Category: Chronic Pain

The Brave Face

Posted on by Faith

I’m not brave. I’m not. I’m not rolling with the punches, I’m just getting punched. As I said, I’ve walked through the fire and I’m all burned up. I’m skinny, starving for a moment of real rest, of relief.

“The surgeon” will see me one more time in 3 months then that’s it. Really?! That’s all? You take my toes, wham bam thank you ma’am, I wash my hands of you? That’s how this works? And I’m just supposed to go on too, business as usual?

This is the second time he’s asked me to paint him something. So I will get a canvas and paint every tear I’ve sobbed! I’ll paint the times I covered my face and rocked back and forth in shock, “Oh my God!” so I can’t see what other trauma is next. I just cover my face and rock.

He gave me a script for an insert that will allow me to wear whatever shoes I want. He said to get a good brand of cocoa butter for my foot and the scars so the black scars will fade. I’ll buy new Chuck Taylor shoes after the insert gets here. I’ll walk around with no outward knowledge that anything is missing. I’ll limp but people won’t know why.

I will paint “the surgeon” a piece of this entire experience from fear to anguish to anger, loneliness and even gratitude. He’s going to get a painting of trauma because that’s what’s left in the wake.

Jordan

The Surgeon Who Stole My Toes

Posted on by Faith
Stone and Shadows
Stone and Shadows

I see “the surgeon” tomorrow, the one who amputated my toes. I wonder what kind of person it takes to look at a foot rotted black, take a saw and hack off a body part to be thrown away? What allows his mind to go there and his hands to follow? Though beyond repair, black as night, shriveled to nothing and dry, they were still mine.

My heart knows 100% that this surgeon was one who helped save my life, mine and many others. He is loved and honored, rightfully put on a pedestal. He has taken people with slim odds and brought them back from the brink. In my heart I see him that way, but behind my eyes I see the man who methodically removed part of me and threw me away.

Faith Austin

The Lesson

Posted on by Faith

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.

Jordan

“The Lesson” by
Faith Magdalene Austin
Watercolor and ink
8.5 x 5.5
98lb paper

Therapy Review: Permission to Speak

Posted on by Faith

Holding out for MoreI saw my psychiatrist today. We talked about the suicidal feelings. She asked if I feel suicidal at the Kingdom Hall. I said no, I feel like I can make it one more day. She and my psychologist suggested I stick close to the brothers and sisters. but especially try my best to be there in person.

I know my attitude stinks. I’ve got to pray much more about that……

Dr. D and I are taking on an art project where I let my body speak. Often I form experiences and emotions on canvas but they’re from my head. They’re all but photographs of my mind at that time. The rather large therapy painting will be a painting where body expresses itself as it goes through medical changes.

Imagine not speaking the language of anyone around you. Pictures are all you’ve got to tell how you experience the world, the world where there is only one person, one physical being. Now that body has to try and free itself of silence so that bitterness is released. It needs to speak and I can tell and I have a feeling this assignment will be very emotional, humbling and beneficial. I think I’ll have a sense of freedom. I think it’ll give me relief.

A moment of self talk

Continue reading “Therapy Review: Permission to Speak”

The Master of My Ghosts

Posted on by Faith

There’s an old, half blind dog lying on the porch. That old dog is me.
.

His daytime howl is common, almost a fixture in his home. He growls at shadows and charges falling, dry leaves as though they were a personal attack on himself and the dilapidated house he protects.

He can hardly see. He doesn’t hear clearly or process like others. This old dog with half an ear and legs born lame, feels so far removed from a living thing that even the softest touch can in an instant turn from intimacy to biting distrust.

Continue reading “The Master of My Ghosts”

A Month of Strings 2

Posted on by Faith

I’m still trying to come to terms with the health scare.

Patience - unavailable
Patience – unavailable

I micromanaged every move for fear it would be my last. I thought about a journal I’ve lost touch with, a girl who wrote about the “indignity of death.” How is she? Where is she? I cleaned my room because no one should have to clean it up. I started to take out the trash but I was tired. Then I thought, if I won’t be here tomorrow I should turn off the heat, ya know? I thought about doing my hair then realized it wouldn’t matter. I never thought, I need to throw away this or that so no one finds it.

Continue reading “A Month of Strings 2”