Since You Asked
A night of expensive nurses and sticky electrodes
You said you went through a rough patch, Mr. Tennis. So out with it!
Dear Cary,
A few months ago, you mentioned you went through a rough patch but didn’t want to talk about that, wanted to hear what was up with us instead. But the thing is, you tell us so much, to not explain the rough patch seems weird. I have no excuse for asking. I’m just nosy (but I’m a writer — soap operas — so that’s my excuse for being nosy, if not an excuse for actually asking).
So, simple question. Will you tell us what went on?
Just Asking
Dear Just Asking,
I will indeed tell you what went on. It was the Tuesday a week before the election. I was working at home on a cover story for Salon. I had been working on it for days. I was reading about Adolf Hitler and noting certain personality traits in common with George W. Bush. I was reading Jacqueline Rose on Freud’s theory of mass psychology (“The lone criminal can be distanced,” she writes, “but not the policies of a government that, democratically elected, represents each and every one of us”) and thinking about our national narcissism (“What if, in struggling, say, to ‘impose democracy’, we are in fact servicing an ideal version of ourselves?”) and the left’s crippling angst at the approaching election and what it would or would not ratify. All this as e-mail after e-mail scrolled down the screen with the subject line “Politics Is Freaking Me Out.”
Whether by subterranean neurological pathway or hypnotic suggestion, that mantra “Politics Is Freaking Me Out” had begun to work like a sinister poison into my own fragile sanity and health. But I did not fully appreciate this fact. At the time, all I knew was that a deadline was approaching and I was facing it down with the same white-knuckle desperation with which I had faced down all such deadlines since my first junior high school all-nighter — minus the No-Doz of that first experience and the methamphetamines of later, more savage and weird episodes in my dangerous and fanatical pursuit of a byline.
Then I got the symptoms: pain in my left arm and shoulder, tingling in the extremities, nausea, sweating, shortness of breath, chest pain, dizziness. I hit “send” to get off a draft, and dialed 911. The man on the phone said to walk to the front door and unlock it, and then to sit down and keep him on the line. We made some small talk. He said he’d had his first heart attack at 47. I said, “Wow.” He asked me how the pain was. I said it wasn’t so bad, it was just scary. I thought I was going to pass out.
Soon men came into my house and yelled my name right in my face just like on TV. They put nitroglycerine under my tongue. I got the oxygen mask. I went to the hospital, wore the robe and did all that I was told to do in a state of helplessness that reminded me for both good and ill of being once again a third-grader. The net result was an $8,000 one-night stay in the strangest hotel you’ve ever seen, frequently interrupted not only by hotel personnel placing electrodes on my chest (with amazingly powerful adhesives!) but by the startling voices and movements of other guests in apparently much worse shape than I. My wife, whom I had called at work from the ambulance (I said, “Hi, Sweetie, guess where I am? I’m in an ambulance headed to the hospital!”), arrived from Palo Alto with magazines. We played cards in the E.R., and I read People.
It turns out I’m fine, as far as the doctors can tell. All the tests say I never had a heart attack, and there’s nothing wrong with me apart from sort-of high blood pressure and high cholesterol. They put me on Metropolol and Lipitor.
Though I’m healthy, it was a “wake-up call.” Consider me called. Consider me awake. Consider me totally into stress reduction and long-term survival. Consider me a very lucky guy. Also consider me no longer both copy chief and staff writer, but only staff writer: I have finally relinquished my white-knuckle grip on the reins of the copy desk after a profound and life-changing five years in the center of a brilliant journalistic cyclone.
One more thing — after this happened, I stayed out of Table Talk. I knew if I went in there I was going to emote in alarmingly extemporaneous ways. I really tend to free-associate in there, as though it were some kind of anonymous therapy session, which it decidedly is not. I figured too much extemporizing on my own mortality might give rise to the wrong kind of rumors. But now that I’ve gotten this episode off my chest, so to speak, I plan to continue using Table Talk as an anonymous therapy session in defiance of all common sense, and continue to speak freely of my many fears and neuroses whose confused and unresolved state gives them decidedly limited appeal.
Oh, and this: The adjustment to my hours and duties, in addition to giving me a general increase in robustness and cheerfulness of mien, should also allow me to occasionally write some longer pieces, and to do the deeper and more thoughtful research that certain questions cry out for.
Basically I’m fine. I just have to take these little pills.
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What? You want more?
Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
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More Cary Tennis.
My sister’s stalker
He accosted her on the street and forced her into his car. She went to the police and they did nothing
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Cary,
My younger sister is a 21-year-old college student who is “trapped” in an abusive relationship with her ex-boyfriend, who is 35 years old. She first met him when she was 19, fell in love with him and eventually moved in with him. After they started living together, she discovered that he was emotionally and verbally abusive, to the point that after six months, she had had enough, broke it off and moved out. The problem now is that for over a year, he refuses to accept that their relationship is over. Although he has not physically abused her, he has “forced” her into his car, screamed at her in public, in front of her professors and classmates, snatched her cellphone out of her hand to see if she has been talking to/texting other guys. He stalks her, physically, following her around town, staking out her apartment, and electronically, constantly checking her cellphone, email, Facebook, Amazon accounts, etc. (During the time that they were living together, he managed to get access to these accounts, and somehow manipulate the password access such that he continues to have access, despite my sister’s attempts to change passwords, etc.)
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
- Send me a letter! Ask for advice! Letter writers please note: By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure.
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More Cary Tennis.
Stop the wedding!
She's wrong for him! She'll ruin his life! What can we do?
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Cary,
My dear friend is about to marry the wrong person. He is a brilliant, outgoing man, always willing to put others first, and in this case to a fault. His fiancée has pursued him since high school. He avoided her romantic advances for years, knowing he could do better, but she is a very smart and manipulative person and succeeded in landing him as a boyfriend. In the early years, he occasionally expressed a desire to break up with her, but could not build the nerve to do so. Since then, almost a decade has passed, and they are still the only partners either has ever had. I know that if he could press a button and wake up tomorrow with her happy and living in another city, and him happy and single, he would do it. However, a number of factors have kept him from leaving her. Their best friends from childhood are very close-knit (for example, his older brother is best friends with her older brother), and their families are close friends as well. Understandably, he feels like to break up with her would shatter this group of people he cares so much about, not to mention the emotional impact it would have on her.
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
- Send me a letter! Ask for advice! Letter writers please note: By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure.
- Make a comment to Cary Tennis not for publication.
- Send a letter to Salon's editors not for publication.
More Cary Tennis.
My friend calls Obama a monkey
What am I supposed to say to this dude? What's his problem?
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Cary,
I have a friend that cannot speak about the president of the United States without using the word “monkey” or “chimpanzee.”
There have been presidents I was not thrilled about, but certainly I would not stoop to this.
This individual is well-off, has a degree and is considerate about most other topics.
What the HELL is his problem?
Thanks Cary,
Bewildered
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
- Send me a letter! Ask for advice! Letter writers please note: By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure.
- Make a comment to Cary Tennis not for publication.
- Send a letter to Salon's editors not for publication.
More Cary Tennis.
My secretly bisexual husband
He's been with four men he met on Craigslist. Do I stick with him for our teenage daughters?
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Cary,
Recently my husband of 18 years has explored his sexuality with other men. He admitted having four sexual encounters with random men he solicited from Craigslist. After a week of hell, and many a shouting match, he begged me to take him back, claiming that his experimentation is not worth losing his family. As in a textbook scenario, he, somehow, convinced himself that I, being very liberal and supportive of gay community, would understand, and maybe even approve, his urges. Having two teenage daughters and being a stay-at-home mom, I have initially agreed to let him back into the family fold, after all his STD tests came back clean.
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
- Send me a letter! Ask for advice! Letter writers please note: By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure.
- Make a comment to Cary Tennis not for publication.
- Send a letter to Salon's editors not for publication.
More Cary Tennis.
We were breast-fed really late
My mother continued to let us touch her for years after feeding stopped, and now it feels creepy and revolting
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Cary,
I don’t know how to put this any way but bluntly, so here goes. My mom let me and my brother breast-feed really, really late– until we were 4 or 5. She let us touch and play with her breasts for years after that. She never told us what sex was, and later when I found out for myself, my body changing on its own, I felt revulsion at the all-too-recent memories of how I touched, and wanted to touch, my own mother. I hated that she hadn’t stopped me.
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
- Send me a letter! Ask for advice! Letter writers please note: By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure.
- Make a comment to Cary Tennis not for publication.
- Send a letter to Salon's editors not for publication.
More Cary Tennis.
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