folks who expressed interest in receiving massage, but I never had the chance to do those house calls. I had gotten the word during week three that residents were allowed back home, but at our own risk. It wasnt exactly the come home, everythings OK word that I had waited for, but I was eager to get home. And things were not OK.

My sister had a home in St. Bernard Parish that was destroyed and waiting to be bulldozed. My best friends' homes were destroyed. Two therapists I worked with also went back to devastated houses.

As I rolled up to my house for the first time, I didnt recognize it. All of the downed trees in the yard obscured my vision of it. My heart was pounding as I climbed over the mountain of trees. Would I be elated or devastated over what I would find beyond the mountain? Luckily, my home was spared.

As I continued to navigate the streets of the West Bank of the mighty Mississippi River, I cried. This was the area that was supposedly spared. I could not even begin to fathom what the other side of the river was like if we were spared on this side. Coming down from the West Bank Expressway into Terrytown, we were detoured several times by the military. I went with my partner to her parents' house; their neighborhood looked like it had been hit by a bomb. Somehow, their house managed to survive and was in good shape. But three days later, we had to call her parents who were in California to tell them when we went back to their house to retrieve their medication, we found the house was looted.

Next stop was the office to see how it fared. Tree limbs were down, shingles from the roof were all over and birds that didnt make it lay beside our front door. Inside, ceiling tiles and wet insulation had fallen in on a little less than half of the building. All things considered, the building had survived OK. I checked the company's voice mail (phone service was still out but we could access voice mail). The first message was from a weekly client of mine. She was demanding to be the first appointment when we reopened and wanted to book 90-minute sessions three days in a row.

Getting Back to Work
On September 20, 2005, the owner of the business, another therapist and myself showed up at the office to start cleaning. We left our cell phone numbers on the voice mail, just in case phones began working. Our cell phones did in fact start ringing, and the day we started cleaning we did three massages.

We may have started massaging that day, but it was far from business as usual. My primary concern with the business was finding out where our clients were and if they were OK. There was no way to reach them, especially those who were from Plaquemines Parish or St. Bernard. It was a few weeks before we heard from these clients. What we were dealing with in the meantime was something our massage therapy training never could  have prepared us for.

I had been taught in school very well about a massage therapist's scope of practice. I loved having those clear guidelines. I cant describe the feeling the first time I worked on a client and she told me that after the massage she tied her own shoes for the first time in years. Over the first four years of my practice, people started seeking me out for my skills. Immediately after the storm, I wasnt prepared for what people would need or want from me.

I have loved being a massage therapist, but given the current situation, I wasnt enjoying it anymore. How do you enjoy giving massage when you find yourself saying, I cant give you your home back, but I can sure give you a massage. How do you enjoy working on a police officers neck and shoulder tension when you know that part of his pain is from shouldering an assault rifle for days? The rifle sits propped up against the wall of your treatment room because the traumatized officer refuses to part with it. How do you enjoy doing massage on a nurse who has seen and experienced some things no health care professional signs on for? How do you enjoy massaging a woman who is worried about her boyfriend who was stranded on a roof for days with his brothers body tethered to a utility pole next to the building?

Deep tissue was not the order of the day for those first few weeks back in business. Elbows, forearms and hands were not applied to body parts for deep tissuearms were wrapped completely around those deeply sobbing. Where were the days of enjoying my work? Not that I would have chosen to do anything different or to be anywhere else. But it was exhausting.

But my fears anxieties, frustrations for and about my hometown, my family and friends, and my clients had my own mental and emotional faculties stretched. At some point I realized that I had to totally check out and trust that my Higher Power had things in control.

Looking Ahead
Here it is now six months after the hurricane. As I write this, some in the area have begun celebrating Mardi Gras. Others are seething at the idea, and some are still so dazed it hasnt fazed them one way or another. As for myself, my partner and I bought the massage business. We are far from back to normal now, but more and more we are seeing people who are simply looking for great massage therapy. More and more of our clients are showing up from Plaquemines and St. Bernard, while others seem to be passing through on their way to the we arent sure yet phase. But at least theyre accounted for. Business is booming. Weve been working six days a week for 10 to 13 hours a day since September 20.

So I'll use the Mardi Gras holiday weekend to clean out my garage, rest and reflect on the lessons Ive learned and understand the reality that no matter how much I love being a massage therapist, sometimes by virtue of being human, there are times when it isnt about enjoying my work and it isnt about me. Its truly about fulfilling my role in a communitywhether that be as a massage therapist, or as someone whose heart, arms and hands are strong enough to support 10 to 20 or 50 to a 100-plus people. May we have the strength to continue doing that.