Category: Lupus

Anxiety. Support. Long Haul.

Posted on by F.Magdalene

I bought a second sketchbook that’s small and easy to take with me if / when I leave the house. It’s also easier to hold in bed. And for the first time in a good long time, I had to buy art supplies. I was able to get ahold of the paint needed so I’m happy with that.

Right now I’m making the art supplies area more disability friendly.

Symptoms of the clinical depression (my nervous breakdown) significantly decreased but have crept up again. After my aide left, a person with whom I felt safe) abandonment issues began to derail me. At least this time I know better than to wait to see if the depression, anxiety, etc will get better. I immediately began using the skills I’ve learned in the last year so as to never revisit that horrible-for-everyone, deep, hollow place.

I remember thinking that everyone has an invisible line that represents a division between coping and totally losing it. It feel like as long as I don’t cross that line I’ve still got hope of getting better. Well I blew past that line and had no way on my own to get back. I couldn’t reach inside and pull up strength because I was hollow. There was nothing to pull from. I couldn’t even stop or control the emotions anymore. I felt stranded in the middle of the open sea.

I’m not where I was last time but some of the symptoms are troubling. The decline began shortly after being triggered by the loss of a CNA I felt safe with. Right now I am regrouping and using new skills so I don’t again completely fall to pieces.

I’m grateful for art. I can’t believe I did that mental health crisis with very little art. I had no way to redirect anxiety so it felt like it just sat inside eating away at me.

My included art piece shows individuals with solid black skin. I noticed the color of the shirts as being significant. The person who reflects my current state is wearing an orange shirt. I don’t think I’ve drawn my sister, me and my mother together in at least 5 years. This time it’s definitely all three of us, with me in the orange shirt with one foot and extra long arms.

When I looked at the chart created to record color significance, I could see a bit more into what I’m actually feeling. Come to find out, it’s very much representative of what’s going on in my life right now and what I’ve been thinking about.

The Art Therapy gallery explains color and symbol significance.

  • Orange: Fleeting courage or self doubt, ambiguity,
  • Purple: Self worth, pride
  • Black: Emptiness, vacant, does not exist, emotional death
  • Red: Strength, courage, empowered

My mother has been on my mind quite a bit because of my menopause symptoms. I remember seeing some of this as a kind.

I remember one winter my mother only wore a long, thin, black trench coat (it was the 80s ok) despite the fact that it was freezing cold. Several years later she had it so cold in the house that I wore a jogging suit to bed. Fast forward to 2022. The heat is still off. I had no idea menopause would be so life disruptive. My friend said her severe covid was easier than menopause. Wow.

Lastly, I did finish stealing the art piece but I’ve not put new art up for sale. I’m not certain I’m ready for that step just yet. I’m just going to keep at the art while working on emotional issues.

Faith

Wheelchair Life: Grow Where You Want to Grow

Posted on by F.Magdalene

I’m in my feelings today. I feel very limited, if not left behind. I’m mad at wheelchair life right now.

I truly enjoyed being at the park with friends for a bonfire back in October. That was so healing. Right now though, I long to wander, to hike trails and sit under a tree with my dog. I miss that today.

P17fieldfma - on the easel

I hope to get an electric wheelchair soon which would let me get to the front of the building, down a very long ramp then finally on the sidewalk. The sidewalk stops at the property line. No sidewalks. That’s a problem. We’ve lost 2 residents in 5 years bc they rolled in the street. I’m not doing that. There’s simply no where to go off property that’s wheelchair accessible.

I can’t tell you the longing I have to go outside my window and get to those beautiful rocks. I was told that our screens raise up. I don’t have to take it out then struggle to get it back in. I’ll have care again soon so I might test that.

The best way to manage my aching heart here is to do something for others. I feel like a trapped animal right now. Well, let me get outside this trap by reaching out.

Sitting in the grass keeping my problems in perspective

I’m so happy to say that my pen pal list has maxed out. It’s full. I actually have 20 letters that go exclusively to the elderly in nursing homes. They write back 🙂 Also, all the spots for plant homecare / babysitting are full.

I just added a monstera deliciosa from a wonderful person who needs nursing home care due to dementia. These’s a spider plant, monstera, rex begonia and an African violet that I’m looking after. Most are of memory care patients but one is from a person who takes care of her grandfather who has dementia.

It feels good to help with their favorite plants that they’ve taken care of for a long time. It’s something I can give to my friends who have been so giving to me.

There’s a plant that belonged to three generations of very lovely people. I’m so honored! Being able to take the plant torch is an amazing feeling.

Faith

Words to yourself matter, choose them wisely

Posted on by F.Magdalene

Over a week ago I saw my nurse practitioner. We talked about the PTSD from the hospitalization in 2018. I told her that I just can’t paint anymore. I added, “When the legs failed and my foot was amputated, so too was the art in me.” Well, I’ve said that before. I’ve been saying it for nearly two years, but that time I truly heard myself say it and I knew I believe it. That’s a problem for me. Don’t tell me I can’t do this anymore. I was mad at myself. How dare I speak to myself that way?! I can’t be the person I was born as? I won’t accept that.

Point blank, I was born an artist. That art comes in many forms; culinary arts, painting, making dolls and creating terrariums. I’m driven to make things in an artistic way. The only way I stop being an artist is when I stop breathing. It was close back in 2018. Even still I want to be in an artsty urn. It’s already been chosen cause y’all can’t put me in any ol’ thing. I’m just happy I’m not in said artsy urn right now.

When I realized I actually believed that I can no longer paint, like I said, I was mad. Later that evening I got out my paints and started painting. While painting I remembered saying something very important to myself – It doesn’t matter if it’s good, just enjoy the process. That’s the moment things changed.

It doesn’t matter if it’s good! I was willing to have the art piece fail and that is significant. Before getting new depression meds and having a little more clarity, I was too afraid to fail. It felt like I was a failure instead of the art piece not working out. But this time I didn’t internalize its possible outcome. That’s how I know I’m in a different space. I was able to separate the two. I’ve been painting for over a week now. I’m risking a bit more and it feels good.

I didn’t die in 2018. I’m still an artist through and through. Regardless of any amputation, there’s no way to amputate my art. I can’t tell you how relieved I am. I worked hard to get to this day. Oh my goodness I worked hard from the day they told me I wasn’t going to make it until this day. I’ve worked hard. It hasn’t been pretty, at all. Some things I messed up beyond fixing. I know I’ve hurt people by spilling anger or responding while unhealthy instead of just walking away. Why did this happen? Because I’m a speck of dust like everyone else and I do and say reckless things. But I am not a vicious person, just a profoundly imperfect one battling mental health and physical health.

I understand something now. You’d think I grasped this four years ago but I didn’t. I understand that I didn’t die in 2018.

My entire life changed. I can’t walk anymore but I’m alive. I’m extremely limited, but I’m alive! The person I knew myself to be left the hospital and the nursing home, then moved here. I don’t need to be afraid to live.

I was living this life of “why bother, I’m just going to fall over dead anyway. ” I was afraid to live, make attachments and risk a little because I just didn’t want to lose anything else. I feel like I lost so much in 2018 that the thought of losing anything else was unbearable. I was afraid to live. I’m in a better spot but I’m not OK. There’s so much more physical healing and emotional healing to do. I no longer worry I’ll have to endure it without my art.

What I’ve learned is that I believe the words I say to myself. I know you reap what you sew. If I plant tomatoes I get tomatoes. It works that way with words too. I was planting fear in my garden and that’s exactly what I got. Words matter. What I say to myself matters.

Art work – The painting changed quite a bit from when I started. It’s a collage now. And true to form, I’m working on multiple art pieces at once. My studio mascot Joe Schmoe is helping with quality control. He’s such a good studio cat and mascot.

I’ve been putting art in people’s homes since 2007. My 2023 art goal is to fill my own walls with my artwork. It’s time I did that. I’ll give an Etsy update soon.

Speak kindly to yourselves,

Until soon,

Faith

Dignity in sickness and in health

Posted on by F.Magdalene

Content – Death of baby while in the ER. Talk about crying but that’s all.

I was piddling around when suddenly I had to use the restroom. I knew when the feeling came on that I had seconds to get to the there so I raced, but didn’t make it.

This is the life of an amputee. I fall out of the chair or I can’t get there fast enough and wet myself as I fall while trying to transfer to the toilet. It’s crazy!

After not making it and getting cleaned up, I was very tired. I realized I only had one sock on but I was too tired to put on the other or take the one I had off, so I left one off and one on.

As I sat in the chair I began to sweat profusely and to feel nauseated to the point of throwing up. Then I started having a hard time breathing. Inhalers weren’t working. I couldn’t breathe. I hit the Life Alert button on the floor.

What felt like 15 minutes later, the ambulance showed up. Four extra people pushed their way into my space and for some reason it scared me. I didn’t understand why I was afraid AND starting to become combative, but I was.

One of the EMT’s asked why it’s so hot in the apartment. He also said it was extremely humid, too humid for my plants, terrariums, cat and me, he said. He said I was even hot to the touch.

After I got to the hospital they discovered I have an issue with my heart because of chronic dehydration. They didn’t make any conclusions about my breathing problems. No more blood clots though.

They wanted to take a CT scan of my head and chest, which I have done a million times. I got in there, laid down and proceeded to freak out! I said, let me up! The lady rushed to me and said, “What is it? Can you tell me what you’re feeling?” I said, “Rage and fear! Let me up NOW! So I was given Vistaril (glorified benadryl) to relax. About 30 minutes later I took the test and it came back clear. I couldn’t believe how I responded the first time.

The nurses had a hard time getting the IV in bc of dehydrated veins. They stuck me 5 times. My blood kept coagulating too fast while trying to take it. Seems my blood disorder is alive and well.

As I was having my blood drawn a woman in the ER started to cry. It was a gut wrenching cry, the cry that says a child has died. The patients were all crying with her. It was horrible. She cried and cried then screamed, “My baby! My baby!”…… Oh man! I well-up now just think about it.

When she first started crying I asked the nurse if he understood what he was hearing. He said yes, I just heard my own soul break…..

I cried so hard. I mean I wept right there, openly. There is no greater loss or grief than the loss of a child, none.

At that time several ambulances pulled in bc the closest hospital was closed to new people because of ransom ware. People were being placed in the hallway and in any cubby hole they could fit in.

Twelve hours after arriving I was going to be discharged to my Hematologist’s office for further care, but I had to use the restroom before leaving. I told them about my bladder damage but it still took 10 minutes to get to me. I wheeled to the restroom and about 15 seconds before I got to the door, I wet on myself, soaking my clothing. I changed into 2 gowns but was too tired from everything to get those horrid yellow hospital socks back on my feet. I sat double gowned with a bright yellow sock dangling from my amputated foot. I thought to myself, I might have to go back to wearing depends. Sigh.

I just want dignity. Going to the hospital this time was rather humiliating. Leaving in 2 gowns because I wet myself was humiliating. This prompted the painting of a child holding on to a white balloon in the midst of darkness. There are several faces in the dark and a shadow figure to the right and the bottom.

“White Balloon” is in acrylic on paper and is about 5 inches tall. It’s a baby painting with a big message: I’m trying to hold on to and protect my inner peace but everything around me wants a bite.

Faith

Half a Century More

Posted on by F.Magdalene

I started this little painting back in October of last year but I just now finished it. It looks so much better in person than the terrible photograph. This 7×10 watercolor piece has a lot of numbers on it. The numbers are ages that were very significant to me with age 47 being the last significant age on the painting.

The painting shows a young girl who divides the paper. She’s a young me with a split face depicting multiple personalities. Though I don’t know the exact age I split, I’m sure I was fully a multiple by the age of nine. I have a few symbols in the painting like a peanut and a purple butterfly as well as a wheelchair with a sunflower instead of a wheel.

One of the most significant things about this painting is the tree. It is bare on one side and full of colorful leaves on the other. Though they’re fall leaves that are technically dying, the point was to have colorful and lively leaves like seen in the Fall, which happens to be my favorite season.

I call the painting Half a Century More because of what a friend said to me jokingly the other day. I told her I’m about to turn 50 and she said, “Oh, you’re going to be half a century old.” Well I tell you I was floored!!! Wow. Do you have to put it that way? It took a few days to kind of get settled with it but now I think to myself, I’ve lived a half century but I’d like to live a half century more. I’d like to have a lot more art to paint, dolls to sew and days to figure out how to be happiest.

I won’t be 50 until August but I’m so, so exited I can’t stand it. I honestly never expected to see that number. For many reasons I didn’t expect to be here but half a century on and I’m still kicking!

Faith

Anxiety. What if Painting

Posted on by F.Magdalene
All “What if” roads lead nowhere

Of course my head has been everywhere. I don’t feel good at all and the pain of this is constant. At first I thought, it’s just more pain, something I can ignore. I still think that but this is a new pain so I worry about not knowing what the pain means. Is my stomach hurting because the fibroid is larger than before or because it’s pressing against my bladder more? Is it pressing against a nerve in my leg making it hurt, too? So many questions and so few answers.

The GYN associated with the hospital that I’m firing isn’t helpful in one single bit. I called them and left a message. They called me back but I was on the other line with my Hematologist and couldn’t pick up. I figured I’d call them back. When I listened to their message they told me that when they call I need to answer the phone. I was like, what did she just say? “When you call you need to answer the phone.” Really? So I called them back and explained on their voicemail why I was unable to pick up and to please call me again. That was three days ago. I won’t even speculate why they haven’t called back other than to say that they are just a bad hospital and I don’t want to deal with them. I guess their unwillingness to be helpful is yet another clue that I don’t need anything to do with them.

I called because I have questions. I figured I could get my answers and then follow through with my plan to wait for the new provider for treatment. But getting answers from them is a joke. I can’t get through and no one is calling back.

Anxiety is high. I’m spending the extra energy on art and books. I did a tiny little drawing called “What if – Map to Nowhere”. It’s based on the understanding that all ‘what if’ roads lead nowhere. Here in bright colors are all the roads going this way and that way, leading nowhere. It’s a reminder of the map that takes you in circles with no resolution. It is pointless to go round and round with ‘what if this happens’ or ‘what if that happens’? So instead of keeping it all in my head I put in on a 2.5 x 3.5 inch wooden panel and put a magnet on the back. It’s refrigerator art 🙂

Do you need a reminder concerning maps that lead to nowhere? I put this tiny little painting in my shop in the Pay it Forward section. I’ll keep adding tiny art in that section so I can pass along the reminder to keep hoping and keep looking forward. Check it out at www.Sundrip.etsy.com . (SOLD)

Okay, on to the second little tiny art piece I did to relieve anxiety. This one is called Eye to Eye and is also 2.5 x 3.5. The finish on it really brings out the colors. It’s not a magnet though. I’d like to see this one with a tiny little easel displayed nicely.

A few entries ago I talked about Tiny Art. Safe Art where I discussed how this tiny canvas feels safer for me right now. It’s not so huge, like life, and is easier to manage and complete. I’m having a lot of fun creating them, too. It’s something to accomplish that I enjoy and that helps with the anxiety. There will surely be more to come.

I’ve also started on another doll which will be unlike any other doll I’ve shown on Sundrip. She’s not for sale though. I created one a month back and she sold very quickly. I never put her in the shop or showed her on the net because I wasn’t sure how well she’d go over. I did, however, show her to two people in person and one person through email. They all liked her. I’m making another for me because I’m moved to do it. So far I’ve got the body sewn and painted. I’m afraid of showing her because she’s nothing like the other dolls. She’s emotional. I’m worried about the reception so yeah, showing her on the blog doesn’t feel safe just yet. I would be crushed if a cruel comment came in, absolutely crushed.

So, I sit. I wait. I read. I’m currently enjoying The Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. I paint tiny pictures and sew emotional dolls while hoping beyond everything August comes very quickly.

Faith

Sewing with a machine as an amputee

Posted on by F.Magdalene

I sat down to hand sew dolls but my hands cramped and spasmed terribly. I thought I’d try to see if I could use my sewing machine despite half a foot amputated and despite significant nerve damage. I had my CNA bring it to the table but I didn’t try anything until after she left because I didn’t want to embarrass myself if I couldn’t properly feel and safely control the pedal.

There was all kinds of anxiety because I worried I’d press the pedal at the wrong time and sew my hand or something. Anxiety was high but so was my drive to find out if I could do it and save myself some pain while making dolls.

When I turned it on I acclimated myself to how the pedal felt under my foot. I got my brain to recognize the new sensation without automatically recoiling. After a few minutes I pushed the pedal with the machine turned off. I got used to that and got brave enough to turn it on.

I’m so happy I tried. I’ve used the machine several times now and what I discovered is that the nerve damage affects sewing ability. Sometimes the stump hurts too much to add any pressure at all or I can’t feel or control the stump enough to press the pedal. Those issues prevent me from regularly using the machine, but when I can I will use it to my advantage.

It’s been a week since I’ve used the sewing machine but when I was able I sewed the hands and legs for six dolls.

My hands want to give me trouble and my feet are a mess but between the two I am able to offer up dolls I’m proud of. They’re now about 25% sewn by machine but 100% homemade. I still hand paint the flesh tone, put it all together by hand and hand stitch in the hair. I still hand draw and hand paint the faces. The only thing that has changed is using the machine to create the arms and legs. Later down the road I may use the machine to help make the doll’s dress. We’ll have to see where my confidence leads me.

As mentioned in my last entry, I’ve started making bears again. I’m not using the machine with these which means it’s taking longer to finish them. I will post my finished products as soon as possible.

Until soon….

Faith

Sketchbook Pages: Uprooted

Posted on by F.Magdalene
uprooted sundrip

I feel uprooted. Everything is different. My home is great but I’ve not laid down roots here. Most of my possessions are new because the old got thrown out. The only photo of my father that I had was thrown away accidentally. It is gone forever and it hurts.

My dishes, terrariums, plants, shoes, bed, sheets, furniture, everything is different and new. My frogs are new, fish are new. No dog or cat anymore. Heck, my laptop and phone are even new. I realized I have few things that I am emotionally attached to because I’ve not had them long enough. It feels like everything has new roots, nothing is stable, consistent, long term, dependable. 

I’m new. I’ve changed physically and emotionally. My eyes haven’t stopped watering since the amputation. They water nearly non-stop. 

I feel like I’m complaining but all I’m trying to say is that laying down new roots at 47 is difficult.

Outlook sundrip

Art supplies are new. Again, these are observations not necessarily complaints. I love my new art supplies, especially the Winsor and Newton watercolors seen in the photos. Winsor Newton puts out a superior product that I totally love and yet there’s a feeling of sadness because they don’t have longer history with me. It would seem their only history with me is the hospitalization. 

It hurts my heart to think that what all the new things have in common is trauma. So I’ve got to try and change that view to one more positive, something like this: All the new things are associated with SURVIVAL not near death. They are evidence of life, of a future, of deep, deep roots that helped me walk to this very day. 

Jordan

Strong Enough

Posted on by F.Magdalene
Not Strong Enough fma

Today is one of those days where I feel the weight of what happened in the hospital. I feel shocked, stunned, grieved. I can only describe it as a train wreck where I can still hear the sound of metal crumbling around me. What I feel today must be what I was feeling when I drew and painted in this image with the caption: There’s more to do. I’m not strong enough.

We went over the image in therapy and talked about the butterflies included and how they symbolize transformation. Also significant is the green under the eyes which I used to stand for goals of growth and keeping focused on them. Despite that focus there’s dissociation (figures in the tree) to fight as well as feelings of trauma and grief symbolized by the hanging figure between the eyes. Hanging on is my main focus. It’s what’s between my eyes. No matter what, just hang on. That’s what I think the girl in the middle is doing. 

  • Not Strong Enough fma

I look at the color of the dress of the girl hanging on and realize it ‘should be’ a shade of red, however, it is orange paint that drips into red. In my art therapy pieces, orange symbolizes ambiguity, mixed emotions, indecision. Then of course there’s the spiral in the throat. I started that about a year ago when it became very difficult for me to verbalize my feelings. As if through a hole in my neck, the words escaped me.

Recently I’ve felt like an idiot trying to talk, so I just didn’t. I didn’t email or write on this blog for a number of days (never a good thing for me). I just got quiet. Today I feel better equipped to put two words together but I also feel worn thin by it all. 

Tomorrow is another much needed therapy session. Like every Monday, it’s over the phone. However, I’ll be going in to his office every other Friday to see him. In the Friday sessions, Michelle will get dedicated time where she’ll talk about her own art and issues. The goal is for her to do some healing, too.

Faith

Painting Feelings

Posted on by F.Magdalene

In the hospital I felt guilty for putting my friends through worry for me. I felt bad that they worried for five long months, especially around surgeries. When things would get harry I felt horrible for putting people through tears and worry.

In this art piece that expresses the guilt, I put hanging people on the shoulders of a figure standing behind a smaller faceless figure. Both figures have an amputated foot with darkened skin around the amputation site. The figure with the sunflower crown is holding a star in her left hand. 

Guilt fma

In the hospital I worried that the doctors would realize that they were putting forth a lot of effort for a nobody, and when they found out they’d stop caring for me. This piece expresses the issue of low self worth. 

The painting shows a split face which is typical in my art anymore. It shows two faceless figures and a large sunflower at the bottom. Also of note is the yellow hair and orange face of the faceless figure with spike hair. Again, yellow symbolizes disgusting things and there were plenty of gross things in the hospital. For her hair to be yellow is very significant for me. 

Nobody fma

Both works were created after the amputation and are in watercolor and ink. 

The painting above, where I express myself as No One is interesting to me since I had an alter named No One who always painted herself as faceless. That alter changed her name to Jordan and is interestingly enough, the main personality in the group. She is in affect, my face. 

The No One painting is also the inspiration for art where there are two faces as opposed to just a split face. I’ve been doing that in art therapy a lot lately. Dr. D and I talked about that last Friday. 

Faith