Spin Doctor

by Leslie Carroll

  Alice, who hadn’t yet adjusted to living without her grandmother, or to living alone, which she had never done before in her entire life, admitted that she loved Izzy like the sister she wished she’d had, but that she hadn’t yet figured out how these new living arrangements would work out to her satisfaction. She couldn’t give Izzy her recently departed Gram’s bedroom because it still held shrinelike connotations for her and it felt too much like moving on too fast. On the other hand, she couldn’t give Izzy her own bedroom because she’d been comfortably ensconced there for years and everything had been decorated and set up to her liking and she wasn’t inclined to dis-mantle the room, because it was (a) inconvenient, and (b) where would she put everything? Gram’s room, which still had Gram’s furnishings in it? And if she did move all her stuff out of the room, what would Izzy do? Buying new furniture made no sense.

  “I have to say that on one hand I couldn’t refuse Izzy. Your sobbing, pregnant best friend shows up on your doorstep like an orphan in the storm? It was a no-brainer. Of course I took her in. On the other hand, yeah, it is an inconvenience. I guess a part of me secretly wished that she’d spend the night on the couch and in the morning her fight with Dominick would have all blown over and they’d kiss and make up over the phone and she’d go home.”

  “When did you move in?” I asked Izzy.

  “Last week.”

  “The night after my last session with you,” Alice told me. “So this is the first chance I’ve had to talk about it in therapy.”

  “Excuse me,” Izzy said, and bolted toward the bathroom.

  “Her morning sickness is pretty horrible,” Alice whispered. “She’s one of those women who still have it after the first trimester.”

  A minute later Izzy staggered out of the bathroom, her complexion pale. “Maybe I should call Schmuck and Schmuck and tell them I’m too sick to come in. I can’t read hospital charts and doctors’ reports about their clients’ gastrointestinal problems today.” She turned to Alice. “You know, I really wish I were back home too. I hate barfing in other people’s bathrooms. But I think it’s gotta be bad for the baby if every minute of my life is all about Dom and me yelling and screaming at each other. Pick a topic: we fight about it. The other day he dragged me into an argument about the fact that we both wanted steak for dinner. I ask you, how does a man get away with picking a fight when you’re both on the same side?! Oops. Sorry.” She dashed back into the bathroom.

  “I really feel sorry for her,” Alice whispered to me. “And I’d like to think that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. But I’m in such a transitional place myself right now that it’s all too much to handle.”

  “There’s a philosophy that says that the universe never gives us more than we can handle, even when we really feel we’re being completely dumped on.”

  “Well, Susan, I’ve got a philosophy that says that that philosophy is total b.s.”

  We shared a laugh. “Not that it’s the same thing, but there was a time when Eli’s mother came to visit for a week and ended up staying three months. She never liked me, and in the beginning I was tearing my hair out trying to be particularly nice to her, and then giving up trying altogether because it wasn’t going to change her lousy opinion of me. So I started taking things one day at a time, grateful for every day I got through with no bloodshed on either side. At least you don’t have someone telling you every five minutes that you’re not raising your kids properly and have no clue how to be a mother.

  “Anyway, where I’m going with this is the opinion thing: something it takes an awful lot to change. Izzy loves you and I highly doubt she’s going to change her mind about that and suddenly end your friendship just because you’re going through a lot of stuff yourself right now. Even from the few minutes she was sitting here, I didn’t get the sense that she expected you to take care of her to the exclusion of your own needs. Just being there for her is important to Izzy. She sought a safe haven with you; a place where she feels appreciated and supported during this enormous turning point in her life. You’re both going through highly charged emotional periods. You’re just beginning to heal from a death and you’ve got significant romance and career changes going on as well. She’s carrying a life, and her own will never be the same in a few months’ time.

  “Now what you want to do about who-gets-which-bedroom and how it would impact things to have Dan Carpenter shuffling around the house in his boxers on a Sunday morning is up to you and Izzy to work out, but at the risk of sounding ‘shrinky,’ I think both of you women can learn and grow from this giant hiccup that’s been tossed in your path. You sort of have no choice, in fact, because the apartment isn’t big enough for either of you to play ‘ostrich’ and hope that your issues evanesce while you’ve got your heads in the sand.”

  I glanced at Alice and spontaneously decided to employ a methodology that I thought might help her work through one of her biggest issues. “I want to try something a little different this morning, so bear with me. Since you’re an actress, I think you’ll respond well to some role-playing. You’ve expressed feelings of sorrow and regret, even of guilt, that you never had the chance to say good-bye to your grandmother, since her death was so sudden.”

  I went over and switched off the fluorescents. “I want you to take a moment or two to think about what you would have liked to have said to her, if we turned back time and you could speak to her face-to-face. You can look at me, if you want to, or you can focus on something else in the room. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Alice replied. She took a deep breath. “This isn’t going to be easy. I think I’ll use you. I can relate better to a warm and nurturing woman than to an ungainly, malfunctioning household appliance.” She closed her eyes and sat up straight, resting her hands on her knees.

  “Gram…?” she began, opening her eyes and focusing them on mine. “I’m going to really miss you. You’ve taught me so much…about human nature, about myself, about the importance of contributing to my community…and about following my heart’s desire, instead of playing it safe. They don’t make ’em like you, Gram; they broke the mold. Ever since I was a little girl, you’ve always led by example, demonstrating the true meanings of humanity, compassion, generosity, and tolerance. When you were ill, you maintained a positive attitude that put healthy people to shame. I…I wish you didn’t have to go, Gram. We could use someone like you running the country. But I know you’d really miss your favorite sound—the carriage horses clip-clopping past our windows—if you lived at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.”

  Alice blew her nose loudly. “You were always so political, Gram, that I thought I’d throw that in. I want you to know that I will always carry your lessons in here,” she said, placing her hand over her heart. “No one could have left me a greater legacy. You know how much I love you—and I’ll never stop—even when you’re gone. But maybe even more than that, I know how much you love me, and I know you aren’t finding this any easier than I am. But maybe we can both move on, knowing that your granddaughter will continue to cherish, and embody, your values and beliefs for as long as she lives…no matter what she may end up doing with your tchotchkes.”

  Alice wiped her eyes. Her lids were puffy and red. “Thanks for putting me through hell just now,” she said to me.

  I gave her a hug. “Do you feel any better about things?” I asked softly.

  Alice sighed deeply and remained silent for a few moments. “You know something? Actually…I do.”

  When I heard the whimper of an infant, I freaked out for a moment, until I realized that the sound was coming from the doorway. In the commotion of Izzy’s hysteria over breaking the cherished figurine and then instigating the role-playing exercise with Alice, I’d forgotten to lock the door again. Amy stood there with her son in one arm and a diaper bag in the other. “Oh, I thought you were officially open,” she said to me, then checked the sign posted outside the door. “Well, so I’m two minutes early. You can’t expect me to stand here holding Isaac f
or a hundred and twenty seconds. And by the time we got all the way back upstairs it would only be time to come back down again. And believe me, I’m not anxious for the extra exercise.” She cooed some nonsense syllables to Isaac then glared at Alice.

  “I’m not a selfish person,” Alice said pointedly, glancing at her watch. “So, come on in and wash Eric’s son’s stinky diapers.” She looked at me and it was very hard not to laugh. Next session—for each of them—it might be a good idea to deal with what was going on with Alice and Amy. “We were pretty much done anyway,” Alice added.

  Izzy emerged from the bathroom. “I figured it was probably a good idea to camp out in there for a little while longer, to give you some privacy. I think I just lost the last ten meals I ate.”

  “Oh, hi. Welcome to the club,” grinned Amy. Izzy grunted wearily. “How far along are you?”

  “I’m due in mid-February.”

  “And you’re still throwing up in your second trimester?” Amy tsk-tsked and Izzy winced. “Don’t feel bad. I did too. Barf, I mean. You get used to it. You’re carrying pretty well; you don’t look like the Goodyear blimp yet and your feet haven’t swollen to the size of sausages that you couldn’t squeeze into Michael Jordan’s Nikes. No, you haven’t put too much weight on—but just wait. Wait for the weight, get it?” Amy emitted a forced laugh. “Sorry, I don’t get to talk to adults too often these days. Except my mother, who really doesn’t want to hear about the baby. She says she’s sick of my discussing Isaac like he’s some sort of miracle. ‘Everybody has babies. I had three of you. Big deal.’ That’s what she says. But you are a little miracle,” she gurgled to her son, “aren’t you? You are a little miracle, yes you are.” I almost gagged. I hope I wasn’t this way when Molly and Ian were babies. “Yes, you’re such a little miracle,” Amy murmured, “because it’s a miracle that Daddums was home long enough to even get Mom-ums pregnant. But we’ll talk about that in our next session with Smart Susan, won’t we?” she added. I noticed Alice suppressing a smile.

  “Wow,” Izzy said. “Having a baby is one of the ultimate mutual decisions a couple can make, but then when we get pregnant, our husbands act like it was entirely our idea and they take a powder. What’s that about? You think you’ve gotten past that fear of commitment thing when they finally marry you. Then you get pregnant, and bang! They freak out all over again.”

  “Are you bonding with Amy?” Alice hissed, drawing her friend aside. “She’s the one that slime-bucket-pond-scumasshole lawyer Eric Witherspoon married after he dumped me! And doing the math, there’s no way she got pregnant after he stomped on the glass and their families danced to ‘Hava Nagila’ and stuffed their faces at a Viennese table.”

  “Oh don’t give me that ‘I can’t be friends with both of you,’ thing,” Izzy responded. “That is so kindergarten!”

  “She already stole my, well, ex-boyfriend. Now she wants to steal my best friend too. She’s diabolical. Don’t let her insidious grin and solicitous Mommy questions fool you!”

  I think this was the point where I realized that it might not be a bad idea somewhere down the line to offer group sessions in the laundry room. Sometimes it’s the most effective—and healthiest—way for people to air their dirty linen.

  Progress Notes

  Naomi Sciorra and Claude Chan: Naomi is still resentful over the new wrinkle in the adoption issue, but she and Claude are faced with an even greater dilemma, ethically and personally, because if they want to adopt from China, Claude will be compelled to tell a lie on a formal document, essentially denying or repudiating her sexual orientation. Despising the hypocrisy of the whole situation, I found myself in a difficult position, encouraging the lie for the greater good of gaining the little girl. That may work for the woman, but not for the therapist, where I took sides, with regrettable results. I’m not sanguine about this; not at all. The three of us need to actively develop ways to reconcile the two partners, as well as reconcile all the implications inherent in Claude’s acquiescence (by signing the “heterosexual” affidavit) to a system that insists she conceal her identity. The more immediate goal, however, will be to help Naomi realize that she’s a valuable and vital part of the process.

  Talia Shaw: I’ve never lost a laundry room “client,” so this is a first. Talia’s convinced that her leg injury precludes her from continuing with her therapy, as it severely hampers her ambulation; and she believes that if she can’t dance during her sessions, then she can’t articulate her issues either. So far, I haven’t been successful in making much progress, if any, on her self-esteem issues. I need to help her see, and believe in, her worth beyond the dance world; but she walked out on her last session and has not resumed therapy. Beyond my assurance to her that the door is always open, I fear that pushing Talia to remain in therapy will be counterproductive at this point.

  Meriel Delacour: Job issues persist: she hasn’t discussed these issues with her employer directly when employer has presented them to her. Instead, Meriel has been passive-aggressively dealing with the situation, acknowledging in her sessions that these issues have been troubling her employer while nonetheless continuing her “unacceptable” behavior (in employer’s eyes). In the present situation, the locus of the disagreements between client and her employer have a cultural root. I need to encourage client to explore a cool-headed open discussion of her job issues with her employer directly. There’s something deeper that’s operating here, though. Meriel is unfulfilled in her employment, and her discontent is breeding resentment and acting out, as evidenced by her tardiness and sluggishness on the job due to her West Indian Day carnival preparations.

  Alice Finnegan: Alice is experiencing so many changes that have hit her simultaneously that it’s difficult to focus on a single issue during her sessions. She’s still grieving for her late grandmother, a major issue in itself, but I believe the role-playing we did in her recent session will have a beneficial effect insofar as helping her move on. With career strife, a new man in her life, and the sudden appearance on her doorstep of her pregnant friend Isabel seeking sanctuary from her own domestic woes, Alice is totally overwhelmed and our key task will be to work on maintaining her equilibrium in the face of such upheaval, and not self-destructing under its weight. Need to work on Alice’s confidence that her own inner strength will carry her through her present morass one step at a time—rather than allowing the contemplation of all these life crises striking her simultaneously to generate anxiety attacks, impulsive behavior, or depression. With so much on her plate right now, she’ll have to make a deliberate and conscious effort to retain her emotional balance.

  Me: The irony has not escaped me that I’ve been able to help other people navigate their way through life-changing issues like death and divorce, but when it comes to taking care of myself, I neglect to do something as simple and basic as putting on a sun hat. And at the parade the other day, Faith was gustatorially bold, where I was not.

  I am proud of myself for attempting to be more direct with Eli, even though I could barely get myself to articulate what’s been an annoying little bug buzzing around the back of my mind. And when he insisted right to my face that there was nothing I “should know about,” I accepted his words at face value. Am I in denial about something being “off”? Immediately devaluing or invalidating my anxiety and intuition because I want to believe that Eli is just having a lot of difficulty completing this particular graphic novel? I’m angry with him—but angry about what’s in my imagination, rather than what may really be going on. I want desperately to believe that my husband is being honest with me. Yet, on a deeper level, I’m also terrified to find out the truth. It’s just so much easier, so much safer, to focus on my clients’ issues instead of on mine.

  That said, I’m delighted that Faith is making such progress, but I feel like I’ve failed Talia. I’m off my game and it’s both angering and frustrating me.

  My own termination anxiety regarding Talia was exacerbated by Carol Lerner’s abrupt ending of he
r therapy sessions in the same week. Carol’s insurance wouldn’t cover more than fifteen sessions, and she didn’t want to continue to pay for them on her own. Given Carol’s income, and aware that she could afford the full freight, if necessary, I didn’t extend to her the offer to continue our work on a sliding-scale basis. Now I’m second-guessing myself because I may have ultimately lost this client due to my own sense of greed.

  Therapists have an uneasy relationship with money. On the one hand, we may see ourselves as healers who altruistically provide our services to whoever needs us, regardless of their ability to pay our fees. On the other hand, we’re credentialed professionals with years of schooling and training under our belts, and we deserve to earn a proper living.

  For the most part, my laundry room ladies, acquaintances with whom I work on a pro bono basis, could not afford an open-ended course of therapy, so I could hardly be accused of being in it for the money. And yet I feel guilty about losing Carol, who has a long way to go toward complete mental health and emotional stability.

  With Talia, I feel the need to dig deeper into my creative well in order to discover a methodology that will work for her during her recuperation from knee surgery. She’s got a lot of stuff to work though now, and I want to be able to help her. Although I never suffered an injury that forced me to rethink my career options, I did make the successful switch from dance to another field, and survived. Of course, in my case, the decision was more or less my own, but in some ways my body—those too-wide hips and weight problems that left me with an eating disorder—did make that decision for me. My empathetic understanding of Talia’s situation is very strong; but at present, until I can find a workable technique that will bring her back into psychotherapy, I feel powerless to help her.