Barrett Dorko
24-03-2007, 09:57 PM
It’s been a quiet week in Cuyahoga Falls…
No matter where we are, the shadow that trots behind us is definitely four-footed.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
My hands have been emptied of patients for nearly a month now. I find that I miss especially those moments when change in the right direction is perfectly obvious to me, even before the patient knows it. This is impossible to measure in any meaningful way. I think that’s what I like most about it.
As I always have, I go to a small restaurant each morning very early and write. It’s after that that things have truly changed. There’s a fine facility near my home full of exercise paraphernalia and I decided to take advantage of that. I’ve grown stronger in every way, but I’m not sure what that means. Physical fitness is overrated, I think, and I have difficulty finding any real meaning in it.
This search for meaning on those days when I’m not treating patients or teaching doesn’t surprise me. I knew it was coming and as very little’s come to me. I’ve sorted through a large pile of paper and reorganized my library and written what I consider a major statement (http://www.somasimple.com/forums/showthread.php?t=3407) about my work but still feel largely unfulfilled – like my hands.
I understand that every animal instinctively looks for recognizable patterns around them. This instinct is so powerful that when these aren’t actually present we imagine that they are anyway. This accounts for a great deal of superstition and senseless therapy, in my opinion, and I’m not immune by any means. I try to balance this tendency with a regular return to the intricacies of science. In that realm belief is kept to an absolute minimum, if it's present at all. Careful observation reveals that the universe is attracted to symmetry, as are people, but that doesn’t make the expected and predicted answer to our problems the right ones. Surprise rules, especially in the clinic when dealing with neurogenic pain.
Years ago I wrote an essay titled Running With Buckeye (http://www.barrettdorko.com/articles/running_with_buckeye.htm) for the special section in the physical therapy association interested in treating animals. In part it said, “I run Buckeye on a long retractable leash that I can manipulate to control her closely or let her move with a great deal of freedom. For a few hundred yards at a time I can loosen the lead while she almost floats along beside me. If a dog can emote, it seems to me that Buckeye is perfectly joyful at this time. But at any moment this lovely picture can change. This begins with a sudden stopping or veering by the four footed member of the team. Without warning, Buckeye is overwhelmed by a scent, and her instinct to follow it takes immediate precedence.”
Now that she’s in her eighth year, and I in my 56th, the two of us don’t run as we once did and being leashed or unleashed doesn’t alter our behavior much. Despite that, our instincts remain present and we can choose to act upon them given the time and strength necessary. We’re both looking for patterns, for sense in our surroundings, and, for me anyway, some meaning in life as it unfolds in unexpected ways. I love what Keith Devlin (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Keith_Devlin) says about what a scientist does, “A scientist finds as many perspectives as he can on things in the universe that we can’t see with the naked eye.” I know there’s more to manual care and the teaching of it I’ve yet to discover, and that’s what I intend to do.
These days I can sit and nap and dream about that for a while as Buckeye gazes out the window behind us. Sometimes she turns and looks at me, no doubt wondering what I’m doing at home so much.
She doesn’t seem to mind.
No matter where we are, the shadow that trots behind us is definitely four-footed.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
My hands have been emptied of patients for nearly a month now. I find that I miss especially those moments when change in the right direction is perfectly obvious to me, even before the patient knows it. This is impossible to measure in any meaningful way. I think that’s what I like most about it.
As I always have, I go to a small restaurant each morning very early and write. It’s after that that things have truly changed. There’s a fine facility near my home full of exercise paraphernalia and I decided to take advantage of that. I’ve grown stronger in every way, but I’m not sure what that means. Physical fitness is overrated, I think, and I have difficulty finding any real meaning in it.
This search for meaning on those days when I’m not treating patients or teaching doesn’t surprise me. I knew it was coming and as very little’s come to me. I’ve sorted through a large pile of paper and reorganized my library and written what I consider a major statement (http://www.somasimple.com/forums/showthread.php?t=3407) about my work but still feel largely unfulfilled – like my hands.
I understand that every animal instinctively looks for recognizable patterns around them. This instinct is so powerful that when these aren’t actually present we imagine that they are anyway. This accounts for a great deal of superstition and senseless therapy, in my opinion, and I’m not immune by any means. I try to balance this tendency with a regular return to the intricacies of science. In that realm belief is kept to an absolute minimum, if it's present at all. Careful observation reveals that the universe is attracted to symmetry, as are people, but that doesn’t make the expected and predicted answer to our problems the right ones. Surprise rules, especially in the clinic when dealing with neurogenic pain.
Years ago I wrote an essay titled Running With Buckeye (http://www.barrettdorko.com/articles/running_with_buckeye.htm) for the special section in the physical therapy association interested in treating animals. In part it said, “I run Buckeye on a long retractable leash that I can manipulate to control her closely or let her move with a great deal of freedom. For a few hundred yards at a time I can loosen the lead while she almost floats along beside me. If a dog can emote, it seems to me that Buckeye is perfectly joyful at this time. But at any moment this lovely picture can change. This begins with a sudden stopping or veering by the four footed member of the team. Without warning, Buckeye is overwhelmed by a scent, and her instinct to follow it takes immediate precedence.”
Now that she’s in her eighth year, and I in my 56th, the two of us don’t run as we once did and being leashed or unleashed doesn’t alter our behavior much. Despite that, our instincts remain present and we can choose to act upon them given the time and strength necessary. We’re both looking for patterns, for sense in our surroundings, and, for me anyway, some meaning in life as it unfolds in unexpected ways. I love what Keith Devlin (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Keith_Devlin) says about what a scientist does, “A scientist finds as many perspectives as he can on things in the universe that we can’t see with the naked eye.” I know there’s more to manual care and the teaching of it I’ve yet to discover, and that’s what I intend to do.
These days I can sit and nap and dream about that for a while as Buckeye gazes out the window behind us. Sometimes she turns and looks at me, no doubt wondering what I’m doing at home so much.
She doesn’t seem to mind.