THE CASE FOR GOING GENTLE

Copyright October 2011


The recent death of Steve Jobs evoked the oft-heard comment in the media that he
had “lost his battle with cancer.” We all eventually “lose our battle” with death. In the following essay, written over a decade ago, I express my dissatisfaction with that expresses my feelings
about that perspective.



“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of
day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

Dylan Thomas

The first time I read these words I was a teenager, and I shouted whatever was the
current vernacular version of-- "YES!" Fight to the very end,I exulted. That's how I would be when my time came; that's how everyone should be.

I have had quite a few years to think it over,and with old age now a present reality, burning and raging have quite lost their appeal.
Probably his bellicose stance helped Thomas the son. The psychotherapist in me recognizes that one defense against the pain of loss is to focus on the behavior of the person being lost. And, if we refuse to accept parental death we can, like Woody Allen, nourish the secret, sly wish that although "everyone dies, I'm hoping in my case they will make an exception."
But how did Thomas the father feel about it? We'll never know.
My own father died unexpectedly in his sleep when I was nine years old. Some part of me must have felt angry and betrayed, but at nine I could not articulate my grief, let alone my rage. What it was like for him, I can never know. I have since experienced the death of my grandmother in her eighties, my mother in her seventies, friends, colleagues, and teachers in middle age, and young clients and friends cruelly claimed by AIDS and cancer. The task of separating two urgent needs - my wish to be spared the agony of final separation, and the dying person's right to unqualified loving support - never gets easier, never less essential.

I have come to believe that affirmation of life is wonderfully congruent with acceptance of its inevitable end, and that the instinct to survive is completely compatible with ultimate acquiescence. "A good death" may be a rarity but it is not an oxymoron.

The beauty of this seeming paradox was illuminated for me by the work and example of Arnold Beisser, M.D. Arnie was 25, a recent medical school graduate, Navy reserve officer, and tennis champion when in 1950 polio left him paralyzed from the neck down. He went on to marry, to pursue his career as a psychiatrist and teacher, and to influence countless patients, students, colleagues and friends with his gentle and humane wisdom.

He talked about how our metaphors for health and survival are those of the battlefield and the competitive world of business and sports. We "win" or we "lose." Thus we have "weapons" to "conquer" cancer. Thus the obituaries daily give notice of fallen warriors who "lost a long fight with......." Thus we applaud those who "successfully" recover, and call them "super-stars."

How we long to believe it is all within our control, that we can make anything happen. We can avoid feeling wrenching pity for the child born deformed, for the family killed in a plane crash, if we can persuade ourselves that somehow it must have been their responsibility. If only we try hard enough, say the right
incantations, acquire the most lethal "weapons" to banish tragedy, we will be spared a similar fate.

There is an alternative. Instead of weapons, why not tools, to help us heal, to live
and celebrate our life to the fullest? Some years ago I attended a workshop for mental health professionals on the use of visualization to shrink tumors. The
suggested imagery was of tanks running over the cancer cells, machine guns
wiping them out, etc. When several women, including me, objected to the warlike metaphor we were told that our protest was a function of female resistance to owning anger. We had no problem owning and expressing our anger at this interpretation. Mindful of some studies suggesting that the muscle relaxation elicited by gentle,
nurturing imagery enhances the immune system and that the reverse is true of
tension-evoking hostile visualization, we created some alternate imagery:

There is a garden where both lovely flowers and poisonous weeds grow. We water the
flowers and enrich the soil. We do dig up some weeds, and we may use some
chemical spray (taking care not to damage the flowers} but mostly we nourish
the flowers and watch them crowd out the weeds and take over the garden.

In another visualization, malignant cells are seen as aggressive bullies. We disarm
them with the "broken record" technique, repeating over and over:"No, sorry, you can't come in here ..of course you want to very much but it simply isn't allowed...the door is powerful,pounding on it won't help.... the locks are incredibly strong...no matter what you do you can't come in. Just give it up and go away." We imagine the frustrated cancer cells slinking away,wearily muttering, "We're wasting our time. Let's split." Arnold Beisser was not embattled. He did not hate his disability or the prospect of death, and since hate is a necessary component of warfare, he did not go to war.

Did he "fail" in his efforts to recover? To anyone knowing him or reading his remarkable 1970 book “Flying Without Wings” such a notion is absurd. Did his death at age 60 mean that he had "lost his long fight with polio?" More absurdity. It is his response to disability and loss that inspires us; he transformed his tragic
circumstances by going gently.

Is longevity all we aspire to? Do we admire a rose less because it will not
live as long as an oak tree? The Alcohol Anonymous prayer asks for courage to change what can be changed, serenity to accept what cannot, and the wisdom to know the difference. Acquiring that wisdom is surely one of our
most worthy and important goals.

We can appreciate the benefits of medical and cosmetic advances, while honoring age--and eventually death. Integrating those polarities is a path to serenity. We can
cherish life, work tirelessly to find cures and relieve suffering, and look as attractive as possible, while recognizing the truth and beauty of Buddha's words: "Everything that has a beginning has an ending. Make your peace with that and all will be well."

Racing Towards Obsolescence

Racing Towards Obsolescence

By Ruth Lampert
October 7, 2011

I thought I had said my last farewell to the Time Lady, but earlier today I noticed that the clock on my living room shelf showed a slightly different time than the one in the kitchen. From the depths of fond memory came a voice I thought was long-stilled:
“I’ll check it out with the Time Lady.”

My official eulogy to this gracious creature was in a blog two years ago, but as with anything/anyone well-loved, memories surface unexpectedly. I was still smiling in fond remembrance when I went to unplug my cell phone from the charging connection, and another unbidden thought surfaced:
“Am I the only person in the civilized world whose cell phone does not include a camera?”

And of course from that it was but a little skip to sweet memories of Photography Back Then. I’m talking about my childhood which is way, way, way, way back. Photography meant taking photos of the family - professional photography was categorized as “Art” in my mind, and in fact it still is.

Our family pictures were not “candid.” They were planned and orchestrated. The first thing to be considered was who stood where. While our dad was alive, most family shots show him and Mother standing in the back row, then older sister Cine and older brother Bob in front of them, and me (“the baby,”) in the first row. (Who took those pictures of all five of us? A neighbor? A relative????)

Later, there were other poses, but indeed we posed, sometimes sitting on the lawn. (Always outdoors, of course. If you don’t understand why, you are considerably younger than I am.),

Part of the ritual was taking the film to the drugstore to be developed, picking up the yellow envelope days later (or was it a week?) and excitedly looking through the shots to see which ones had “come out really good.”

And later, the thrill of “instant” photography, which Wikipedia (how long before that word is drenched in nostalgia?) tells me, was founded by the Polaroid Corporation in 1937 by Edwin H. Land and “reached the market in 1948 and continued to be the company’s flagship product line until the February 2008 decision to cease all production…”

And you don’t have to be very old to remember sitting on your grandma’s couch and looking through all those albums of all those aunts and uncles and cousins….
O.K, enough of that. Fast forward past all the amazing technological wonders including, I am pleased to note: Blogs!

And they are changing I feel it coming. Nostalgia marches on.

Meanwhile: Tony, what time do you have?

FROM ZEN TO UNGEPOTCHKED

By Ruth Lampert


Copyright September 15, 2011



One of my favorite Yiddish words is “ungepotchked,” which, according to Google, translates roughly as “Messed up, slapped together without form, excessively and unesthetically decorated. ....”

Each time I attempt to simplify my life, a gazillion things emerge to clutter it up. Now that I have reached and in fact surpassed the age of what my Denver grandson * charmingly calls “chronologically gifted,” the reality of “clutter” far surpasses the ideal of “simplicity.”

For example, when I moved into my condominium over 20 years ago (the story of my many moves cannot be far off) the freshly painted walls remained bare white until such time as I got around to unpacking. It was all very Zen, and I quite liked it. But I also liked all the stuff in the cartons. Eventually the cartons were unpacked, and the stuff displayed. The day came when I sat back and observed the final result,, first with pleasure, then with the dismal realization that I had gone from Zen to Ongepotchked., and there was little hope of ever returning.

I was reminded of this when another grandchild moved into her new apartment in Northern California with her boyfriend, and emailed me about the many cartons, still unopened, on the apartment floor. I must check with her about that. But I digress, which, I realize, is just another form of clutter….

When I officially retired three years ago from my psychotherapy practice I thought, as I suspect everyone does upon retirement, that I would get “caught up, “ would clean out the clutter (there’s that word again) of papers and “notes to self” and etc, etc, etc, etc. And in fact, the piles are a teensy bit smaller. The catch, of course, is that no sooner are ancient reminders/directives/notes etc tended to than new ones appear.

But surely, the desk of a creative person is not meant to be Zen-like. And surely anyone who writes, even if not always systematically or conclusively or brilliantly or not-too-bad-really qualifies as “creative.” Of course he/she does. Don’t I?

It’s not like there are small creatures making their homes in the stacks of papers. It’s not like I can’t find what I want at the moment, although “moment” may not be the exact correct word to describe how long the search takes. And there is the wonderful experience of coming across something that really never did actually have to be done in the first place.
Rip it up and throw it away! Who cares what your thoughts were about that long ago event? And the friend whose birthday you missed, well if he/she is really a friend he/she will understand, right? I’m writing a note now to send a card next year. O.K., so “next year” has come and gone, I’ll make a really big reminder note for next, next year. And re unpaid bills that somehow did not get filed in the “unpaid bills” file, no one shuts off the utilities, or puts the house up for foreclosure, without several reminders. I’m sure of that.

And notes for future blogs are neatly stacked in a file folder clearly marked “Notes for Future Blogs.” I know it is here somewhere.

After all, one does not want to be obsessive-compulsive. And Google notwithstanding, there is a charm, a warmth, an ethnic lovability to “ungepotched.” And you don’t even have to be Jewish.

Now where is that folder….

Feel Guilty? Join a Book Club

Feel Guilty? Join a Book Club
By
Ruth Lampert

Copyright September 2011

(see also: “My Reading Disorder” 8-12-08)


For those of us who fell in love with books before we were strong enough to lift one, there has always been a price to pay in guilt for our passion. (This may come as a surprise to those who never liked to read, a condition which will probably not be explored elsewhere since no one would want to read it.)

But for book worms of all ages, as soon as a volume is picked up and you are comfortably settled in your chair, a nagging refrain turns on listing all the things you should be doing instead. (This excludes of course books which must be read for a class assignment. This topic also will probably not be explored elsewhere.)

As a child I remember hiding in the cellar with a beloved book while that merciless voice nagged:
Better you should go out and play in the fresh air.
Your room is a pigsty, why don’t you go clean it up and make it neat like your sister’s?
You’ll never make any friends this way, you goofus.

Growing up, the list of “should do instead” grows longer, including, but not limited to,
Doing your homework, especially the stuff you hate (like math.)
Washing your hair
Fixing dinner, or at least making a shopping list
Better you should go take a walk and get some fresh air.
The house is a pigsty etc as above
Writing your blog instead of leaving it to the last minute

And then, to the rescue, comes The Book Club Remedy! If you belong to a Book Club, there is always something you not only should be reading, but quite likely also enjoy a lot... It’s not the same as reading a class assignment, because the book has been chosen either by you or by a friend who likely shares your tastes, and if not, you can begin the next month’s selection or read something new that can be your choice the following month. s I mean, you really should do your part and be prepared.

Some say this phenomenon is nothing but Jewish Guilt and since Jews are known to be The People of the Book it all takes on an added intensity. This would make a good subject for a scholarly study which I probably should undertake, but I can’t, because I have to finish this month’s book.
Ha ha ha.



I imagine the earth when I am no
more:
Nothing happens, no loss, it’s still a
strange pageant,
Women’s dresses, dewy lilacs, a song
in the valley.
Yet the books will be there on the
shelves, well born,
Derived from people, but also from
radiance, heights.

Last lines from a poem by Czeslaw Milosz.
Quoted by Bruce Ja7 Friedman in New York Times Book Review
September 14, 2008.Name of poem not given.

BEYOND THE DSM

Copyright, Ruth Lampert, May, 2011


Since my retirement as a psychotherapist, I no longer write “professional” articles or books. However, there is a topic much in the current popular press which I would like to address; that is, the updating of the DSM (“Diagnostic and Statistical Manual”) which is the “Bible” for diagnosing mental disorders. It has been revised several times, and the latest version – DSM-V-TR is due for publication in May 2013.

So here are my suggestions/comments for nomenclature of mental disturbances which, in spite of their increasing prevalence, will probably continue to be omitted in new versions.

FOD – “Fear of Deletion.”

This disorder is characterized by an unreasonable panic which overwhelms the sufferer at the last moment before permanently deleting an e-mail from the file. Typically, the person is first aware of an annoying anxiety when the delete button is pushed for the first time, and the item goes to the “delete” file, where it remains until the e-mailer decides (or seriously considers) permanent deletion. After hitting “X” at this point, a small but ominous warning appears on the screen:

“Are you sure you want to delete this item?

This is the moment of truth, which triggers anxiety symptoms including rapid heartbeat, sweaty palms, dry mouth, etc. I personally experience this situation almost every day. I mean, I’m pretty sure I want to delete this old ad from Amazon, .but absolutely, positively forever? True, the time frame for the advertised special has already expired, but they might offer it again, and I might miss the second offer…

And that political controversy…even if the election is over, there will be more, or I might need to defend my choice to someone…you never know. And those confirmations of lunch dates – maybe I’ll need to look them up for tax purposes, and demonstrate that they were indeed business related and maybe I won’t be able to find the actual receipts, who knows? Anything can happen….

This syndrome is more likely to be seen in the elderly (I’ll let you define what that is) and sometimes results in so much stored material that the health of the computer, let alone of the computeree, may be threatened. There is no DSM for that that I know of.

Another disorder not officially noted is the OAO (“On-and-On”) syndrome. An example of this is the above description of FOD, which could have been covered in a sentence or two. This is also seem frequently, but not exclusively, in older patients, which is understandable because older people have more accumulated memories and opinions to draw on as they try to explain or describe something to someone. So far the most effective intervention is attendance at Onandonanonymous meetings. Although each person’s story tends to be interminable, it beats driving a friend or relative nuts. (This condition is not severe enough to warrant an entry in DSM.)

It should be noted that if OAO sufferers are undergoing psychotherapy, the treatment itself will probably go on and on, which some therapists think is a good idea as far as their financial welfare goes. You know who you are.

SCR, or “Sudden Cooking Resistance” is common in women who have been married 20 or more years, (not necessarily to the same man) though it may occur in those who have experienced fewer years of matrimony. While the appearance of symptoms is sudden, the condition may have been festering (simmering? More about puns later.) for many years. Typically, the first symptom is a slamming of kitchen cupboard doors, and a loud, explosive, shout of “I’VE COOKED ENOUGH! THAT’S IT! FROM NOW ON WE EAT OUT OR ORDER IN!” In advanced cases, “YOU LIKE HOMECOOKED FOOD SO MUCH? THEN YOU CAN COOK IT!” may be included.)

There is no cure for this condition, although in some mild cases the patient may find herself able to cook a light meal now and then, as long as someone else does the shopping and the cleaning up.

The CRS! Syndrome,” Can’t Remember S---!” is actually not a disorder, but rather a colorful way of describing the normal memory loss that occurs with aging. It may actually be beneficial in that it allows a healthy release of tension, and is often accompanied by laughter and many “Yeah, me too!” comments from contemporaries.
On the other hand – uh, what was I going to say here? Something about the damage that can be caused by forgetting a close relative’s birthday…Who was that now….. Damn, CRS.

Always in Demand

Changing interests, lifestyles, and technologies create the need for new skills and talents, but always and forever in demand are the services of a dedicated and creative nag. I am fortunate to have one in my employ. Sue’s official title is “Assistant”. She is here only two hours a week, and in that short time she accomplishes technological tasks, repairs and innovations that span – well, just about everything I ever need. And recently, as my tendency to procrastinate increases, so does her talent for nagging.

For example, some of the services she does not provide, but recognizes my need for, falls in the category of “more household help.” Comments such as “Your leg will heal faster if you hire more household help so you can delegate more of that stupid cleaning you really know you hate” (more, that is, than I can dump onto Tony) inspired me to move in that direction.

More important for readers of this blog (you know who you are) or at least for me, the writer of it, are tactful prods such as “when are you going to put your butt in that chair and write?” or words to that effect. E-mails that inquire, “so nu?”, are very useful. And she is getting better all the time at the use of praise/guilt as motivators. “You have so much talent! What a shame to let it go to waste while you clean the silverware drawer which you know no one will ever notice whereas, your Blog! Well! The world awaits!”

Let me digress – or segue- for a moment to the topic of procrastination. I know everyone does it to some degree, but some of us are clearly masters of the art. I count myself among that group. The only thing I never procrastinate is taking a nap. I mean, if that is scheduled for 3:00, by God I will do it then no matter how great the temptation to clean the silverware drawer!

One of my favorite aphorisms is “always put off until tomorrow what you could do today because tomorrow someone else may have done it for you”. Variations on the theme: …”because maybe it doesn’t really need to be done”…. “because, tomorrow may be an important religious holiday and you must postpone doing the task for the sake of your immortal soul” or, in a somber key, “tomorrow you may be dead and then it won’t matter either way,” but I prefer to avoid that idea.

Sometimes it helps to make a list of all the things you put off doing which turn out to be of no consequence such as: 1) hemming those slacks which eventually went completely out of fashion and you would never wear them 2) calling a friend to say thank you for a favor because in the meantime that same friend did you a disfavor, and don’t try to tell me that if I had said “thanks” in a timely manner she would not have done the disfavor. And please, spare me from having to hear that if I not taken the time to write the list, I could have done the procrastinated task several times over. I don’t like listening to that kind of junk.

Anyway, back to nagging…. oh well, I’ll put off writing more about that until later, it is now 3:00 p.m. and some things can’t wait. If Sue calls I’ll call her later……

zzzzzzz