I asked you to do the surgery. You said you could or a colleague but I trusted my life in your hands. It felt like there was so much at stake, more to lose than body parts. I can't explain how afraid I was that I'd throw a blood clot or bleed to death. I was so scared I kept calling to my mother!
I had a dream about her last night. She was a helpless infant in my arms. I rolled around in my wheelchair with her head on my shoulder. I made sure she was safe and warm. Safe. ...continue reading "Not Cut and Dry"
I have a few more art supplies coming from Amazon.com which will give my heart another reason to beat happily. I don't look happy in the photo bc I'm not. I was at the beginning of whatever my body is doing right now. I'm hacking and spitting up, vomiting and utterly miserable feeling. That's how my body feels but when I get a visitor I perk right up and chat and laugh like my old self.
My room has changed again. I'm back in the rehab area instead of the nursing home or long-term care section. I was here when I first arrived and it's good to be back.
I am not good with change but this here was needed because I was getting depressed in the other area. I struggled to keep depression low and from consuming me. Over here on the rehab side is much better. I hope things continue to look up.
Dr D and I talked at our regular time. I said I'm hungry but nothing sounds good. I said for several days I've not been myself. I yelled and cursed, complained and refused their assistance. I wanted to be left alone to sleep. The pain was out of control and I couldn't stand it. A few days have passed since the surgery and it's better but still bad, just not screaming, cussing bad.
Of course I'm afraid of the pain. I'm afraid to put my foot on the floor bc it hurts but I'm more afraid of losing progress. I read over entries and think about how strong I felt bc I could get in the wheelchair on my own or bc I was able to get dressed on my own. I don't want this surgery to make all that for nothing.
Healing from this one could take up to 12 weeks. Somewhere in this 12 weeks will my confidence be lost? Can I, one last time, overcome the fear and pain just to know what it feels like to dress myself again? Of course I can, but I want this to be the last time I relearn the basics. I want this to be the last time grueling pain rules the day and night. May I have that, please?
Dr D asked if I've been dissociating or switching. One little one pops out from time to time but usually I'm alone when she does. Ariel is quite young has zero desire to speak to anyone. She pops out because she catches a glimpse of our new teddy bear or tea or something pink. She's sad and upset about how much pain we're in but I don't know if she totally gets why we're in pain. I hope not bc she's just a kid and all this is adult size trauma.
It's coming on 7pm which means it's time to read and relax. Time for another cup of tea. There's always time for another cup of tea.
The Lesson is an art story about the doctor telling me about my blood system. He explained that something about my DNA steers my blood wrong. Instead of living the normal 120-90 days, my blood lives 60-30 days then begins to break down.
When the doctor told me this I thought to myself, I have bad blood, that's what makes me a bad person. This is why my mother can't love me, I'm bad from the inside out. Yup, my head took me there. So how do I rewrite a very old message of being bad and bring my thoughts more in line with the times? I paint and talk to myself.
After some healthy ground techniques I pulled out my watercolors and began to paint symbols from the doctor's visit. I painted a symbolic DNA strand and several levels of blood development.
I really enjoy painting like this. I take something medical and paint how it affected me emotionally. I'm going to keep doing this. Painting is healing for me and it allows me to process realities easier.
I apologize for the quality of the photo. All of this is still being painted, photographed and blogged from bed.
"The Lesson" by
Faith Magdalene Austin
Watercolor and ink
8.5 x 5.5
I will photograph myself walking and post the photo bc it's unbelievable when I say that I walked. I did though. I stood up with the walker and took 24 steps. The physical therapist asked how I felt and I said I had no words. I was emotional and speechless.
I wanted several of the PT's to see me walk. I waited for a few to come in the room and even had one called so she could come to the area. Ha! I felt like a kid on a bike who had to show off that she can balance and move forward. It was like I'd taken a passage from helpless kid who falls behind, to an independent teenager looking to feel her roots. Imagine the emotion and confidence I'll have to walk after surgery and when I get prosthetics and shoes. The first time I walk with them l'm sure I'll be speechless.
In line with medical goals I continue to take the wheelchair outside for activities such as looking at rocks and finding the perfect spot for a cup of tea.
I found a rock shaped like a heart. I painted a face on one and lettered HOPE on another.
It's been weeks since I required assistance getting in bed. It was a vulnerable, helpless feeling not being able to move. But now I can use the wheelchair so I have a measure of independence. Even if I'm in bed for the night, I want the wheelchair within my reach. My anxiety level goes really high if it's not bc I go right back to feeling helpless. I feel like a lump in the bed who can't do anything. ...continue reading "The Mighty Chair"