Dear J,
Well, my passion is unruly, J. I turned from writing to you -- telling you I was going to work on one piece -- to writing some other things, unexpected things, things that pushed forward to the front of the line. You know, I write a lot of what I call poetry. What it is, to be more direct, is a form of writing I do that breaks up sentences, that breaks down expected units of meaning, tries to find in word associations and rhythms and sounds, and in the breaking up of expected movements of meaning, tries to find something new and fresh and enjoyable and true. I do that. I call that writing poetry. Sometimes I send it out -- not often, not often enough to get published. I figure to be publishing in literary journals you need to be sending out massively. It can be done. I advocate it. Working on it. But I turned to that and it made me wonder about my finishing problem. I have a finishing problem. I don't finish things. I get 90 percent there and then I spend six months on the last 10 percent and sometimes don't even finish. I'm thinking maybe 90 percent is a good target. Maybe I get to 90 percent and say it's finished, send it out, move on. I'm sure it's that way with the advice column I write, and I'm sure the reason I enjoy it and can do it day after day is that I'm forced to let the piece go. I love daily journalism for that reason. But that may be, in fact, exactly why in my other writing I fail to finish -- because I have the satisfaction of daily finishing in the column. And now I am enjoying writing to you, J, because no one else is really reading this, and I can just say what's going on.
I hurt my dog and am filled with shame. Yesterday Norma and I were walking up to Java Beach with the two white poodles, Ricky and Lola. For me, it was Journey No. 2 to Java Beach. I had made a test run two days earlier and paid for it with a day of exhaustion. I used to do it with ease before the operation. Now I have to work back to it. So I crept along behind Norma and the dogs, and we made it up there, and then I sat and rested in the lovely park on the median strip for which we are so grateful (it was a barren median strip that has turned into a wonderful garden to sit in). Now this goes deep. This goes to me and power and anger and my obsession with order and how things should be and my sudden failure to accept how things are, my sudden decision to step in and fix things and take over. This goes deep. This is a man thing for one thing. It is a family thing. And it is a spiritual problem: The problem of no grace. Power without grace. Inability to control the temper. Reaching outward instead of inward. All these things. So Lola had her snout in the succulents and seemed to be going down a hole. She eats gophers. This is a fact. But we didn't know if it was a gopher hole. But anyway Norma was trying to get her away but was not strong enough, or was not pulling hard enough, and I grabbed the leash and yanked. That was a mean and angry thing to do. I yanked. Out of anger I yanked on the leash. I yanked on the leash to show her. Lola has a problem with her neck. She's been sick and down for weeks.
This was exactly the wrong thing to do. So she is down again, it put her back. I think it caused her pain. It was wrong. So I am in the shame of it. I can say this, though. I am not pretending. I am not running from it. Instead I am saying yes, I did this: I hurt my dog in anger. For some reason I did this; the reason may or may not be important; I may have done this for a reason related to power, to politics, to being a man; I may have done this for reasons related to my personal relationship to Norma, to demonstrate to her that this is how we take charge of the dog; I may have done it out of inner frustration with my weakness in recovery, my frustration at not having control.
So that is the truth about that, best as I can tell it.
Now we are going to go out again with the dogs. I can walk a little bit and then I get tired and have to come home and watch Keith Olbermann.
Well, J, I wanted to say more but we have to go. I am trying to let things be as they are. I am trying to stop trying. I am trying to stop trying to control things and run things and show people things and just be in this remarkable world, in its beauty. After all, less than a block away is the Pacific Ocean in all its majesty. That is where we walk. And that is where, every evening at sundown, I recall the very first time after weeks of lying down when I was able to walk down to the ocean and stand there and view it as if for the first time. After coming out of surgery to walk to the ocean and regard it as if for the first time: Now every time we walk down there I remember that. It's like we replay that. Like it's new every time. I want to keep it that way. I want to remember. I want to appreciate.
But then of course I'm a lunkhead like all the other lunkheads. I forget and go back to whatever.
So we'll walk out there now and I'll remember and appreciate, because walking is pretty special. Not everybody gets to walk by the Pacific Ocean with dogs.
'Nuff said.
James M. Emmerling
stanleybing
Sandra Stephens
Julie Delio
Denise LeBlanc-Bock
Arlene Green
Salon.com
Comments
I'm so glad you are the kind of person who feels it when he makes a mistake. It is what sets you apart. Let me tell you about something that happened to me some time ago.
We were still drinking (yes, I share that experience with you), and I had gone to bed. My partner was up, and she was drunk. We had a big dog named Gabby who must have been a runt of the litter because she protected her food with snarls, growls, and snapping teeth.
We also had two kittens just five or six weeks old that we had nursed with baby bottles, and the dog was in love with them. I was naive and didn't think the dog would kill something she clearly loved, but the longhair Siamese got too close to the dog's food dish, and Gabby took the sweet thing into her jaws and bit and shook that kitten. There was blood everywhere. My partner was drunk and didn't see it happen. When she finally saw it, she woke me up and we raced to the pet hospital as Angela gave him mouth-to-mouth through his little nose, but his windpipe had been torn open, and he could not be saved.
We lost another one under similar circumstances; we left the sliding door open and unattended, and a kitten escaped and was hit by a car in the parking lot. We both still carry the pain of it all, and the guilt that comes from drinking and allowing harm to come to others because of our condition.
But we are human and must forgive ourselves for those things that can't be fixed. Our duty is to learn from it and let it go.
Good golly, so much anger in connection with cancer. Rage really. How could there not be, when you think about it? There can be a certain delicious quality to it, an indulgence, an entitlement. Anyone who goes through cancer always being nicey nice, isn't being authentic.
Like Trilogy said, I feel honored to witness your process. You nail down with eloquence things that hum around without definition in my own awareness.
Tomorrow, something new. Hope you get some good rest tonight, my friend.
There's nothing harmless about drugs to the soul. Period.
Secondly, I want to respond to the post above mine. It seems that the writer believes that if you are still on painkillers, they are responsible for you reacting as you did. She states you should get off of them, having no knowledge of what level of pain you may still be in. I am a mental health professional, and I know that people can abuse pain medication, but I also know that there are times when its use is justified. Pain is not merely discomfort. Pain is actually not good for us. Pain causes rises in stress hormones, which has all sorts of ramifications, like increasing blood pressure and weakening the immune system-- something you certainly do not need while recovering from major surgery. It sounds like you have very good doctors. Talk with them before discontinuing any medication. I'm sure you don't want to be on pain meds any longer than necessary, but necessary is the operative word here. The other poster implies that your anger and loss of impulse control is caused by your pain medication, which I seriously doubt. Having said that, Vicodin(and I don't, of course, know what you may be taking) does make some people quite irritable.
I am feeling rather irritated by what the other poster said. She has no knowledge of how much pain you are in, but she feels justified in telling you what you should do. Her tone is rather judgmental, as well. I know you are a recovering alcoholic, and probably have some concerns because of that, but please don't deprive yourself of needed medication before you are ready.
Painkillers help you move. Moving supports your peristaltic action and other vital systems, keeps internal scarring to a minimum, and emotionally, puts you back with the living.
It is only with time and distance that you will look back at what you are going through now, and marvel that you did it.
I have to confess, when my nose is in the ground, I am focused. It's like something comes over me. To be honest, I didn't feel you or Mistress tugging on my leash. I'm just crazy for gophers.
I know you haven't been feeling well, I can smell it. I'm just so glad you're doing well enough to take me for a walk with Ricky. Here I thought HE was the old man! Hah!
Anyway, I'm touched that you feel so bad about it. I'll milk that for awhile, if you don't mind. But all's forgiven.
Love, Lola
It's fine if you want to take on all the guilt about your behavior, but that's not the whole story. Give yourself a break and remember that just about everyone's personalities get bent out of shape when they're on drugs. Their influence is not just the obvious high or lack of pain they effect. Drugs displace the negative of pain. Where does the entire experience go? These are soul issues that you, Cary, of all people, should be dealing with in that poetic truthland you strive to inhabit.
I hope I did shake you up a bit. I have no idea if you even read the comments here. But if you do, I hope you don't dismiss my remark. I hope you work with it until you embrace the meaning of that incident your sweet dog placed in your life.
Black and white? Maybe this topic would be better served by an essay. I don't have the room on this comment board to do it justice. But you are right that I have definite opinions about drugs. I'm a kind of fan of Cary's work, so I can't be a thorough hard ass. But I have my reasons for my attitude about drugs. I'm not tolerant about them. They are to be used with great caution and alertness—with mindfulness. They are the lesser of two evils—the other one being unendurable pain. Even so they are tricky and wily. Getting hooked on them is not necessarily a sign of weak character, it is a sign of naivete.
Even prescription drugs. Especially prescription drugs. Do we really need to debate about our pill-popping culture? Do we really need to debate about the lousy medical mistakes that shadow the miracles the medical profession performs? Cary himself was a victim of stupid prescription directions given to his wife as they were signing out of the hospital.
We are all ultimately responsible for our own health. For our own strength. For our own survival. My comment came from a deeply intuitive place. Some people's intuition is to offer sympathy. I contributed an insight. And I'm sticking to it.
Best wishes for continued great progress on your healing!
I appreciated Jenray's comment because I, too, felt resistant to the preachiness of your first post.
Au contraire. This comment board is the perfect place to debate this highly important health issue. Is Cary a two year old? The only odd thing about this particular comment board is that Cary himself never answers the comments. This is not the usual OPEN Salon way.
And this was at the crux of my discomfort with Joy's post: I do not feel it is appropriate to make hard-and-fast comments about Cary's treatment(and pain management is an important part of treatment).
@Joy:
Perhaps we are really not so far apart on this issue. We both care about Cary and want what is best for him. You do acknowledge that there are times when pain medication is necessary, albeit strong reservations about its use. I, too, am aware of the dangers of drug use and agree that our society has grown all too happy to reach for a pill as a quick fix for just about everything. Having worked with many clients who have had substance abuse issues, I am certainly well aware of the destruction and heartbreak it can cause. And yes, prescription drug abuse is a big problem. But I do believe that there are legitimate uses of some medications that have a potential for abuse.
Cesar Milan talks about how animals live "in the now," and therefore, feeling bad for an animal really isn't productive. All we can do is learn from our experience and know we can never let such a thing happen again.
My point is not just that prescription drugs can be abused. They also affect the personality. This is the subtler fact that gets lost in all the moralizing. I am not making anyone wrong here. I'm merely reminding Cary, and all, that drugs do more than kill pain or get you hooked. They have a myriad of side effects that are never discussed. One of which is that they change the personality. We hear nothing about this very real fact.
Cary needs or doesn't need to continue pain pills. Cary is or isn't still taking them. I don't care. What I do care about is that he doesn't totally blame himself for his behavior with his dog. If he weren't still on or very recently off pharmaceutical drugs he could go right ahead and take the full responsibility for hurting his dog. But that's not the case here. And he should be relieved to be reminded that he's been on substances that figure crucially into behavior.
Cary, I bet next time you're up to it, if you have a good long snuggle with Lola, and tell her she is the Pacific Ocean of Poodles, and when you really think about it she's an equal marvel to it, all the little wavelets of her fur, the repetitive, VERY VERY REPETITIVE, actions of her nose-following so like the tireless surf, and the way the sun sets in her eyes with a little gleam of the Divine Light you see most days at sunset when you're not exhausted with your butt hurting from having chunks of it freshly removed, and how the sweetness of her doggy breath is just like a freshet of ocean breeze (well, maybe not that one)...and how the clickety-click of her claws on the sidewalk is like the cheerful clang of lines against a mast, and her damp and busy nose, when not occupied in Really Obsessive Poodle Pursuits, is like a far-off buoy beckoning the lost sailor, and so would she like a biscuit just as soon as you've finished the ear-rub?
As long as you say it all in a sincere and gooey voice, you're fine. Let her absolve you because she will.
I had a dog I loved so much I completely lost it when he died. But a few years earlier he tore into a flock of chickens, I couldn't stop him, the chicken owners were horrified, I was so ashamed and panicked I didn't know what to do, he wouldn't come when I called as he was in pure bloodlust, my ex-husband was yelling, He's YOUR dog! and I was so shamed and guilty and upset about the chicken carnage I broke an old branch over his head when he finally came back to the car and he ducked when I went to pat him on his head for about a year.
He forgave me. Before I did.
Just got a chilly feeling of that "interwebs anonymity" can let our darker parts out to air.
I'll watch it.