Sometimes it Hurts

Although the wind blows terribly here, the moonlight also leaks between the roof planks of this ruined house. - Izumi Shikibu in the Zen Calendar (November 1, 2006)

Day 90. What is it with Mondays?

I went to my doctor today for a six month follow-up on some treatment she is rendering for . . . for lack of a more precise diagnosis . . . Adrenal Fatigue Syndrome. It has something to do with the extensive after effects I suffered following a couple of heat incidents. I am wary of both western medicine and anything ending in the generalization of "syndrome." I respect this care provider, who employs a skill rarely practiced by American physicians. She listens. Engages me in her decision process. Includes me in the treatment plan. Unconventional, indeed!

We began the visit with her inquiry into my general status. I replied that I had considered writing a "Thank you for giving me my life back" letter to her and the internal medicine doctor with whom she practices. I mentioned that I had been thinking about how to quantify the improvement in how I was feeling compared to eight months ago. I articulated my conclusion by saying, "When I first saw you I was functioning at about 15 percent of my optimal; now it's about 85 percent." I meant this as a gratified testimony to how much better I felt, mentioning my return to cycling, kicking butt in Pilates class, writing my blog, meditating, filing papers dating back to 2005, rediscovering jigsaw puzzles, and other flagrant and reliable barometers of my recovery. I was taken aback when she began writing a lengthy lab request while saying, "That's not where we want you to be. We want you at 110 percent!"

What, exactly, is one hundred and ten percent? And why would I want to function at that level? It makes me tired just thinking about it. I was reminded of one of my favorite episodes of "Family Affair" (incidentally, remembering this TV series is a valid indicator of age). It was the episode where Buffy had broken her leg. The x-rays were complete, the leg casted, and Buffy was at home in her room with her injured limb propped on a pillow and her beloved doll, Mrs. Beasley, nestled in her arms. Her brother Jody had done his best to cheer her up, Mr. French had delivered all of her favorite treats to the bedside, and Uncle Bill had made all the right nurturing sounds. Still, Buffy was blue. She cried. Despite the best efforts of Jody, Mr. French, and Uncle Bill, she remained sad. Something must be terribly wrong.

The doctor was called. As only Sitcom Doctors do, he promptly made a house call. He spent time with Buffy, and emerged from her room looking confident and decisive. Mr. French and Uncle Bill were summoned for his verdict. Pausing for effect, the doctor pronounced his diagnosis with a somber voice and twinkling eyes: Buffy hurt. That was all. She had a broken bone, and it hurt. It would continue to hurt while she healed. Hurting was part of the process. She needed time and patience, and permission to cry. Crying and being sad are the right things to do when you are in pain.

I think this doctor was brilliant. I think he has become obsolete. Our culture is so terrified of pain -- all pain: physical, mental, spiritual, emotional, financial -- that we have lost our ability to utilize pain to grow and heal. We no longer understand pain as a trustworthy communication that something is bad for us, or dangerous, or constricting. We have forgotten that coping with pain can mean experiencing, managing, and surviving it rather than numbing or escaping from it. We can learn from pain, and grow from it. But only if we feel it.

I don't want to function at 110 percent. I'm grateful and content with the progress I have made. Cycling has taken on dimensions of joy and gratitude that I never would have recognized had I not been grounded from the bike for several months. Feeling so physically rotten taught me amazing lessons like how to ask for help, develop more reasonable goals, set priorities, surrender perfectionism, trust in the goodness of others, and (best of all!) look inward for my salvation. Pain can be a gift if we have the courage to spend time with it. Sometimes it is the only gateway through which we may connect with higher parts of ourselves.

The Four Noble Truths in Buddhism are the gateway to alleviate suffering. None of the Truths includes "Life can be free of pain." In fact, the First Truth is: There is suffering. Never hurting is not a realistic goal. Relinquishing our attachment to pain avoidance is. Like Buffy and her broken leg, sometimes the accurate diagnosis is: It hurts. Like Buffy and her broken leg: Hurting is an integral part of healing.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc