How My Dog Showed Me It’s Better to Speak Up Than To Stay Silent About Pain

Post written by Jennifer Fang-Pan, M.S., LGMFT

In a culture of limitless instant sharing apps and formats, it can be hard to strike equilibrium between giving stalkers instant success or going to the opposite extreme of boycotting everyone in your inner circle of friends and family.   

I’m advocating for a little more sharing, just not the kind that only showcases human narcissism with 1/60th-second frames of the best side of our puckered faces.  I’m advocating for sharing more of our not-so-best selves when sharing could be in our best interests.  Here’s Why.

A few weeks ago, I came home from a gainful weekend away with my favorite grad school friends- a group of therapists who I grew up (and continue to grow) with, both professionally and personally.   I had just had another epiphany weekend as is typical when a group of a near-dozen of us do our “kumbaya time,” as my husband endearingly refers to our cabin retreats into the woods.  There, we get to catch up on each other’s latest and greatest triumphs, adventures and silliness, exchange effective therapy techniques, soak up nature, and inevitably spill our hearts, supporting each other as we work out our own “therapeutic issues.”    In order to learn how and when to do gainful sharing, you should become a therapist too and form your own kumbaya group.  The End. 

Just kidding…I only wish I were succinct enough to end the word count there.  That was just the back story I’ll come back to.  Onto what happened when I returned home and to move away from getting too personal- after all, you’re the client in this relationship…

When I walked back in my front door, my baby- my 4-legged, 3-year old yellow Lab, Bentley, jumped up excitedly to greet me. Heartwarming, except that the shrill sound that came out of him was as if I was trying to play the e-string on a violin- enough said- and add a dull kitchen knife to that.  The exuberant welcome home was usual but his breath-stopping shriek was certainly not.  A second later, he acted as if nothing happened and carried on his tail whipping and lap diving festivities.  I thought maybe he stepped on a pebble or something so I went about too, until he followed me upstairs.  Halfway up the full flight, he gave out the same screech that, had I also been his kind, would’ve pushed my hackles straight up.  It happened a third time when he tried to jump onto the bed and nearly missed as if his back legs were just a smidgeon too rigid to retract for takeoff.  That was enough; I concluded his vet would be getting a call in the morning.   I was already getting a bad case of the mommy-worries: sprained joints? faltering knees? hip fracture?  broken back? Yet he was perfectly fine before his stay with family for the weekend.  He’d stayed plenty of times with them before and they didn’t mention anything unusual happening. 

When we got to the vet’s office, my big furry baby went sniffing in the waiting room and running up, giving joy bumps to everyone that came through with his wet nose.  But as soon as we went back to the exam room and his vet came in, he tucked his tail and ducked between my legs.  While I explained what I’d observed so far, she took her time to make sure Bentley felt more at ease with lots of petting,  some cheery “atta boy’s,” and even a few beef jerky bits.

When he finally held still enough in my arms instead of dodging around the perimeter of the room, she began the physical.  She felt up and down his spine and Bentley responded with silence; checked his rib cage: still silence; left leg: silence; right leg: you guessed it, silence yet again.  His vet suspected his adrenaline rush from being in the office might be blocking his pain sensors or he just plain didn’t want to talk to her out of fear of what could come next.  So she did what a responsible, thorough vet does next in that case.  She snapped her latex gloves on, bench lifted his tail (which Bentley had bestowed momentary Thor-hammer-like properties) and she accessed his rectum, poked around to check his colon and prostate.  And still, silence.   After all the poking and prodding proved inconclusive, and by deductive reasoning, his vet finally hypothesized he just had a pulled groin muscle.

So, what’s a dog’s trip to the vet have to do with people speaking up?  Well, I’d take it as a good warning to any of us when we’re at risk of letting our fears prevent us from getting the support we need.  Could it be that speaking up honestly and openly about our distress could actually help alleviate the pressure of painful isolation? Could speaking up save us from more discomfort caused by well meaning others probing in awkward, uncomfortable ways in effort to be helpful?  Well, the answer that comes to my mind is- if only Bentley had just let out a sound, even a whimper when his vet touched his sore spot, he’d have saved himself from enduring poking and prodding into his bum. 

For times we find ourselves helplessly watching loved ones drift away, sink within, or build seemingly invincible walls when met with life’s tidal waves, earthquakes, hurricanes, and quicksand, we might also take a hint from what was done to make a dog more comfortable in a scary situation.  Just like the vet’s petting, “attaboys,” treats, mom’s hug, and some rational thought, it can take some reassuring touches, extra words of affirmation, some built-in tangible rewards, and the patient presence of a safe attachment figure to aid the process of identifying and resolving painful experiences.  Just remember, what is likely not helpful is to start poking a person in pain in sensitive, private, and awkward areas. 

For times when we’re not watching but in the middle of mountainous waves of grief that knock us down; when our triggered anger and anxiety shake up and even shatter our worlds; when category 4 winds of change carry us out of our comfort zones, or miry swamps of shame threaten to swallow us whole, it can seem a safe option to bunker into solo lockdown mode.  To be fair, solo lockdown mode certainly simplifies the threats, gives us room to breathe for a moment when our surroundings are chaotic and can allow our thoughts and feelings to catch up to what’s happening.  However given how well becoming mute, dodging, hiding and clamping down his tail helped Bentley’s pain, why not consider some alternatives? 

What could it be like to choose someone or a few someones: a non-judgmental family member perhaps, a few close friends, a caring therapist, or in my own case, a cabin full of caring therapist-friends to start sharing, speaking up and save ourselves from being uncomfortably probed.  I’m not advocating that we start canvassing our friends’ news feeds with whining and complaining.  Instead, I’m imagining the possibilities for newer relationships to deepen, older relationships to revive, and for ourselves to become more transparent, congruent inside and out, and thereby lighter by letting others in when we its tempting to close ourselves and our pain off altogether.   Through selective, gradual, tiered, series of self disclosures, we can eventually open ourselves to a world of opportunity to be understood by deserving others, empowered to find our own answers, and freed to be our ever better selves.

P.S.

And in case anyone was still wondering what happened to Bentley, “pulled groin muscle” proved an accurate diagnosis.  After a few days of rest from running, a break from stuffed-bunny humping and some anti-inflammatory pills, his pain was resolved.