Necessary Optimism

Many people have shared their thoughts, experiences and philosophies in connection to my effort with Bella.  I am grateful to each of them.  Several people have offered jewels from personal experiences.  Some have implied their own impatience with Bella's progress by saying in exasperation, can't you just put her in the car, or close the door to her safe place so she has to learn?  The answer is no, I won't force her.  Nor will I stop urging her to try something new, gently tugging her leash so that we walk a new direction, or petting her softly even if it challenges her.  She likes the treats I give her afterwards, and I have to believe that the gentle pressure I exert helps her form new neural pathways.  But throughout this process the most helpful reflections I have been offered are simply the ones that are optimistic and encouraging.  This optimism trickles down to my moments with Bella.  When I feel hopeful, or better yet, unattached to outcomes, I think Bella can tell.  She studies me with those big brown eyes of hers, learning the language of my moods, perhaps attempting to decipher them and anticipate what it will mean for her.

With human illness, I have often felt that a necessary optimism should inform the efforts of healer and patient alike.  We don't know what pattern the future will hold, and our attitude will play a part in its unfolding.  To what degree, we may never know.  There are times, of course, when a graceful surrender may be necessary.  But not today, Bella, not today.  Today we will try to take a longer walk, and then stand next to the car to practice feeling calm by the big, scary vehicle.  We'll see if you will take a treat in the living room, or at least eat your breakfast further from your bed.  Who knows, maybe this time next year we'll be walking the gorge.