Re: support therapy
Tim O'Connor (tim@roughdraft.org)
Fri, 03 Apr 1998 09:47:14 -0500
What does any of this have to do with Salinger the writer? I'll try to get
there, I promise. And apologize for the digressions and meanderings, well
in advance.
> `...Mental health is a mystery, still, and so much of it is due
> to the chemical soup swimming in our bodies and our brains...'
>
> Tim obviously knows a great deal more about mental illness than
> the rest of us. His psychiatric buddy who `completely fixes' his
> patients with the same facility that his medical colleagues fix
> their diabetic patients seems to have made a convert.
> (Incidentally, I wonder how many people there are on the list
> with diabetes who lives have been freed by insulin, who never
> have to worry each day about their diet, can forget their blood
> levels, their exercise, their monthly attendance at the clinic ...?)
I always count on you, Scottie, to call me on my accuracy and honesty.
<*grin*> Yeah, I know mental illness; I've seen a lot of it, and know of
even more, and am fascinated by it, because of the various organs many of
us possess, there's only one that has its own little isolated and
intanglible control center that we generally think of as "the mind." (Or
the chemistry flask, or, as Woody Allen once envisioned it, as a kind of
NASA Mission Control center.)
Actually, I'm very catholic (STRICTLY LOWERCASE, I HASTEN TO ADD!) about
these topics, and have found that I sometimes learn as much from listening
to a good doctor as I can to a good writer or a good house-painter or poet.
(The last house-painter I met was as much a poet in his work as anyone I
know working in words on paper.)
The doctor I've been chatting with is a formidable fellow, intellectually
and otherwise, and in hearing his attitudes about treating patients, I've
significantly reformed my attitude about the profession. His approach to
talk therapy -- which he acknowledges makes some people happy -- is
unprintable here (don't want to get this list traffic banned!), but he
knows his stuff the way some of us know our own specialties.
But I HASTEN to say that he does not regard his treatment as if he were
handing out candy. He fully monitors his patients to a degree that puts
most of our NY doctors to shame. (This I can speak of with authority,
having more than once been the victim of our incompetent medical "doctors,"
several of whom make my old Volkswagen mechanic look like a neural surgeon
in comparison. I'd rather my dogs gave me medical care than to revisit
some of these chop-shops we have now, which are run, in reality, by
bean-counters and organizational politicians.)
And I speak about the treatment especially because many of the more
effective psychotropic drug treatments have a radical effect on body
chemistry, so that watching food, getting periodic blood tests, and having
plenty of exercise is possibly even more urgent than it is to a diabetic
(though I confess that I have less knowledge about diabetes than about
other conditions).
When you are taking certain proven and effective psychiatric medicines,
they can have an astonishing effect on what you eat and drink. A good
piece of Stilton cheese + one class of these medicines can make you deathly
ill. Add a nice glass of red wine to that, and there are good chances that
you will have accomplished much the same as if you put a shotgun to your
head with both triggers wired together. Except there is nothing on the
ceiling that needs to be cleaned up.
In other words, the fellow is a doctor -- of a breed sadly approaching
extinction in the US -- and a scientist who is as comfortable talking to me
about 3D molecular models as he is about the relative effectiveness of a
baseball bat in resolving a street dispute.
Oh, and if it matters, his training was in Europe, not here in the US.
Rigorous as hell. (I often enjoy querying doctors and scientists about
their training, residencies, internships, and so on; apprenticeship is
apprenticeship, in science or art or writing, and one can learn quite a lot
by listening, watching, and comparing to previous conversations.) Sure, we
have rigor here. But
And he is arrogant, too, about how disciplined an education he received and
a career he's had -- something he seems to have earned, not learned. His
attitude in talking to me was that we talk the same language: "You're an
Irish kid from the city, I'm a Jewish kid from the city. We know about
getting out there and getting something done." (He says this putting one
fist into one big palm.) (Not that we who grew up here are thugs who
settle matters with baseball bats; we know that sometimes logic works. But
it's always good to have a baseball bat in the house.)
> I hope his reassurance & advice to Helena to keep taking
> the medicine doesn't come across as too condescending. I'm afraid
> if I were in her shoes I should feel ever so slightly stigmatised
> or even `weekened'.
I sure hope Helena doesn't feel condescended to. (Do you, Helena, you who
are not shy with your opinions, you who have given this some thought?)
These problems are problems -- one deals with them.
If you're a diabetic, you don't screw around with your condition. If you
are depressed or anxious, there are also actual biological solutions
available, and there's no reason to shy from them or apologize for them or
feel odd about them. One may find relief lying on a couch three times a
week with an analyst (as one friend does), or going to church each day (as
my mother does), or performing some obsessive-compulsive ritual (as a
spiritual brother of mine does). But when the soup, so to speak, needs
seasoning, it needs what it needs.
Helena, if I've said something offensive, I deeply apologize, because I too
have lived with "the dark night of the soul," and my support and
encouragement are behind you 100%.
Or, in more direct terms, there's nothing wrong with good medical
treatment, whether it's for the stomach or the cerebral cortex.
> Actually, I feel a tiny bit stigmatised myself with that final
> little scream:
> `...eek, I sure hope we don't sound like a "mens' club"; yuck!..'
>
> What's that meant to mean ? You can scarcely move around here
> for the throngs of beautiful lady Ozzies - but even if it were
> otherwise what's so terrible about men's associations ? I hope
> Tim doesn't feel inclined to make this kind of crack about the
> Roman Curia or the Dalai Lama's outfit.
Actually, for fear of offending, I'd beg that you not ask me about Rome --
I know that road all too well, and could happily get myself excommunicated
here if I hadn't been several times before -- because my opinions, based on
extremely direct experience, are quite strong and unpleasant. Some people
cross themselves when passing a church; I watch for lightning bolts from
that vengeful god with whom Moses conducted transactions.
And I don't give a flying, uh, fish about the Dalai Lama's outfit (now
gloriously on display in ads for Apple Computer, all over town). There's
little comparison between how one female reader feels she's walked into a
men's club and how charismatically some religious leader wears his saffron.
I see no connection here at all. (I'm thick as a flying buttress, though;
perhaps I've missed something nasty about what I said.)
Helena suggested that she felt she'd wandered into one such club, and I
indicated -- as anyone else here should feel free to do! -- my own distaste
for such a thing. They are still there, but, to paraphrase old Ernest, I
would not go to them anymore. We have cigar clubs here too. I cross to
the other side of the street when I see one. I don't care if it's there;
just don't try to drag me in....
Cheers for the Ozzies. I'm actually startled by the number of people who
have come forth recently to talk about life there (and have mentioned the
novel I'm enjoying, The Unexpected Salami, which concerns a fictional band
in Melbourne -- so it's an odd confluence of events).
And I make cracks about everything. I don't have much patience with
jackasses or with abusive types, but otherwise I enjoy a good
back-and-forth.
So, back to Salinger's characters.
I have no interest in the hordes of whitecoats who prodded and probed
Seymour, except as it affects him and his family (and us, by extension, as
readers). But it is fascinating to consider how the Glass family, as a
herd, shies from this breed, and how scathingly the analysis club is
presented in the collective Glass Family story.
On the other hand, I say that it is impossible not to imagine what would
happen to them in the 1990s as opposed to what they experienced in the
1940s and 50s. Then, the operative model was primarily based on talk and
the omnipotent analyst. Today the emphasis has shifted to more scientific,
biochemical models. In forty years, perhaps the pendulum will have swung
back, or we may have magnetic waves or particle acceleration to discuss
when we talk about "helping" people therapeutically. The Glasses may seem
quainter, or more authentic then. I don't know, and couldn't guess.
Having been a teenager who had more than a few mood swings and who spent
many a night wondering where to head next in Manhattan (though without cab
fare to get me from place to place), I am fascinated by Holden as we
discuss certain treatments. Is he crazy? I think not. Is he troubled? I
suspect so. Should he be "helped"? I don't know, but *he* would know
better in about five years. (Wait until you hit 20 or 21, and your body
chemistry tips back and certain chemicals in the brain stabilize.)
It seems odd to talk about this fictional character in so extended a
fashion. Either it indicates Holden Caulfield's utter authenticity, or
(some of) our collective neuroses in action. But if we think of him as an
organic creature, with some of our own flaws and virtues, it's nearly
impossible to let the imagination wander beyond the borders of the printed
page. Hence our various flirtatious "what-if" scenarios about his health,
his wallet, his mental state, his future.
So, if therapeutic measures can assist him, God bless. And if you don't
exist, God, bless Holden anyway.
--tim