The Art of Listening

From: James Algiers <james.algiers@gmail.com>

Subject: Possible Interview? “The Art of Listening”

Date: June 10, 2013 at 3:23:42 PM CDT

To: Sally Jensen <bowie6258@yahoo.com>

Sally,

How about this for a reading? It’s an introduction to frustration, and a conversation into the need for interest in others, or at least to try to listen. Read and let me know if appropriate. JLA

Dear Louie,

The Art of Listening

Haven’t written for some time; the thoughts seem slower, more in need of stimuli, when a thought does break through, the question arises, “Is this new or is it a rerun?” And, the terrible conclusion is, “What difference does it make?”

But, one cannot allow a nonfunctioning brain to continue to be nonfunctioning. One must stimulate for new thoughts, for old memories, and try to seek some correlation, some connection of the old and the new. This poses a question, “What is new, what is old?'“ Each morning the Journal Sentinel presents the “news,” each morning seems a rerun of previous news, editorials, and even ads.

The only true news might be found in the uniqueness of the obits. There, one is sure not to find reruns. Each day presents a new battery of names and brief stories of the departed. One recurring question regarding the obits remains - “Who wrote it, why was it written, and was it pre-approved?” There is little of proof reading by the departed, there is no correction in the next quarter. What you see is what you get, it’s the original “lay away“ plan. Regardless of that, the obits are of interest as long as the obvious fear is not realized - that of reading your own obit, in spite of having spent a lifetime in the composition, and not having the privilege of proof reading.

So be it!

But as aging continues, a change in acceptance occurs. What at one time responded to “deep heat” massages not proves to be untreatable; what was an ache in the sacroiliac now is a constant pain in the -- lower back. What was a cough is now a wheeze, and what was an occasional sleepless night has now become a habitual habit of tossing and turning and long sleepless hours. The body adapts to decreased demands and decreased responses to those demands, but the psyche continues to have the dreams of perpetual optimism. I do believe that when that optimism ceases, the syndrome of Alzheimers disease sets in.

I have recently begun to visit a group of seniors at the 1022 Club, a day care center for elderly memory impaired folks. I visit once or twice a week, just to visit and observe. I find that I can still “turn on the light of response” by stimulating remarks, by a sharp salutation, and a kind conversation.

One pleasant lady responds to questions with, “I don’t know, they tell me I have dementia.” I believe she is right, but, she is daily reminded of her condition when her husband drives her to the Day Care Center. She has become a victim of progress. Progress at home, in the neighborhood, and in the family. Progress which has removed her from any household tasks, from any chores on the “farm,” from any meaningful reason to get up and move about in the morning. Why then wouldn’t she find solace and comfort in reminding herself of her condition, “I have dementia” whenever questioned or challenged.

Another club member, is an 83-year-old member, a Marine of the Second World War. He is now fighting the battle of his life; the battle of metastatic carcinoma to the liver, from a primary cancer of the bowel. He remains cheerful, optimistic and sleepy. When awakened from the dream state of comfortable repose he is alert, aware, and without question repeats the words from his last treatment when the technician told him, “You are doing SO well. We are so, so encouraged by your progress.” When awakened from sleep in the Lazy Boy chair he immediately responds by stating, “I am doing well, she says!”

And he is.

There is a third patient who I find interesting. He was a patient of mine whom I had seen infrequently over the years. He had been a vigorous farmer, an energetic man with many interests, but now was initially found seated in front of a window seat planting seeds of geraniums, placing seeds into small cups. “Apathy” is now his name. When questioned as to his activity, he responded with a shrug, a cynical smile, and a grunt. When the question was pursued, he brightened and became animated. Soon he was reliving spring planting of corn, grain, oats and barley. He came alive and for that moment was living. For the next twenty minutes his recall, his insight was energetic and his apathy was gone. After the conversation ended, he again planted geranium seeds and smiled little.

Then there was the telephone call from an acquaintance of the past. He was a patient from the V.A., a patient from the past. He unfortunately has chronic obstructive lung disease and is in perpetual distress. He’s perpetually short of breath, constantly on oxygen, but never really comfortable. When he calls he is in distress and requests help, help which I cannot give. Both of us are frustrated. And Louie, the Veteran’s Hospital is filled with dependent veterans, so many suffering from COPD, the cigarette disease of the wars.

This time the call was for help in obtaining an oxygen concentrator, a remarkable gadget for people with oxygen deficiency. I have no clout with the V.A., none whatsoever - not even a telephone number. So I am impotent. Over the weekend a request for help was made by a close acquaintance. The request itself took almost two hours of a cold drizzling day. A request which took me away from family and a request which was unfulfilled. I believe there is no one so impotent as an ex physician.

All he, the retired physician has is an ear; he has no clout, no contacts. He is unable to write prescriptions; even if he had the ability of followup. A retired M.D. is truly impotent to help other than listen. I have never understood the baring of one’s soul to another, another who has no ability to change the course of family strife; and truly that strife is the reason for initiating conversation. Family problems are of long term making, do not begin suddenly, climax only after boiling and toiling in the caldron of family agitation, and finally boil over at times most inappropriate to solution.

The ear of an old retired M.D. seems to be a Godsend for solution of a vexing family problem, but if the truth be known, is about the worst of all solutions. He or she are mostly impotent and cannot even offer undivided attention, at times of initiation of conversation; the time, the place, the content of the conversation request is inappropriate for all concerned. Truly there is much to offer from a formal consult, for a paid conversation. Just to ask for an opinion on a serious problem causes aggravation and does not at all solve the issue. And I as a listener have never found a way out of the quandary. If only I might learn of a technique to say no, and perhaps solve the problem by buying “a drink.” But, then Louie, if I have not learned at the age of 87, I fear I will never learn; it might be better to remain deaf, dumb, and remote.

However, sometimes the person rendering the request really just needs the time and conversation. And we all need that from time to time, don’t we?

And so Louie, here it is almost one-half through the year 2013, and the problems and solutions remain the same, present and unchanged.

Keep the faith, my friend.

Jim