The spider on the client

Dunedin possesses a home guard of alternative therapists. Squadrons of naturopaths, battalions of reflexologists, platoons of aromatherapists. We are trained and ready for deployment as soon as required. I belong to the relaxation massage brigade.

It is useful to be able to offer relaxation massage to friends who are stressed/tired/exasperated with this or that. A good skill to have.

This week, I was giving just such a massage as part of my trudge towards 100 hours' practical experience, when a spider began to descend from the ceiling.

I suppose it began its descent as I worked on the backs of the legs, but I was oblivious to it then. It was as I worked on the left side of the back that the spider landed on the right.

It was small, brown, and curled-up. It may in fact have been dead.

Nothing in my training had prepared me for such an eventuality. I knew what to do with a client's harmful negative energy at the end of a massage (flick it into a bowl of salt, of course), but not what to do in the event of a spider landing on that tarmac of skin beside the spine.

"Hmm," I thought.

I am not scared of spiders. Why, just that morning one of the largest tunnelwebs I've seen had joined me in the shower. What with its eight legs and my ten toes, the water around my feet was soon a merry dance of appendages.

Heck, I've even awoken to the sickening tickle of a spider on the nose. I believe that also to have been a tunnelweb: my right nostril was presumably looking promising as a tunnel. (In the night-shrouded scuffle that ensued, that arachnid was accidentally killed. Three days of rain followed.)

No, I had to "Hmm" before taking action in relation to the spider on the client for two reasons.

One: interrupting the flow of a massage by diverting your hands, or by engaging the client in conversation, is frowned upon. You're supposed to avoid it as much as possible.

Two: unnecessarily terrifying a client will not lead to their relaxation. And some people are terrified of spiders, no matter how small or curled-up.

In the end, not long after thinking "Hmm," I deftly grabbed the spider with my right hand, leaving my left in place, and chucked it away from the table.

Shortly after that, I decided on disclosure rather than silence, in the interests of client-masseuse trust.

"A wee spider just landed on your back," I said. "I've got rid of it. Funny, but they don't prepare you for that in massage training. I wasn't sure whether to mention it."

The client was a visitor from across the ditch. Unfazed, she said: "Well, if it had been Australia that would mean something different. But as it was just a New Zealand spider, it's no biggie at all."

And she laughed at the limitations of our spiders' collective bite.

"Yes," I confirmed. "It was just a harmless New Zealand one."