The popular TV show Grey’s Anatomy is filmed in Seattle, and maybe its Pacific Northwest roots are part of the appeal for me. (This season the show made a move to 9:00 p.m. on Thursdays, so it is on ABC an hour before ER airs at 10:00 p.m. on NBC; I tape them both and watch them on the weekend). Aside from its obvious (and frequent) quirkiness, the show has real and touching moments that occasionally tend to unearth some truths about life and relationships.
Last Thursday’s Sometimes a Fantasy really caught my attention. Most episodes are filled with several different story lines, with some, not uncommonly, continuing from week-to-week. And the story of Izzie’s loss resumed this time. She had fallen in love with a heart-transplant patient who had asked her to marry him. However, shortly after he popped the question (and after Izzie had made an ethically-questionable call about his care), he died. Izzie’s story was juxtaposed with one about Megan, a young girl who came to the emergency room with multiple injuries. Although she was bruised, beaten, scarred and had stapled a wound on her arm with an office stapler, she claimed to feel no pain. The ultimate diagnosis for her was “chronic insensitivity to pain.” (Who knew there was such a thing!?)
So, he we had: Megan, dramatically physically damaged, who claimed to “feel no pain.” And Izzie, who stood immobilized outside the hospital, unable to motivate herself to return to work, when asked where it hurt, said “everywhere .”
The array of possible human experiences always tends to amaze me. In this dramatization, one person feels immense, debilitating, chronic, paralyzing pain, and the other, none at all.
During the operation on Megan, the surgeon observes that “everybody wants a life without pain. What does it get you? She needs to be on a poster somewhere to remind people that pain’s there for a reason.”
I know, I know. This is a TV show. But the writing this week seemed incredibly good…and provided a degree of wisdom than one typically does not encounter during prime time.
Of course, these observations extend my previous commentaries. You know that I think about pain a lot ; and an episode of a medical drama focusing on the topic is bound to attract my attention and dwell in my thoughts. Six days ago, in an attempt to address my chronic myofascial pain issues (including my long-standing chronic lower-back pain), I allowed a doctor to inject me 19 times with small amounts of Marcaine in my first major attempt at trigger-point injection therapy. Although I experienced some short-term relief that day, by the evening I was back to “normal.” And, as my back pain has been the predominant factor in my existence the last couple weeks, I drove to Eugene to see my chiropractor on Friday.
If “pain’s there for a reason,” I ask, “what is it ?”
My colleague Wendall died swiftly of a heart-attack on Thursday evening. A co-worker was able to drive him from campus to the emergency room during the crisis (it’s just down the street), but they were apparently able to do little for him. He was one day short of his 56th birthday, and leaves behind a wife, kids, grandkids, and a large number of stunned colleagues in his department and on the entire campus.
I worked with Wendall for nearly two years. When I accepted this interim job in 2004, I was slated initially to take over the supervision of the Science Division, but by the time I actually got to campus, the president had reorganized things a bit and I found myself leading the “Science & Technology Division.” The technology portion included the Industrial Technology Department (consisting of the Automotive, Machine Tool, and Welding Technologies), of which Wendall was the department chair.
Wendall was a weldor and welding instructor; from my perspective he loved his trade and he had a deep and abiding affection for his students. He was exceptionally dedicated to the mission of the Industrial Technology department, and worked long hours to make sure everything was moving along as it should. Most importantly he was, simply, a very decent human being.
I will miss him.
This event seems to be triggering, for me, overwhelming feelings of loss. Even though I know that loss is integral to our existence, I still am sad. Despite the length of time I’ve lived and how much I’ve learned, I guess I’ve never been able to accept the impermanent nature of the universe. One would think that, by now, I would know that any relationship is temporary. To begin a relationship with anyone, with anything, is to know that it will someday end.
This loss, taken with my other large losses in the last couple years, is serving to keep me, I believe, in a rather deep and prolonged melancholic state. I apparently cling to some kind of ideal that I can, at some point, “get it together.” It’s likely my perfectionist tendencies, and my sense of what’s “fair,” that lead to disappointment and my sense of loss and failure. And, I suppose it’s what keeps me “stuck” in whatever uncomfortable place this is that I am in.
“To think that we can finally get it all together is unrealistic. To seek for some lasting security is futile…Suffering begins to dissolve when we can question the belief or the hope that there is anywhere to hide.
Hopelessness means that we no longer have the spirit for holding our trip together…Trying to get lasting security teaches us a lot, because if we never try to do it, we never notice that it can’t be done.” (Pema Chödrön, When Things Fall Apart, p. 39)
Given that I’m in a period of major transition now, and have been for quite some time, these selections seem particularly appropriate. Since I’ve picked these two up in the last few days, I’m feeling a tad more peaceful.
With the Chödrön book particularly, there is pearl after pearl. I’m keeping my highlighter handy as I go. In just the second chapter, I have rediscovered the words
“Life is a good teacher and a good friend. Things are always in transition…[t]o stay with that shakiness—to stay with a broken heart, with a rumbling stomach, with the feeling of hopelessness and wanting to get revenge—that is the path of true awakening. Sticking with that uncertainty, getting the knack of relaxing in the midst of chaos, learning not to panic—this is the spiritual path.” (Pema Chödrön, When Things Fall Apart, p. 10)
In the midst of everything else going on for me right now, I finally have finished reading Linda Carroll’s biography: Her Mother’s Daughter. As I have written about before, I’ve known Linda for over 25 years and identify her as one of the most influential people in my life – indeed, I consider her one of my family on this planet during this lifetime. (I’ve absolutely no idea if she has any thoughts along these lines, though.) She’s served as my counselor, confidante, friend, mentor and spiritual guide – helping me through some very difficult spots. I am incredibly fortunate to have met her and to have had her in my life for (at this point) nearly half my time on earth. Frankly, any attempt to think about this lifetime without Linda in it hardly seems like my life at all.
I first mentioned Linda in these pages after reading Borrowed Finery by Paula Fox. Fox is the famous author of novels and childrens’ books who, early in her life, gave Linda up for adoption. Linda finally tracked her mother down after the birth of granddaughter Frances Bean Cobain. Although quite elderly now, Paula is still alive and she and Linda continue to maintain a relationship begun, belatedly, in the mid-1990s.
In the time I’ve known Linda a lot has happened to her, both personally and in terms of her public notoriety. She is, after all, not only Paula Fox’s daughter, but Courtney Love’s mother. The stormy relationship between Linda and Courtney has been reported in the popular press, up until this time, exclusively through Courtney’s eyes. A number of unflattering and outrageous things have been said about Linda that are totally inconsistent with the good-hearted person that I know and love. Not that I ever really knew much of Linda’s story before reading the book, though; I have only had glimpses into small parts of her life. As my counselor, Linda has been focused on listening to the rhythms of my story, not the other way around. Most of what I know about Linda the person has come through my experience with her in various workshops over the years. The most recent group experience I had with her was about 7 years ago now, in a PAIRS (couples) course led by her and husband Tim.
Now that I’ve finished reading Her Mother’s Daughter, I’ve searched out some of the literary reviews and am discovering that they appear, well, mixed . Some praise Linda’s narrative style and general ability to draw the reader into the drama that has been her life. Others take a more critical stance, sometimes judging her life itself, apparently overwhelmed by the chaotic nature of Linda’s existence. For myself, I was amazed at the detail Linda was able to relate to me, the reader, describing experiences from an age when I would have no memories to draw on at all. Further, I was totally engaged with her writing style, finding it smooth and conversational, mirroring the “real person” that I know her to be.
Of course, upon reading the biography, I tend to agree that Linda’s life has been chaos. And in terms of order of magnitude of lifetime chaotic experiences, her biography rivals her mother’s. As much turmoil as I believe I’ve personally experienced, I admit that my story has had less overall drama than either Paula’s or Linda’s. Linda is on her fourth marriage; she gave birth to six children, one who died as an infant; an adopted child subsequently discovered another home for which he was a better fit; she escaped San Francisco by moving to Oregon, then moved to New Zealand and back to Oregon; her oldest child is Courtney, likely one of the most “out there” celebrities since Madonna’s younger days; and (not covered in the book) she once found herself the therapist for Katherine Ann Power, an activist from the 60s who spent most of her adult life underground.
Zounds: what a life.
I’ve lived my life parallel to a good portion of Linda’s drama, and I have sought out her big heart, attentive ear, and perceptive nature time and time again. She has never said she was not available to me. Whenever I’ve shown up, she’s always been totally present. Truthfully, I only had hints here and there that she was living the life she describes in this book. Even though her own existence has surely been an emotional roller-coaster, she has always been able to focus on me and my story and provide help when I sought her out. Simply, Linda is a human being of the highest caliber. The meaning of the chaos of her life, for me, I now understand, is that she’s always been able to assist me with my own frequently-chaotic existence.
A psychic I once consulted, who relayed to me some of my past-life experiences, reported that Linda and I had been twins at least two times in previous lifetimes. It is, at the very least, an entertaining thought. I know I feel very, very connected to her. My relationship with Linda is one of the most cherished things in my life. I glad she wrote her story so that I can know it: so that I can know her better than I do.
Listen to your life. It’s showing you everything you need to know about who you can become. (Messiah’s Handbook)
Isn’t it amazing how it's possible that life can turn on your next conversation — or unexpected phone call, email or piece of paper? One minute the world is this way, the next it is something entirely different. The phone call I’ve been waiting for, obviously, is a job offer. Although I’m gainfully employed, I’ve been searching for that “permanent” position for two years now. It hasn’t arrived yet.
But, that’s not the phone call that came this weekend. The voicemail from my landlords this morning was news that the house I’m renting from them is going to be sold. Out from under me. I’ll have some as-yet-undetermined time period after the sale to move out. But, it will very likely be in a month or little more. I was handed a piece of paper outlining the intent to sell, the terms of working with the realtor, and the notice that I’ll need to move my body and possessions to some other location. Soon.
Of course, I’ve had other conversations, phone calls, and pieces of paper that have totally shifted the universe. One of those, obviously, would be the notice I received that August night in 1983: “Mr. Arnold, I’m sorry, you are under arrest for driving under the influence of intoxicants…”
Another would be the email I received from Katrina in October 1999 that said: “Had my annual today. Found a lump. More tests Thursday... Needing good thoughts.”
Or, the emergency room doctor who (mis)diagnosed me with bladder cancer — but was very convincing in his (ultimately erroneous) opinion.
And, of course, there was the paper from the Board of Higher Education terminating my employment with the Chancellor’s Office in the Spring of 2004.
Now, today’s news is not exactly a life and death situation, though with my current energy level, this development seems pretty overwhelming. On top of my regular job, and my job as a job-hunter, I now have to find a new residence, pack up, and move while I continue to look for “real” work.
It would appear that I am being challenged. I am experiencing the opportunity to find out what I’m made of.
Why did I choose this? What am I supposed to be learning here?
Let me guess: it must be about one of my lifetime issues.
