Serendipity: How Reflexology Found Me

It was the summer of 1981. I had just finished my sophomore year of college and was much in need of a job. Given my studies in therapeutic health and physical education, I decided to take a job as a nurse's aide in a nursing home. At the age of nineteen, I willingly entered into the world of geriatrics and was happy to have a job.

Some of my responsibilities entailed keeping the residents comfortable and feeding and bathing those who needed assistance. I was also given the job of taking blood pressure and pulses, recording the intake of fluids and output of urine, and testing sugar levels for those suffering with diabetes.

As the summer continued, my knowledge and responsibilities grew. I got to know my patients and greatly enjoyed the warm and simple exchanges that occurred as these relationships developed.

In the process of carrying out my responsibilities, I couldn't shake the phenomenon of the appearance of most of my patients' feet. I referred to them as "mushroom-capped" feet because this is what they looked like when it came time for me to take their shoes off. The tops of their feet looked swollen and bulbous, while their toes and heels were shriveled and slight. It bothered me deeply, and I instinctively washed and rubbed their feet and watched their faces melt with relief as their feet relaxed into a more normal shape. I felt happy to be able to provide comfort in this way.

One midsummer day I was perusing a book that described many ways to heal the body, and I came upon a diagram that illustrated the organs of the body drawn on the bottoms of the feet. Both amused and amazed at the absurdity of this image, my interest was piqued, and I could not let this pass by. I had to prove or disprove this and was intent on figuring it out.

I copied the page, brought the diagram with me to work, and began investigating the possibility of its truth.

Having access to the medical charts, and with permission from my patients, I was able to associate the image of the foot map to their feet. With my thumbs, I palpated sites on their feet to investigate correlations with their medical chart. For example, if a patient was experiencing constipation, I palpated the areas where the map cited as the reflex area to the colon. I would then compare this texture with that of another patient's foot who was not experiencing constipation. I was amazed how tactilely different they were.

The possibilities of learning about this intrigued me to no end, and my patients loved it. With permission from the charge nurse, I began to take a few of my patients' pulses and blood pressures before and after I palpated sites on their feet and noted a significant and positive change in the measurement. I even took the opportunity to test blood-sugar levels to see if reflexology could influence pancreatic function by decreasing the sugar levels in urine, and I was thrilled to see that it did.

I began to see obvious changes in the dispositions of the patients I was working with over that summer. I knew reflexology was benefiting them, but it was still very mysterious to me, and like a new best friend, I took this newfound knowledge with me wherever I went to test it and to learn from it. I bought every reflexology book I could get my hands on, and in my spare time throughout the remainder of college, I practiced on my friends and family and read all I could about reflexology.

As part of completing my bachelor of science degree, I was required to fulfill an internship, which I chose to do in the orthopedic division at the Children's Hospital in Boston. My job was to provide therapy to the patients through play and activity. I loved this job and am so thankful for the experience of working in this superb establishment.

While I was there, reflexology again beckoned to me, this time to the autism division as I passed this floor on my way to the orthopedic unit.

I couldn't help but think how wonderful it would be if reflexology could create a calming effect for children with autism who were confined to cribs, waiting to have dental work. With permission from my supervisor and the charge nurse on duty, I was able to calm a wonderful child with autism with a ten-minute reflexology session. The two of us then peacefully took a walk in the garden courtyard below without incident. This event was a topic for conversation for quite a while after, as typically this child was not able to focus long enough to stand still. Needless to say, I was thrilled.

Toward the end of my internship, my supervisor asked me what I planned on presenting during the required public education forum at the hospital. I froze. At the time I was not comfortable speaking in public, and my head became foggy in my attempt to figure out what I could talk about for forty-five minutes.

After a few days of thinking it through, I bravely asked my supervisor if she would allow me to talk about reflexology. Since she was privy to my extracurricular reflexology sessions with children with autism at the hospital, she acquiesced to this idea with excitement about learning more. I then asked if I could demonstrate on her, and amused and delighted, she agreed.

The day of the presentation soon came, and so did a "eureka moment." While speaking and demonstrating the reflexology technique I had developed over the last two and a half years, I found myself repeatedly palpating a particular raised texture on my supervisor's hand that was a reflex site associated with the ear, until she shrieked, "Ouch!"

My face reddened, and I apologized for hurting her, but she promptly stopped me midsentence and said, "No you don't understand — my ear has been plugged up for two years, and it just popped open!" She thanked me, and the audience "oohed" and "ahhed," and they were almost as amazed as I. It worked, and I didn't even know there was a problem! Needless to say, I received an A+ on this presentation.

After receiving my bachelor's of science degree in therapeutic studies, I took a job in Vermont as an activities therapist in the Psychiatric Division of the Brattleboro Retreat. I was a therapist on a treatment team for both schizophrenia and eating disorders. Here I led and co- led various activities for the patients' therapeutic involvement.

After careful planning, and with the collective approval of the treatment teams, I introduced and led a therapeutic activity called, "Learn How to Do Reflexology" for patient participation. The effect of the class on the patients was much greater than I anticipated, so it was agreed to keep "Learn How to Do Reflexology" on the schedule as a regular activity option.

This once-a-week class became very popular, and it was always at capacity. Because of this there were two nurses or other staff present in the room as well.

The patients learned an abbreviated version of reflexology, its benefits, and how to give and receive a session. It was remarkable to see the transformation on the faces of these folks as they filed out of the room looking dignified and serene.

One of the psychiatrists heartily remarked to me at rounds, "What are you doing in there? The patients come out of the room and act as if they have been given a calming drug."

I noticed many of the doctors and nurses observing through the window during these classes, and each week the staff began to compete for the chance to be in the room to participate.

Little did I know reflexology was becoming my obsession. I was becoming an authority on the subject because of all the questions people asked, and if I didn't have the answer, I'd research it. Invitations began to pour in to speak in various forums about reflexology and to be the staff reflexologist during health symposiums.

In 1986 I participated in a life-changing course in New York City on the subject of how to improve your relationship with yourself in order to improve your relationships with others. After completing this four- day seminar, I felt pleasantly raw and fatigued with enlightenment as I, and the throngs of other people who indulged in this fabulous workshop, trailed out of the auditorium. Suddenly, however, someone accidently knocked into the back of my knees, causing me to tumble to the floor and drop all of my notes and belongings. One of the participants assisted me upright and helped me gather my things as we introduced ourselves and spoke of where we lived and worked.

During our brief encounter, something in me spontaneously interjected, "Have you ever heard of reflexology?" Her eyes widened as she replied, "Heard of it! I have a school of reflexology right here in Manhattan!" I told her I never knew there was such a thing as a school for reflexology. I of course enrolled in and received a master's of reflexology certification and stayed on afterward to complete a teacher's apprenticeship program.

I officially received my master's of reflexology certificate in 1989. Until that point reflexology was a side interest, and I never entertained the idea of making a living at it. I then opened a private reflexology practice in Brattleboro, Vermont, and I began to incorporate what I had been teaching myself since 1981 with what I learned in New York. My practice soon bloomed as the reflexology results spoke for themselves.

The following year I decided to move to Seattle, and I was unnerved to hear that in order to practice reflexology in the state of Washington, I needed to have a massage therapy license. The penalty would be a criminal record if I dared practice without this license. After talking with the health department in Olympia, I decided it was moot to think I could change this law, even after passionately clarifying that reflexology and massage therapy are two entirely different entities, and that in my experience and conversations with many massage therapists, most knew very little about reflexology, so why was it under the massage therapy umbrella? I was sent out the door with, "Sorry, but that's the law."

Back to school I went, and I received my massage practitioner's license at the Brenneke School of Massage with a specialization in treatment for injuries. I was proud of my accomplishment, for the massage curriculum proved to be an academic challenge, and I learned a lot more about the human body and how to help people recover from trauma.

After graduating from massage school, I immediately opened my reflexology practice and decided to teach. I named my business Seattle Reflexology and Massage Center. The name rolled off my tongue, and I had come to realize my reflexology practice became a life unto itself. I was the conduit for its manifestation and growth, and I was honored to be the facilitator.

I was hired to be on staff at the Brenneke School of Massage as the faculty reflexology instructor. The introductory course to reflexology was a hit, and so was my advanced reflexology course. "I want to learn more," was a popular response, and before long I produced a well- attended and successful master's of reflexology certification series.

This certification series was born out of a culmination of experiences from my personal adventures in learning and practicing reflexology; my formal reflexology training; and my local, national, and international reflexology involvement. The reflexology conferences I attended fed my unending desire to learn more, teach more, and assimilate it all to bring back to my students. In fact, when I was particularly fascinated with the subject, I would invite the speaker to teach his or her method at my school. These speaker invitations became the standard for the school curriculum, which increased the school's education hours and began to form the center's larger purpose: an international hub for reflexology training.

In the interim between my teaching and practice, I was one of a small panel of reflexologists who met with the purpose of learning what other schools of reflexology were teaching around the country to come up with a set of national educational standards for school accreditation. We named this organization the "American Commission of Accreditation for Reflexology Education and Training," or ACARET for short.

I also hadn't dropped the ball on the health department in Washington regarding the status of reflexology training being governed by the Massage Therapy Department, and with the encouragement of some reflexology friends and colleagues, namely Christine Issel and Bill Flocco, we started a committee to change the law. It involved getting through many legal snarls and constant vigilance on everyone's part.

My participation was in the birth and developmental stages of creating a state reflexology association for Washington. The baton was then passed to my apprentice, Lisa Hensell, who purchased the Seattle Reflexology and Massage Center in 1999. Her passion for reflexology spoke through her perseverance, leadership, and administration skills as she and our fellow reflexology colleagues continued to pave the way for reflexology to become what it is now: a professional and independent entity in the state of Washington! Hooray!

Reflexology still remains fresh and lively in my life in Vermont. I continue to engage in reflexology practice, teaching, and learning, and I realize now more than ever the very organic meaning of the word and the truth of how it works. This is what this book is about.

Shoes

The popular phrase "put your best foot forward" has been circulating throughout literature since as early as 1495.

Written a century later, Shakespeare used a form of that expression in King John saying, "Nay, but make haste; the better foot before."

During this period, the shoe of desire, worn mostly by royalty, was very narrow, with a pointed toe. The vast majority of people were peasants who spent their entire lives barefoot, as shoes were expensive and only hand made. Though the translation of this phrase was meant to imply "do your best," in my opinion this phrase has literal meaning in that the majority of the world's population has foot problems. What on earth is the cause of this? Most of the time I seem to find the answer in shoes.

To this day, the style and yes, cost of one's shoes communicates so much about the wearer: personality, affluence, prestige, and sex appeal.

There is no arguing the importance shoes play in our lives. The style of shoes, however, has become more valued than function and often errs on the side of costumey rather than protective and functional.

For most of society the brain has been stuck in a seductive, stylish shoe passed on from the days of King Louis XIV, who wore the pointed-toe, heeled shoe that differentiated the peasants from those of affluence. It was considered a political privilege to wear these types of shoes, and those who had access to the king's court were more likely able to afford them.

Eventually King Louis passed an edict that only those who were already admitted to court were allowed to wear them. The heels of these shoes were often painted red to signify that royalty and nobility didn't dirty their heels, and the heel itself signified that they were ready to "crush the enemies of the state at their feet" (Forbes, 2016).

I sometimes wonder about the look of King Louis's feet and why he was so intent on wearing this tapered-style shoe. Why hold the toes hostage by bridling them tightly together? Was it an effort to hide them, cover them up, and disguise his pain with a bow-topped shoe?

Sadly, I happen to think this attitude is still held by many people who have deformed their feet by their shoe choices.

Shoes were originally measured in barleycorns for length, and they were made from the same tools used in Egypt since the fourteenth century until the modern manufactured shoe was developed in the mid-1800s following the invention of the sewing machine. This enabled material to be fastened to the platform of the shoe more efficiently.

The production of the modern manufactured shoe offered the public a way to afford shoes at a reasonable price. It was all the rage!

However, the essential difference between hand-sewn shoes and modern, manufactured shoes was that the right and left shoes were equally matched in the manufactured shoe. With hand-sewn shoes, the cobbler took many measurements into consideration in sizing each shoe individually to match the shape and contour of each foot. Most people have two different-size feet, and therefore, the majority of people who wear the modern shoe are forcing their feet to conform to shoes that do not fit.

In a more practical light, the heeled boot or shoe once served the purpose of keeping one's foot from sliding forward in the stirrup as soldiers galloped on their horses during the Civil War, and today they are still a necessity for horseback-riding ranchers and cattle handlers.