By Stew Bittman, D.C.
I hug basically every folk that I adjust. There, I admit it. I can't help it, tho. It has become a habit. A wonderful and important part of every folk's visit. Maybe more important than even I imagine. And it seems as natural as a flowing river: adjustment and hug, adjustment and hug. It even sounds good. Like an old dance team. Well, this is one habit that I don't have to swear off in a New Year's resolution, anyway.
Nearly everyone gets hugs from my staff, too. People wait for them, sometimes standing patiently in the background after their adjustment looking like anxious puppies while things are happening at the front desk. Now, I am aware that some might not judge this type of behavior to be professional. And I suppose I would be remiss if I failed to mention that we do ask people if it's OK first. But I don't feel the least bit guilty. Usually, it is my folk that initiates the hug. Especially the kids, which tells me it's definitely OK. To me, the adjustment is, more than anything, an act of love. It is, especially when I am fully present, and delivering it with no strings attached, a very intimate thing. Not on a personality or sexual level (those of you who's minds are in the gutter), but on an Innate to Innate level. For me, a hug sort of closes the deal. And besides all that stuff, something happened today that reminded me, once again, of how beautiful it is to have that kind of relationship with my folks.
I've been checking Don for 8 or 9 years, at least once a week. Nearly every time he has come in, Tasha has been with him. They were inseparable. Don had friends, but Tasha was his life. They were the only couple, to my recollection, that smooched while one was being adjusted. Today, Don came in alone. Yesterday he had Tasha, his Labrador Retriever, put down. Tasha loved coming in. I grew to love her, too, even tho she had some of those less desirable dog things, like ultra bad breath, and the wonderful habit of scooting her behind across my just cleaned carpet. She loved her adjustments; maybe almost as much as she loved the treat she got out front afterward. Don came in today, sobbed like a baby with his head on my shoulder, and told me how Tasha would start jumping up and down every time they came, as soon as they turned into the Safe Haven parking lot. Even in her last few visits, when she had to be carried in. I hugged Don today after his adjustment, just as I always have, and always will.