Metaphor: Using The Body's Widsom To Heal

          Several years ago, while filling in for my partner, I had the privilege of caring for one of his patients, a 68 year old man who came to the office with a painful, red hand. It was a Friday afternoon, and George was one of the last patients scheduled. When I walked into the exam room, I found him sitting straight-backed in his seat, patiently waiting. I asked what I was seeing him for that day. He held out his right hand. It was red, puffy, and warm to the touch. He remained silent while I examined him, although he winced ever so slightly when I touched his hand. I asked him what had happened, and he explained that had cut the back of his hand two days earlier while weeding his wife’s garden. He said he didn’t have much time. He had to go home.

          I knew that his hand was infected. Cellulitis. He’d need antibiotics, and strong ones. But I could tell that he still had something on his mind. “What’s going on at home?” I asked.

          George looked down at the floor. He cradled his hand on his lap. “Dr. Tate told us that my wife’s cancer treatments weren’t working. He says Nan is dying. This is the end.”

          He spoke of his wife, then. How they’d been married for 48 years, how she’d been struggling with cancer for five. But she’d lost her battle. The doctor didn’t expect her to last the month. “Why did I have to get this now, Doc?” he asked.

          George asked the question I ask each time I see a patient. We’re exposed to bacteria, viruses, toxins, risk for trauma on a daily basis, yet we are able to remain healthy. Most of the time. Why do we get sick when we do? Why does one child get strep throat while his sister doesn’t?

          Most physicians shrug their shoulders and claim that it’s bad luck, or divine retribution, or genetics. But I believe that the body is wise, and its language is metaphor. Treating only the physical symptoms is to ignore the deeper meaning of that metaphor. Optimal health requires a blend of physical, emotional, and spiritual healing. Finding the underlying pathology (in George’s case, a traumatic break in the skin barrier and the introduction of bacteria), is only one part of healing. Why did George cut himself that day? Why did his hand get infected? When I see patients, I am interested not only in what process is causing their symptoms, but in why this particular set of symptoms developed at this time.

          Doctors at Harvard’s Benson-Henry Institute for Mind Body Medicine recognize the connection between the stress and illness. Numerous studies have shown that the emotional and spiritual deeply affect the physical. Daily practice of meditative techniques such as yoga, diaphragmatic breathing, repetitive prayer, chi gong, tai chi, jogging, muscle relaxation, or even knitting, can elicit a relaxation response. It is the relaxation response, in conjuction with nutrition, exercise and spirituality, that complement the traditional methods used to heal physical symptoms. And it is this blend of physical, emotional, and spiritual healing that produces optimal health.

          Healing patterns of stress, especially those based in long-rooted episodes of pain, fear, and anger, requires an recognition of the metaphoric language of the body. A patient named Susan came to my office after she was seen in the emergency room. She’d been stung by a yellow jacket, and had gone into anaphylactic shock. She’d never had an allergic reaction to yellow jackets, but in the months before, her divorce proceedings had taken a nasty turn. Normally well-balanced and happy, she was now in a situation where she needed to protect herself. Her body responded by heightening its protective mechanism, the immune system.

          I helped her manage her response to her ex-husband, teaching her to let the attacks and negativity pass through her rather than blocking them. I prescribed an epi-pen and a homeopathic remedy for anaphylaxis. Nine months later, she was stung by a yellow jacket again. This time, she used imagery and deep breathing, along with the homeopathic remedy. The site of the sting turned slightly red and did not swell. She did not need the epi-pen.

          At the beginning of summer I saw a twelve-year old girl with burns on her feet. She had played a game of chicken with friends, running across an asphalt courtyard barefooted on a hot day. While her friends were fine, her feet developed painful blisters. In addition to the ointment and remedies I prescribed, I asked what was going on in her life. Her parents were divorced and she was preparing to leave for an extended visit to her father on the west coast. This was the first time she’d visited him alone, and for so long. She was frightened of traveling by herself, of standing on her own two feet. We talked about specific fears, and about strategies for overcoming these. She called a week later, saying her feet had quickly healed.

          Sometimes, further exploration of the body’s metaphor is required to bring about deeper healing. Sometimes, the mere recognition of the body’s wisdom sets healing into motion. Putting feelings into words is powerful. Acknowledging those feelings is the first step.

          Poetry is the vehicle of metaphor, and can access the subconscious, eliciting a spiritual response to art. I offer Healing through Poetry workshops at Haven Medical, using poetry as a key to unlock doors of healing. These six week long workshops use the art of poetry in the process of healing and are for people with chronic medical problems, for caregivers, and for people who simply want to feel better.

          George asked me why he had developed an infection. I held his warm hand, looked him in the eyes, and said, “George, you’re losing your ‘right hand’ of the past fifty years. Is it any wonder that your right hand got infected?”

          He sat back in his chair, thunderstruck. He recognized the connection between the physical trauma and his emotional and spiritual trauma. When he began to cry, his tears were quiet, the silent grief of a man whose loss is too painful to speak. But he did speak at length of love for his wife, a eloquent and simple tribute to the woman with whom he had spent the past half century. I held George’s right hand while he talked, softly using Reiki energy to help him heal.

          We talked then about how to treat the cellulitis. Admitting him to the hospital was out of the question. I offered that option, but it was no surprise that George refused. He agreed to take oral antibiotics, but he wouldn’t be hampered with home IV therapy. The next day, when I called to check on him, George reported that his hand was signficantly improved. Within three days it was entirely healed. He’d found the meaning of his infection, and by recognizing that grief, had begun the process of healing.