To heal or to cure: what’s the difference?

Last year, reflecting on the purpose of my work, I found myself examining the true meaning of ‘healing’ and ‘curing’. These words are often used interchangeably. When we refer to healing a fracture, for example, it usually means that the crack in a broken bone is fused back together. In this instance, healing and curing do actually mean the same thing. Often, though, they’re not the same at all.

Many of you reading this blog have worked with me. Maybe you sought me out because you had read about Dr Sarno and TMS, or about Pyschophysiological Disorders (PPD), now called Association of Treatment of Neuroplastic Symptoms (ATNS). Perhaps you had even read the textbook or watched a pain video or a podcast referring to neuroplastic symptoms. Some of you have also found me through my connection with Dr Lissa Rankin and Whole Health Medicine. 

I love my job. It can be hard, but it’s fulfilling. I love registering the softening of taut lines on the face of someone I’m working with as their physical pain eases. The teaching methodology I employ in resolving chronic pain works. At the same time, there are always new things to learn and new challenges.

One example is when I was asked by someone if I would consider working with a relative who had been diagnosed with stage four cancer. The prognosis was shocking, and it was clear that family members were struggling to cope. I had recently worked successfully with this person’s child, who had experienced a complete turnaround within a matter of weeks. But this was different, and my immediate reaction was to point out that this was something I hadn’t been trained in. What could I offer?

This is when I began thinking about the difference between healing and curing. In this case, the latter it seemed was not possible. To be cured means to be free of disease or symptoms. The word ‘heal’, on the other hand, originates from the Old English word ‘haelan’ which means ‘to make whole’. To heal is to restore someone to a state of wholeness, which may be emotionally rather than physically. As Lissa Rankin points out:

“it is possible to be healed but not cured, and to be cured but not healed.”

— Mind over Medicine Lissa Rankin M.D. Hay House 2020

Ideally both take place concurrently, but it's not always that way. 

I wondered whether my methodology could address the issue of healing, even if the notion of curing remained elusive. The patient’s husband wanted his wife to simply have someone to talk to, someone that she could trust and share her fears with. My understanding of the wider concept of healing, and the reported experience of patients who told me what a difference it made to their recovery to feel both safe and listened to in their process, persuaded me to meet the relative in question. I’m so pleased I did. 

I always remind my clients to be mindful of their own needs, limits and boundaries and the same is true for myself. After doing some research I found an end-of-life supervisor and we embarked on the work. As you know, I have nothing but admiration for all the people I work with. It takes such courage to request an initial consultation and to continue with the work as we progress. 

Almost a year later the courageous woman I saw weekly passed away.  It was time, and although she could not be cured, she was healed. 

References

1.Mind over Medicine Lissa Rankin M.D. Hay House 2020

Here we go again

Almost nine months ago I wrote about how my husband had somehow ended up letting a friend talk him into doing a 100km cycle in April last year. He was quite nervous about making sure he was prepared for it, and spent many a freezing morning in February and March frantically training. In the end, he had a wonderful time, but his legs were so sore the following day he vowed never to do anything like that again.

Of course that resolve didn’t last, and he ended up doing another, much shorter, cycle in October, and somehow convincing me to join him. I suppose I shouldn’t have been too surprised, then, when I somehow ended up signing myself up to join him as he attempted the same 100km cycle again this year.

I loved the idea of cycling in the fresh air and enjoying the countryside, and it was a surprise to me when people began asking about my “training plan”. There were times when I wondered what on earth I had done (most of them after several hours on a bike, often in the rain!) and I did briefly worry that I might have had bitten off more than I could chew. However, it was with mounting excitement that at 4am one Sunday morning last month we got up to get ourselves to the start line, having travelled to the location of the race the night before. It was surprisingly light, and we could hear the birds chirping as we gathered alongside many other excited riders.

As we inched our way towards the start line, a sense of camaraderie began to build. People around us shared stories – in one case of an airline losing bikes the night before the race, and rentals having to be found last minute. Another fellow cyclist had done all their training in the gym and never been on open road before (they did brilliantly, apart from the hill climbs which threw them off a bit).

And then off we went! The first 60km was wonderfully invigorating, and I could still feel the buzz of the atmosphere, camaraderie and beautiful scenery. It must be said, the hills then began to take their toll, and the final section was something of a slog. But throughout the ride, I really valued the occasional cluster of spectators cheering us on along the route, as well as the support from others taking part.

It was an amazing experience, and in the days since, I’ve forgotten the difficult bits, and remember only the highlights. I know my legs felt a bit sore at the time, but I can much more easily recall the huge feeling of achievement as we finally crossed the finish line. I’m even tempted to do it again! I don’t think we’ll be reining in our ambitions just yet.

Your own pace

 A few weeks ago, a friend of mine who lives in the UK ran the London Marathon. He has run several marathons, even including a few in fancy dress, and by all accounts always enjoys the experience. This time was no different - he had trained well, and even though it was a hot day he managed to pace himself well, so he didn’t end up overdoing it. He was thrilled after completing the race, and proudly posted photos of himself and his new medal on social media.

It just so happened that another friend of mine also went for a run on the same Sunday, except hers was much shorter. She has been struggling to get back to running after an ankle injury a few months ago, and while her ankle is completely recovered, she has faced some other difficulties. She is having to build her fitness back up from a very different place to where it was a few months ago, and while she previously loved running, it has now fallen out of her routine and she finds herself struggling to find time around work and childcare. She also struggled with feeling a little nervous after her injury, not wanting it to happen again. We’ve spoken before about how this has had a negative impact on both her self-confidence and her mental health, and I tried to encourage her to get back into her runners even just a little at a time.

You can imagine my delight when she sent me a message on Sunday to say she had finally managed to get back out for a run, going for a short distance and making sure to return to the activity gently. She was utterly thrilled with herself, and I was delighted for her. Unlike my marathon-running friend, she didn’t post about the run on social media, and only mentioned it to me as we had spoken about the issue before. I was so proud of her – and felt strongly that just because she didn’t run 26 miles, her achievement was no less than the marathon my other friend had breezed through.

Making the effort

In the last blog I wrote about learning a new skill in a certificate botanical drawing class. As I mentioned, it was a great opportunity to meet new people, and this got me thinking about one particular occasion. One of the other students on the course lived some distance away, and had to spend over an hour travelling in each morning and then returning home. Because of this she often arrived a little flustered, and didn’t get as much of a chance to get to know the other students. While the rest of us were able to chat amongst ourselves before and after the class, she arrived just in time and then had to rush off as soon as possible to catch her train.

As a result, I didn’t get to know this woman as well as some of my other fellow course-mates, and so when a weekend day out walking happened to bring me to her hometown, I hesitated before sending her a message. It was a few weeks after the course had ended – what if she didn’t even remember me, I thought. In the end I didn’t send a message, but popped into the shop where she had told us she worked, to see whether or not I would run into her.

As soon as she saw me, she broke into a huge grin. Even though we hadn’t been able to get know each other well during the course, it was wonderful to see her, and see how much she appreciated me popping in. We only spoke for a few minutes, and may be unlikely to strike up a long-term friendship, but it was lovely to have that moment of connection. It reminded me that it’s always worth making that effort, and that sometimes it can be wonderful to make those connections even if they are not with close friends. We often overlook relationships with “acquaintances”, but it can be wonderful to share a brief hello every now and again.

An unusual skill

A few weeks ago, I submitted my final piece of work for assessment on my botanical drawing class. It was a watercolour of a clematis, a very delicate flower in beautiful colours – some petals were deep purple and some a much lighter pink, and the leaves were a full spectrum of green. I had spent weeks working on the artwork, and felt a huge sense of satisfaction when finally turning it in.

I began botanical drawing some years ago, and worked through several rounds of evening classes. I always enjoyed the challenge of doing something new, the rhythm of getting out to go to a class and the opportunity to meet other people. However after a while I had worked through all the available classes, and all that remained was a much more demanding certification course, which I hesitated to take on as it was a bigger time commitment.

I was initially concerned that taking on this course seemed a little frivolous – did I really need a certificate in botanical drawing? It was hardly an urgently-needed skill that I would be able to use elsewhere in life. But I went ahead, and ended up extremely glad that I did.

Of course, it’s no surprise that as the effort required to complete the course increased, so too did the sense of achievement I gained in doing it. I was able to bond with the other people in the class over a longer period of time, and while my drawing skills improved so too did my attention to detail and patience. The course was also a wonderful opportunity to do something for myself, and invest a little in my own learning and wellbeing, which I know I often advise others to do!  

Foraging

I read an article last week giving advice on how to forage for wild garlic. I’ve never done so before, but have always enjoyed the wonderful scent when out walking, so spending time foraging for it and eventually using it to cook with sounded like a great idea to me.

However I mentioned this in passing to a neighbour, who was horrified. Why on earth would I go out and try to forage for food when there is plenty available in the local supermarket? And what about the risk of being poisoned?! The neighbour in question was raised in a city, and is of a younger generation, and I wondered if the idea of foraging or eating food from a garden or surrounding area is becoming less popular. I fondly remember looking forward to blackberry season each year, and in the meantime often eating apples and other fruit from public trees.

I’ve written before about our local community garden, which has become a wonderful social hub, with the added benefit of being able to divide up and take home the produce. After a lot of maintenance work over the winter we’re looking forward to the warmer weather and reaping some of our spring crops.

I’m also planning to head out hunting for wild garlic, if time allows. There’s something wonderful about using and eating produce from the outdoors, which creates a sense of connection and grounding to nature – while making sure there’s enough for others and you don’t bring home anything poisonous of course. Let me know any of your foraging tips in the comments!

Your own strength

One of my clients – I’ll call her Maria - recently told me a story that she was happy for me to share anonymously. She lives in a city, and has recently recovered from an injury. She gradually built up her strength at home, and then started venturing to group classes at her local gym.

One day, she was taking part in a “strength” class, involving lifting light weights in a controlled environment. The class was such that the group were all lifting a bar of weights in time to the music, for a set period of time. Maria noticed she was falling behind the rest of the class, not quite managing to keep her movements in time with the beat of the music. This continued across several exercises, and she felt embarrassed to be lagging behind, but did her best to keep going at her own pace, focussing only on what she was doing rather than looking at the others in the class.

It was only at the end of the series of exercises that Maria looked around properly, and realised that every single person in the room was lifting a weight lighter than hers. She had chosen what best suited her ability and how she was feeling on the day, and continued at her own pace. She had briefly felt embarrassed that she wasn’t moving as quickly as everyone else, and yet it turned out she had been lifting a much heavier weight!

Maria told me the anecdote while laughing at her own initial reaction, and we agreed it had been absolutely the best response to just focus on her own activity, without comparing to what everyone else is doing. Something we often agree is best practice, but is much easier said than done!

Workshop in Athlone

As some of you know, I teach in-person sessions using movement to help people explore their understanding of their bodies and how they perceive others. The information exchange between body and mind can open up a new route to emotional literacy and empathy -something you can read more about elsewhere on my website here.

The aim of these sessions is to enable insight into and confidence in the body, heightening awareness, which is fundamental to developing genuine empathy. Empathy is often described as the ability to understand the world from another person’s point of view, and is associated with deep listening skills and verbal encouragement. These sessions are for a general audience, but in particular can help those who find that empathy doesn’t come naturally, or makes them feel anxious. 

The workshop in Athlone was an introduction to a training day for practitioners involved in a research study run by Systematic Kinesiology. The aim was to help the participants understand how it feels to do something new and to trust the person guiding them. This led to a lively discussion - you can read some of the feedback here.

Many of the workshop participants had travelled a long way in bad weather to get to the workshop, and it was a truly brilliant group. This sort of work helps form a bond and throughout the day they repeatedly contributed thoughtful and passionate points of view, creating a cheerful and productive atmosphere.

By association

I have a friend who plots her usual running route via her favourite café, and always ends her run there, so she can enjoy the treat of a takeaway coffee as she walks home. Another friend told me recently that he only ever wears his favourite shirts on Mondays. Many people I know tend to wear their best outfits on Fridays, to celebrate the end of the week, however he said he finds his favourite, brightly-coloured shirts cheer him up on the day he finds most difficult, giving him some small thing to look forward to on a Sunday evening.

This friend no longer lives in a city, but when he did, and would face a 45 minute commute every day on very busy public transport, he would save this time for reading, and ended up looking forward to it as a chance to enjoy his book. Back when I was training for my marathon, years ago, I would only ever listen to music when I went out running. It became a way to motivate myself, as I always looked forward to the enjoyment of the music, leading me to look forward to the runs themselves as well.

My husband long ago formed the habit of listening to the radio while ironing – a task he used to find boring, but not when gripped by whatever sports commentary happens to be on (or sometimes singing along to the greatest hits!)

We all need a little bit of motivation sometimes, and it can help to form a habit of linking something joyful with something you find more difficult, so they form an association. You might find you even end up looking forward to your chore or task as it brings a joyful side effect!

A reconnection

Karen Darke had felt pain in her left shoulder for so long that she felt “held together” by supportive tape intended to relieve pressure on muscles and joints. When she went to a doctor, he told her she had the shoulders of an 80 year old – in her 40s – and would need corrective surgery and probably a shoulder replacement at some point.

A geologist, Karen was working in the Bolivian Andes when an accident left her paralysed from the chest down. She took up the sport of hand cycling, and went on to win gold for Britain in Rio de Janeiro in 2016. It was after the win in 2016 that her shoulder hurt, and she found herself feeling “completely misaligned” after eight years of gruelling training.

She had been prepared for the risk of depression after the Olympics, which is a known phenomenon among athletes. To combat this, she had planned a trip to cycle 1,500km through Patagonia with two teammates and one of their wives. When she told them she wasn’t sure if she was up to it due to her run-down condition, they encouraged her to go.

The group cycled through villages, some hundreds of kilometres apart. Karen’s story is shared in the book Wilder Journeys: True Stories of Nature, Adventure & Connection, edited by Laurie King and Miriam Lancewood. In it, Karen writes of the pleasure of reconnecting with nature again, adding: “For all the comforts offered by our modern world, I can think of no substitute more satisfying than lying on the grass watching a sinking sun after a day moving through the great outdoors, listening to the soothing bubble of a nearby stream and the crackle of a small fire”.

After days of cycling, allowing her mind to drift and focus just on the kilometres ahead and enjoying the nature surrounding her, Karen writes that she feels like she is “waking up from a long coma”. Her shoulder stops hurting, and her movement is no longer limited when reaching or stretching. She no longer has need of any shoulder surgery, and writes that she will later phone to cancel it.

Karen’s story is a truly remarkable one, and this is just one episode within it. But it is a fascinating example of a serious intervention being planned for a patient (in this case surgery) and then later cancelled after a change in lifestyle – in this case trading an urban lifestyle focussed on a gruelling training regime for a reconnection to nature at a different pace.