Martha Manning: What Can’t Be Fixed

Summary

Podcast Summary: The Moth – "Martha Manning: What Can’t Be Fixed"

Introduction

In the episode titled "What Can’t Be Fixed," Martha Manning, a writer and clinical psychologist, shares a deeply personal and poignant story about the limits of her professional expertise and the profound lessons she learned through her experiences as a therapist. This moving narrative explores themes of mortality, acceptance, and the human capacity to confront the unfixable aspects of life.

The Therapist's World

Martha begins by painting a picture of her life as a therapist, highlighting the contrast between her professional environment and her personal space. She describes her office as the epitome of a "perfect therapist," complete with a high-rise view and meticulous décor. This setting symbolizes her dedication to appearing competent and in control.

“For a long time I was the epitome of the perfect therapist. I had a high rise, expensive office. The Kleenex matched the carpet. It resembled in no way my own home...”
[03:37]

Meeting Annie: A Complex Case

Martha's routine success with her patients changes when she meets Annie, a resilient woman battling recurrent breast cancer. Annie's determination and relentless fight against her illness make her a compelling and challenging patient. Over a year and a half, Martha and Annie work together, addressing not only Annie's battle with cancer but also personal struggles, such as Annie's conflicted relationship with her 12-year-old son and his new stepfather.

“Annie was the first person who was referred to me by an oncologist. After that I got a number of referrals because it appears that depression and cancer are very much hinged...”
[03:37]

A Critical Breakdown: Facing Beliefs and Mortality

The turning point in their therapeutic relationship occurs when Annie's cancer metastasizes to her brain, necessitating the cessation of all treatments. During a session, Annie confronts Martha with a deeply personal and existential question:

“What is it you believe?”
[07:45]

Martha, unprepared for such a profound inquiry, struggles to respond. Her initial answer, grounded in data, fails to address Annie's need for spiritual and emotional support. This moment of vulnerability leads Martha to a heartfelt yet unscripted confession:

“Sometimes I thought I knew, and other times I was sure I didn't. And right now I had no idea where I was.”
[11:20]

Annie accepts this honest admission, highlighting the power of authenticity in moments of crisis.

Parallel Breakdown: The Stalling Car

As Annie's health declines, Martha faces her own crisis when her car begins to stall unpredictably. Despite repeated visits to Malcolm's Automotive and assurances from Chuck, the mechanic, the problem remains unresolved. This mechanical failure serves as a metaphor for the unfixable aspects of life that Martha is grappling with.

“Malcolm had always fixed it, and he conveyed his confidence this time. So I rented a car and went back to work. Annie was sliding downhill faster than any of us had anticipated...”
[09:00]

Hospice Visits: Embracing Acceptance

With Annie entering hospice care, Martha shifts her focus to supporting her patient through her final days. The hospice environment, which openly acknowledges the inevitability of death, contrasts sharply with Martha's professional role of striving to fix and heal. In her attempts to comfort Annie, Martha resorts to singing, reinforcing the emotional bond between them.

“At night, after work, I would take my rental car and drive to hospice. And I would sit with her, always wondering, what would a real therapist do?”
[14:10]

A Moment of Clarity: The Power of Sincere Honesty

In a climactic and emotionally charged moment, Annie reflects on the therapist's previously dismissed comment:

“Remember when the cancer came back the third time? Remember what you said? You got really choked up. And you said, this really sucks.”
[16:00]

Martha realizes that her candid acknowledgment of uncertainty and frustration had a profound impact on Annie, teaching her that sometimes, simple honesty is more healing than any prescribed solution.

The Mechanic’s Breakdown: A Shared Understanding

As Annie passes away, Martha encounters Chuck, the mechanic, experiencing his own personal loss. Observing Chuck’s quiet departure from the hospice, Martha finally comprehends the universality of loss and the limitation of her ability to fix everything.

“Some things just can't be fixed, can they?”
[17:00]

Conclusion: Embracing the Unfixable

Martha concludes her story with a reflection on the lessons learned from Annie and Chuck. She acknowledges that despite her extensive training and professional experience, there are aspects of life and death that remain beyond her control. This realization marks a significant personal and professional growth, underscoring the importance of acceptance and the human connection in the face of the unfixable.

“I kissed her on the cheek, not knowing when I would ever see her again. ... And how a person doesn't get better with everybody's, but I'm learning that there's a lot I don't understand.”
[17:21]

Key Insights and Takeaways

• Authenticity Over Perfection: Martha's journey emphasizes the value of genuine human connection over the façade of professionalism.
• Acceptance of Limitation: Recognizing that not all problems can be fixed is a crucial step towards personal growth and emotional resilience.
• Power of Honesty: Sincere and vulnerable communication can have a profound impact, even in dire circumstances.
• Universal Experience of Loss: Both Martha and Chuck illustrate that loss and grief are universal experiences that transcend professional roles and personal experiences.

Notable Quotes

1. Martha on Professional Facade:
   “For a long time I was the epitome of the perfect therapist... It made me feel closer to being a real therapist.”
   [03:37]

2. Annie’s Confrontation:
   “What is it you believe?”
   [07:45]

3. Martha’s Admission of Uncertainty:
   “Sometimes I thought I knew, and other times I was sure I didn't. And right now I had no idea where I was.”
   [11:20]

4. Impact of Honesty:
   “...it really sucks.”
   [16:00]

5. Final Realization:
   “Some things just can't be fixed, can they?”
   [17:00]

Conclusion

Martha Manning's story in "What Can’t Be Fixed" is a touching exploration of the boundaries of professional capability and the profound human experiences of love, loss, and acceptance. Through her candid storytelling, listeners are invited to reflect on their own approaches to dealing with the unresolvable challenges in life, highlighting the importance of vulnerability and authentic connection.

Transcript

[A]

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[B]

I'm Dan Kennedy. Just wanted to remind you. Join US in Durham, North Carolina on Thursday, June 21 for the moth Main Stage at Carolina Theater. For taking in information and for a list of all our tour stops, visit themoth.org this Moth podcast is supported by New Belgium Brewing and their traveling Bicycle Celebration Tour de Fat. Join fellow bicycle enthusiasts and celebrate local cycling. More [e-mail] tourdefat this podcast is brought to you by Bing only. Bing integrates opinions from your friends on Facebook and experts on Twitter to help you make better decisions. For instance, if you're planning summer travel. Enter your [e-mail] which will use Price Predictor to help you get the lowest rates. You'll see hotels, restaurants or excursions liked by your friends on Facebook and opinions from experts and enthusiasts from Twitter. Plus easily post questions and comments to your Facebook friends in Bing, all so you can spend less time searching and more time doing. Now search. Go social with Bing the story you're about to hear by Martha Manning was told live at the Moth way back in 1999. The theme of the night was Savage Mood. An evening of stories on melancholy.

[C]

Thanks. I'm going to talk about two breakdowns tonight. Thankfully neither are my own, although I could serenade you for the entire evening with those stories. My stories are about a breakdown as a therapist, me and a breakdown of a car mine. For a long time I was the epitome of the perfect therapist. I had a high rise, expensive office. The Kleenex matched the carpet. It resembled in no way my own home, which was decorated in one accident perpetrated upon another and another. But I loved my office. It made me feel closer to being a real therapist. And for the most part my therapy patients helped in that regard, in that they seemed to respond to what I did for them and with them and get better. That was until Annie. Annie was the first person who was referred to me by an oncologist. After that I got a number of referrals because it appears that depression and cancer are very much hinged both in terms of dealing with the day to day as well as the inevitabilities that are shoved in your face. Annie and I worked together for a year and a half and she was a real street fighter when it came to cancer, which was marching relentlessly through her body. But the things we worked on were fairly mundane. Many times her recalcitrant 12 year old son, the fact that he didn't get along with his new stepfather, those kinds of things. Unfortunately, her breast cancer metastasized again and it metastasized to her brain and at this point it was decided that there be no more treatment. Annie came into my office to tell me that and with that knowledge the first thing she did was reach down into her bag and pull out a new pack of cigarettes. She and I were going to light up the world. Unfortunately, I didn't smoke and had absolutely no intention of starting and we were in a medical building that would go absolutely bullshit nuts if there was any smoke detected. So I'm thinking what would a real therapist? And I didn't know. So I said let's go outside. So Annie and I went outside and we leaned against a green Dodge in the parking lot and our faces were tilted up into the sort of the new spring sun. And Annie is puffing away and says to me casually, what is it you believe? And I'm stunned. I don't know what I believe. I believe data. And I said, well, you know, it's not so important what I believe, Annie. It's what you believe that's important. Bullshit, Martha. That's bullshit. I want to know what you believe. And I said, about what? And she said, about dying. About where we go after we die. About prayers. About God answering our prayers. Well, you know, I mean, Jesus, I had 16 years of Catholic school, but I didn't have a single answer for any of those questions. And so I started again and talked about how there was data about the healing power of prayer. And she had just about had it with me and actually came over and bumped me in the leg and said, cut it out. I want to know. I need to know. And then I realized what she was asking me. And so I struggled and I struggled out loud. And my final answer was a mess. And it was that I didn't know. Sometimes I thought I knew, and other times I was sure I didn't. And right now I had no idea where I was. And for some reason, that sorry ass answer was satisfactory to her. And she let me back in. She lit up another cigarette and she said, you're going to be with me, right? What? You're going to be with me. What do you mean, till the end? I'm thinking, what end? She goes, the end, Martha, the end. You're going to be with me again. There's part of me that's thinking, what would a real therapist say? I had never been taught any of this stuff. And I said, yeah, Annie, I'm going to be with you till the end, having no idea what that meant. At the same time, my car was stalling out. It particularly hated bumps in McDonald's in the Safeway parking lot and would stall out, leaving lines of people royally pissed off at me. That's McDonald and me stranded with groceries at the Safeway. And I finally brought the car to the person I should have brought it to at the beginning. And this, this was a person whose name was Chuck, but he worked at a place called Malcolm's. Malcolm's Automotive. And over the years, I had so associated Chuck with Malcolm's that I always called him Malcolm. Chuck always had a perfectly pressed gray denim uniform with the Most remarkably, clean fingernails and a deeply resonant, calming voice that would have qualified him to be an FM DJ late at night, comforting people in their insomnia. I would always say, how you doing, Malcolm? And I go, oh, God, I'm sorry. I guess a lot of people do that. To which he would always go, well, actually, no. But I described the problem to Malcolm, and he was very satisfied and confident that he could fix it. Malcolm had always fixed it, and he conveyed his confidence this time. So I rented a car and went back to work. Annie was sliding downhill faster than any of us had anticipated. She was in tremendous pain and was vomiting a great deal. She entered hospice to have better pain control. Hospice is one of the few places in life that says we can't fix it and we're not going to try. She went in and started having people call me immediately. And I began to understand what it meant to be with her until the end. And at night, after work, I would take my rental car and drive to hospice. And I would sit with her, always wondering, what would a real therapist do? She got worse and worse so that she was blind and she was in a great deal of pain. And I would struggle to know even what therapeutic thing could I possibly do with her. And when I ran out of stories to tell her, I resorted, and you'll see how pathetic this is in several seconds. I resorted to singing in her ear. Because we had, over time for meditations of pain control, used things. And we had used, in the beginning, Steve Wynwood's Roll With It, Baby. In the beginning, that song is a vibrant, rocking rebellion about taking charge and moving on. But at the end, it's very different. And I would lean over and whisper into her ear. Then you'll see. Love can be so nice. It's just a step up to paradise. You just roll with it, baby. And she would squeeze my hand and I would know that she heard me. The next day, Malcolm called and said, things aren't going well. I can't get the car to stall. I'm saying, did you take it the Safeway? Did you go to McDonald's? He made me very anxious in his impotence. He said, we've done all those things, but I'll call you tomorrow. So the next morning, I get a call from Malcolm. He says, I'm sorry. We've done everything we can, everything. And we can't find the problem. And if we can't find it, we can't fix it. It's as simple as that. And I was Furious, I said, what do you mean? You can't find it? You can't fix it. Mechanics can always do more fast. Talk me, cheat me, deceive me, but don't say there's nothing more you can do. Malcolm. I mean, Chuck. And he said, I'm really sorry. And I believe he was, but it didn't help. That evening I went to visit Annie at the hospice. And she was in terrible shape. And I knew by her breathing that she was not long for the world. But in a moment of lucidity, she held my hand and she said, I want you to know something. I want you to know the best thing you ever said to me. And I'm thinking, well, thank God finally we're going to hear a therapeutic intervention somewhere that was, you know. And she said, remember when the cancer came back the third time? Remember what you said? And I said, no, I don't. And she said, you got really choked up. And you said, this really sucks. And I'm waiting to hear the therapeutic intervention. And then I realized that was it, all of it. 15 years of training and experience in psychotherapy. And this really sucks. Had the most impact on this dying woman. And just as I was despairing, she was great effort. Leaned her head over to look at me, and she said, and it really does, you know, it really sucks. And all I could do was look right back at her and say, yeah, it really does. I kissed her on the cheek, not knowing when I would ever see her again. And as I was leaving and closing the door to her room, there was someone down the hall leaving another room. And from a distance, I could tell that it was a man. And then closer, I could tell that it was a tall man in a uniform, a gray uniform. It was Chuck. Chuck was at hospice. And from the way he was leaving in that droop shouldered quiet way that people leave the rooms of the dying, I could tell that he was leaving someone he loved. I wanted to run to this man I had had such violent fantasies about all day. I wanted to run to him. I wanted to wrinkle his perfect uniform. I wanted to hug him and say, I get it, Malcolm. I mean, Chuck. I get it. Some things just can't be fixed, can they? But I didn't. I watched him get into his pickup truck and drive away. Annie died the next day, and I stood by her bed as her priest said his prayers. My car got better. It never stalled again. I don't get it. I don't understand how a car gets better with nobody's help. And how a person doesn't get better with everybody's, but I'm learning that there's a lot I don't understand.

[B]

Martha Manning is a writer and clinical psychologist. She's the author of five books, including Undercurrents A Therapist's Reckoning With Depression. She focuses on the stigma of mental illness and regularly trips over herself in her struggles. This podcast is brought to you by Bing Only. Bing integrates information from your friends on Facebook and experts on Twitter so you can tap into their knowledge and opinions and spend less time searching and more time doing. Now search GoSocial with Bing. The Moth is a nonprofit organization, so consider supporting our free podcast by going to our podcast contribution page or by becoming a Moth member and you can.

[A]

Do [e-mail] Our podcast host, Dan Kennedy is the author of the book Rock An Office Power Ballad. Learn [e-mail] thanks to all of you.

[B]

For listening and we hope you have a story worthy week. Podcast audio production by Paul Ruest at the Argo Studios in New York Podcast hosting by PRX Public Radio Exchange helping make public radio more public at prx. Org.