Chapter 4
At 2137 that night, Chuck called Spock. They agreed to meet at Chuck's quarters.
Spock stepped into his cabin and waited for the door to close behind him. "Please describe your symptoms."
"Mostly itching. Some tearing. I didn't even realize it was starting til Sulu mentioned that I was rubbing my eyes. I called you right away."
"Chuck, there are several things of which you need to be aware. First, I will not think less of you if you cannot do this, or if you choose not to. I have brought medicine with me, and you may decide at any time to take the pills. You do not have to endure the agony.
"Secondly, regardless of what you choose, you may expect to be non-functional for at least eight hours, possibly as long as 24. What I teach you will not shorten the time, and could in fact lengthen your recovery time. It is not magic, nor is it easy. It will exhaust you mentally, physically, and emotionally.
"Third, I can tell you what Jim does. I can walk through it with you. But I do not know if you can do what Jim does, and I cannot do it for you, except by mind-meld, which I presume is not what you are after in this experience. I suspect your ability or lack of it will depend in large part on how badly you want to do this."
Spock put his hands behind his back and cocked his head. "Do you have questions?"
"No, I think I've got the picture, and I want this pretty badly. So you will please not say anything more about pills or mindmelds. And Spock, regardless of how bad it gets, thank you for doing this for me."
"You are welcome. Please lie down on the bunk."
Spock worked with Chuck for about fifteen minutes to get his body completely relaxed. Then for about a half-hour, they discussed mental and emotional attitudes. Chuck readily understood the concept of acceptance, but wasn't sure he could force his body to refuse to fight the pain. He didn't think fear was a very big issue, but as Spock probed the depths of his responses, Chuck realized his instinctive fight reaction was indeed fear-based. He was afraid of falling apart.
"Chuck, have you ever fallen apart before?"
"Yes, and it was disgustingly awful. I acted like a two-year-old."
"I too have behaved as an undisciplined child," Spock admitted. "What is there about the experience that you fear?"
"You, Spock? I find that hard to picture." He didn't quite call him a liar.
"Nevertheless, it happened. The experience was not pleasant, but neither was it fear-provoking."
"I guess I'm afraid of losing my self-respect. Though after what happened the last time, it's a wonder I have any left. Probably because of Jim. He wouldn't let me despise myself. He's incredible: never falls apart himself, but thinks it perfectly acceptable for me to do so."
Spock sounded puzzled. "Why do you say he never falls apart? You witnessed one of the more spectacular occasions."
"That's different. You said demons were controlling him."
"Did he excuse his behavior with that defense?"
"No, he didn't. In fact, as I recall, he fell apart on purpose, knowing it would be awful. So, he's not afraid of falling apart. Was he, before he became a Christian?"
"Yes, but not because he was self-concerned. It has been many years since he worried about his image in the eyes of others. In our battle with hate last year, he was afraid of losing control, because he thought that if he did, he would kill me. Also, I have not seen any level of physical pain that had the power to make him fall apart."
As they talked, Chuck unconsciously reached a hand up to rub his eyes. Spock heard it and stopped him with an iron grip on his wrist. Chuck took a deep breath and returned his hand to the bunk where it had been. He tried to relax.
"You've been waiting for me to do that."
"I expected it, yes. Total acceptance makes no provision for secondary comfort issues. You will not touch the eyes until we are finished. You will lie here, completely relaxed and largely motionless. You may talk to me; you may even scream at me; but you will not touch the eyes. Now, are you relaxed?"
"No."
They again worked at relaxation. It took almost half an hour, but they got there finally. Chuck then returned to the subject of Kirk.
"How does he do this? That night you stayed to watch him battle the pain, you said he just lay there accepting it for hours. It takes me half an hour just to relax, and this is nothing yet, compared to that."
"He doesn't battle the pain. As long as you continue to think of the pain as an enemy to be conquered, you will lose. Do not fear it. Do not fear what it will do to you."
Chuck didn't respond to that, so Spock changed the subject. "Before we go on, I want to address another issue: Are you doing this, in part, because you feel guilty for causing Jim's pain that night?"
Chuck pondered the question for a long moment. "To be honest, I probably am. I know what he said about it, but I still feel guilty."
"Do you understand the concept of forgiveness?"
"Yes, but Jim said there's nothing to forgive. He said he was glad I did what I did. He actually thanked me for causing him all that pain!" The continued distress was clearly evident in his voice.
Spock prayed for wisdom and went where the Lord directed. "Chuck, I want you to imagine that Jim is here in this room. Tell him how you feel and ask his forgiveness."
Chuck took a deep breath and tried to picture Jim's face. The image that came to him was the bruised and bloody mess with his fingers planted in it. Close on the heels of that image was the look of fierce joy in his eyes at the moment of his healing. And that joy had not been because the pain was gone, but because Chuck had said 'yes'. Then he remembered the face with that metal band covering his eyes and ears. And with it came the feeling of helpless isolation when he had faced the same circumstances.
"Jim," Chuck's voice was full of emotion. "I hardly know what to say. I don't understand you, but I want to. How you could take all that pain and helplessness and isolation, and say 'thank you', is beyond my comprehension. I know what you think, but I still feel guilty. I wish there were some way I could pay you back for what I did to you."
"Chuck, do you believe that I know Jim well enough that I could speak the words he would say to you, if he were here?"
"Yes." No hesitation.
"These, then, are his words to you: Chuck, I have told you that I harbor nothing against you for what you did to me. But you still feel that what you did was not right. I'm not going to argue with you, so let's just assume for the moment that your view of reality is correct. Chuck, with all my heart, I forgive you for all the pain and helplessness you caused me. Can you accept that forgiveness and be free of any bondage related to this incident?"
"Yes."
Chuck wasn't sure if his tears were emotionally or physically based, and didn't really care. Spock was right, that was exactly what Jim would have said. He could remember him saying the same thing to Eric. He remembered wondering how one could forgive where there had been no wrong. Nonetheless, he now felt washed clean, freed from a weight he hadn't even known he was carrying. How could forgiveness have such power when Jim wasn't even here? He voiced the question. Spock tried to explain.
"It is because you believe that Jim forgives you that you are able to experience the power of that forgiveness. Your belief is not dependent on his physical presence, because you were able to hear his words as spoken through me."
Spock paused, but Chuck's silence indicated a lack of further questions. "Tell me, do you still wish to pursue our present activity?"
"Yes, definitely. Though I must admit, I haven't thought about the eyes since we started talking about forgiveness."
"It is a commonly used tactic in pain management - think about something else. Are you relaxed?"
"I doubt it."
"Check and see; then fix it; you know what to do."
To his surprise, it took Chuck only about five minutes to return to complete relaxation.
"You are acquiring some skill. Also since you haven't been focusing on it, there was less tension to remove. But now I need you to describe your symptoms. As you do so, focus your mental energy on accepting each one."
"The tears are trickling into my ears. Both my eyes and ears are itching furiously. As I focus on it, it becomes a real challenge to leave my hands where they are."
"Take three deep breaths, relax your muscles, and accept the itching. You will do nothing to stop it. The itching will continue indefinitely. You accept it as part of your life in the present moment. It requires no more of your attention.
"Do you have other symptoms?"
They went through a similar process with each one: the stinging eyes, throbbing head, and irregular stabbing pain in one or both eyes.
"Since the focus of your pain is the eyes, the focal point for your relaxation must also be the eyes. You should be able to relax the rest of your body with one or two deep breaths. You will need additional effort to relax your face and eyes. I regret that I must ask you to tell me when your facial muscles are completely relaxed."
"Spock, how can you stand to do this for me when you have no eyes?"
"That is an imprecise question. Other than the need for verbal feedback from you, there is nothing about this activity that is hindered by my lack of eyes."
"But-" Chuck sputtered.
"You are asking an emotional question."
"Yes."
"I dealt emotionally with the reality of my loss within hours of the injury. You were there when I forced Jim to face it as well."
"I remember he thanked you."
"He was acknowledging the emotional cost to me of what I had done to him. Condensing weeks of grief into minutes of trauma, I relived with him what I had done to myself just hours previously. All of which is to say that I have thoroughly accepted my condition and it is not an emotional problem.
"So, are your facial muscles relaxed?"
"I'm working on it." Pause. "Yes. At least for the moment."
"Are your eyes open or closed?"
"Closed."
"What happens when you open them?"
"Stabbing pain gets markedly worse. Relaxing is impossible."
"Are the lights in this cabin on or off?"
"I have no idea."
"In the absence of instructions to the contrary, the computer would detect our presence and set the lights at a medium intensity. You may wish to turn the lights down or even completely off."
Chuck started to do so when he had a contrary thought. "What would Jim do?"
"Jim's goal in this situation would not be what yours is. Acceptance of the pain would not be an issue for him. His goal would be to be functional in the shortest time possible. If Dr. McCoy had said it would take eight hours, he would try to do it in four. And the level of pain to be endured in order to accomplish his goal would be irrelevant in his thinking."
"So what would he do?"
"As soon as he realized that his eyes were responding to light, he would drive himself relentlessly until the eyes would do his bidding. Undoubtedly, Dr. McCoy would have an opinion regarding how well the eyes would respond to such treatment."
"Call and ask him, please."
Spock sighed, stood, and walked unerringly to the desk, activating the intercom by touch.
"Spock to Dr. McCoy."
"McCoy here. How's Chuck?"
"He is doing well. However, we have a question. If Jim were in these circumstances, what cautions would you give him?"
McCoy sighed. "Spock, I hope you know what you're doing. Eyes are one thing. The psyche's another."
"Yes, Doctor. Nevertheless, please answer the question."
"The eyes are very sensitive - very fragile in comparison with most other body parts. They don't tolerate much abuse. So, five minutes every hour max, provided he rests them completely the other 55 minutes. And I'm not kidding. More than that and you risk permanent damage."
"Thank you, Doctor. Spock out."
"So, would he take the doctor's advice?"
"If we were in a crisis situation in which survival depended on regaining the use of his eyes, he would risk the permanent damage without hesitation. Apart from such a crisis, he would heed the doctor's advice. In medical matters, Dr. McCoy is usually correct in his assessments. And he doesn't play games; his opinions are straight truth, as he sees it."
"All right, five minutes it is. What exactly would Jim do?"
"First, he would determine to keep his eyes open for those five minutes, no matter what. Then he would start with a completely dark room. He would increase the level of light as fast as he could tolerate. At the conclusion of the five minutes, he would plan his strategy for the next session, but the bulk of the waiting period would be spent thinking about something else. Possibly, he would sleep."
"And how would he handle the pain?"
"He wouldn't think about it. He would hardly notice any pain-related behavior, nor would he care. He has nothing to prove when it comes to pain management, either to himself or others. At the end of the five minutes, he would take a moment to relax, because the more complete his rest, the more he can endure in the next session, and the faster progress he would make."
"One last question: how is any of this affected by the fact that he is a Christian?"
"It is not. He learned to manage pain many years ago. The iron will with which he drives himself has been part of his personality from childhood. His Christian faith could affect the situation in two ways. First, he would ask the Lord how he should deal with it. If the Lord said to take the pills and sleep through the whole thing, Jim would do it without hesitation. Secondly, if there was someone who needed to see a demonstration of the power of God, Jim would use the situation to ask for the miraculous, and would fully expect God to do what he asked."
"I've seen a couple of those miracles. Well, I'm not Jim Kirk, and I'm not asking for miracles, but I am going to do this."
He programmed the computer to increase the light one level for each minute, starting with one minute of full dark. By the time five minutes were up, Chuck was screaming in agony, with fists clenched and back arched. But he had kept the eyes open and the hands on the bed. And that was all that mattered.
Spock seemed unconcerned about Chuck's lack of control. He didn't even mention it. Instead, he quietly talked about his relationship with Jim Kirk. Sharing story after story, he talked all night long. Every hour, he paused for five minutes, while Chuck tested the limits of his endurance. Then the stories continued as if uninterrupted.
Chuck listened avidly to the stories, for this was a topic he had wanted more data on. And he was able to more-or-less ignore his own misery. But he found that he dreaded those five minute sessions. The agony got no easier to take, and he continued to display out-of-control responses, which Spock continued to ignore.
In spite of his dread, he would not give up. And he did manage to keep the eyes open. It would undoubtedly be easier if he could avoid fearing it. But he was determined to see this through. After the fifth session, he suddenly realized the agony was getting no worse. No better either, but not worse. Each session went to his limit, because they'd set it up that way.
So, at his limit, he screamed, arched his back, and clenched his fists. Did it matter? Not really. What mattered was keeping the eyes open. But he began to wonder if he could manage to avoid screaming. From that moment, he no longer dreaded the sessions. He stopped screaming, tensing his muscles, even gasping for breath. Furthermore, he made much faster progress.
Three hours later, Chuck's control was so good that Spock talked all the way through that five minute session. The next session, the computer announced that light was at maximum intensity. No further level adjustments were possible. When the computer turned the lights off again at the end of five minutes, Chuck realized he had actually been seeing. He did an internal symptom check, and realized the headache was entirely gone. So was the itching and stinging. He couldn't remember if there had been any stabbing pains or not. He hadn't been paying that much attention to it.
"Excuse me, Spock." He interrupted the latest story. "Computer, turn the lights back on."
"At what level?"
"Maximum intensity."
No pain.
"Spock, we're done. I can see, and there's no pain."
"That is good news indeed. What is your level of exhaustion?"
"At the moment, I feel fine, but I'm probably running on adrenaline. Maybe not though. The last four or five hours, I haven't been doing anything much."
They debriefed for half an hour, after which Chuck decided he was fit for duty. "I may need a nap later, but I've felt lots worse than this after pulling an all-nighter."
Dr. McCoy admitted that he passed the physical. He was tempted to give him a psych test too, but opted to quiz Spock instead, since Chuck wasn't exactly a crewman. Chuck gave him a knowing smile as he left. McCoy decided Chuck must read minds; then he remembered what Jim had said about Chuck's earlier career. So giving Chuck a psych test would be a waste of time. He knew how they were scored. Maybe he could get something out of Spock, who waited in his office.
"You wished to see me, Doctor?"
"Is Chuck really as okay as he looks? Nobody but you or Jim Kirk would come out of a night like that, looking as good as he does. Am I looking at a miracle? What happened?"
"I do not believe it was miraculous. He wished to do what Jim would have done. I believe he succeeded. Some of the details were different, but the end result is much the same. He discovered that pain can be not only tolerated, but ignored. He learned that agony even at the limit of his endurance is not a thing to be feared. Having learned these things experientially, he now understands Jim Kirk in a way he could not before. He is very pleased."