Category: The People Behind My Eyes

Gratitude: Relief

Posted on by Faith

While learning to live in a COVID world, I’ve begun to venture out and meet new people. I met a woman who was in the segregated south and was living in the thick of historic moments many only read about.

I’m grateful for the loyal love and patience shown to me at this pivotal moment in my life.

My friends love me enough to want to rescue me. They love me enough not to, but to instead walk with me or offer guidance.

I’m grateful for personal acupuncture and vagus nerve therapies. Some of the therapies associated with my ears have stopped panic attacks within one minute. I wear an adjustable helix or daith cuff (ear cuff) to assist with pain management.

I purchased a Trigger Point Stimulator Tool which I highly recommend. It’s been helpful in relaxing neck and side muscles. Sciatica be gone! The one I purchased explains that there are “two crystals inside will create a small electrical stimulus that mimics acupuncture and helps release trapped energy.”

I have enjoyed more peace of mind as of late than I have in a long time. Peace of mind and happiness are not a constant state of being, instead an accumulation of moments.

I’m grateful for plants. I so love plants! They help me focus my thoughts and do something positive with my anxious energy.

Joe has turned out to be a wonderful service animal. I had to look it up if cats can detect and alert illness because it sounds so strange but, three times Joe has loudly demanded that I wake up.

The other day was the 3rd time he insisted loudly, with screeching, that I wake up. I knew what he was doing so I sat on the edge of the bed. I used my rescue inhaler then took all my vitals.

From Senior Cat Wellness

Long story short, he woke me while I was having an asthma attack with terribly low blood pressure and very fast heart rate. When my sitting heart rate went above 106, Joe began to alert me with that horrible screech.

To prevent me from going anywhere, Joe parked himself behind the wheel of the wheelchair and refused to move. He was clearly focused on me with huge, huge pupils.

Begging for ice-cream

When I had to use the restroom I carefully got in the chair. Joe walked beside the chair all the way to the restroom as if he was escorting me. Maybe an hour later I was so tired that I had to sleep. I felt comfortable sleeping bc Joe was watching over me.

Joe with a paw on my leg

How on earth did I score a senior cat who can naturally detect pulmonary issues? I couldn’t be more grateful.

Faith

Pet Woes

Posted on by Faith

Content: My frog died

Its been trying around here. First one of my frogs passed away then the tank itself got broken by a friend.

It feels silly to feel so sad over the death of a frog but this really hurt.

I especially liked Clyde because he was named after the dog I had before the hospitalization. Clyde the frog was a bit of a character. He made me laugh. If there was a bunch of commotion in the terrarium I knew he was in the middle of it. He was my ADHD frog.

Clyde as a baby

I believe it was Wednesday just before talking to my therapist that Clyde’s issue went from bad to terminal. He went from a beautiful color of turquoise to dark emerald green with lime green spots all over. That’s a bad thing. Then he stopped eating or soaking. He started looking for places to hide under. He tucked his head and he sat there.

He ended up with a bacterial infection because the temperature and humidity went haywire. These frogs will be 5 in October. I did everything the same for close to 5 years but suddenly, out of nowhere, the temps wouldn’t stabilize. The temperature was too low and the humidity was way too high, which is what facilitated the infection.

I went to my frog group but they were so unfeeling that I left the group. However, several people messaged me to assist. Long story short, the tank stayed at low temp high humidity for 7 days before the fix came along. That was too much for Clyde and he passed away. His brother Sam is now struggling but the other two are just fine.

Just like I’d do with any other animal, I sat there with him for a minute. I went from shock and disbelief straight to guilt and sadness. I apologized to him. I wanted so much to provide a full, happy lifespan of about fifteen years. He was in my care. It was a hard day.

The tank was the next thing to manage. I ended up purchasing $70 worth of equipment for the tank to stabilize the environment, but I first had to tear down the entire terrarium, disinfect it and put it back together. Well, my friend and I decided to put it back vertically instead of horizontally. We completely rebuilt it and turned on the heat. Well, guess where the heat bulb was placed? On the top panel directly touching the glass.

It sound like a gunshot when it cracked. Honestly, I was in too much physical pain, too physically tired, too emotionally spent to invest any emotional energy in the situation. It was as if I saw a wall come up and place a boundary between me and anything emotional the situation might require.

As I sat there with little expression, she looked at like, “OMG I broke her tank. Should I run?” My calm response was, “Don’t worry about it.” I’m still not angry. I’m overwhelmed.

One of the small side panels now has a large crack / shattered area in the center. While that panel of glass was still too hot to the touch, I had her semi-seal the “crack”. She put clear 3M packing tape on the inside of the panel, with a spatula. It melted. I had her do the same thing on the outside. As it cooled we added more clear tape in rows- neatly! We then stood the tank up and kept going. I need a new tank ASAP.

While the tank was being handled by morons, the 3 remaining frogs were treated with a topical antibiotic and placed in a sterile environment. The recommended medication was $90 but I paid $0 because I already had some. Dodged an expensive bullet!

After the tank was functional and all the frogs were put in, I noticed Sam was more than stressed. He’s stressed when handled. He doesn’t like it at all. Then I put meds on him and crammed him in with the other two frogs. Hours later I put him in a completely different temperature and set up. He doesn’t look good and I’m really worried.

I hope with everything Sam pulls through

When I told Snow that the tank is broken she asked if the friend was going to pay for it. I said no. I told her that sadly, I was going to do the same stupid, ignorant, common sense defying thing she did. I was going to hook it up the exact way she did. So it was six of one, half dozen of another. Either way, that tank was getting broken by one of us lobotomy victims.

It was so dumb. When I sit and think of it now it’s so obvious. LOL I wonder how many people just lost respect for me now that you know I seriously was going to put a heat source directly on glass. LOL. I may need her to contribute to the cost of a suitable vertical terrarium.

Marketplace may be a good option for me at the beginning of August.

Stand and wait

Posted on by Faith

I will wait

I know how it feels to be so broken that it felt as if I’d die where I lay. But it’s true, if you hang on for one more day the urge to act in a permanent way will not be as strong.

When I couldn’t pick myself up, even after the wait, I reached out and my friends reached back. I’m grateful for that.

Faith Austin – Sundrip

A Joe Schmoe Update

Posted on by Faith

As Joe Schmoe recovers he’s getting away with murder. LOL This furry, green eyed boy seriously rules me.

Joe prefers the right side of the bed, well that’s also the side I want to sleep on. If he’s already sleeping there I won’t move him I’ll just sigh and grumble as I sleep on the left. If he’s sleeping comfortably on the blanket I’ll wait for him to get up.

When I was making all sorts of concessions and adjustments for the boy I knew then I’m wrapped around his paw, tightly.

I can get wrapped up in the blankets like a burrito hugging a pillow, but my zen moment will be interrupt by his paws walking across my back and over my head. He’ll ignore 3 other pillows just to try to fit himself in the crook of my arm hugging the pillow. Several times I’ve given him that pillow and hugged another only to have him find a way to be part of the moment. Lol

Joe, the Sundrip studio cat, is definitely improving since his stroke. He was so…. absent for awhile….. physically alive yet absent. It’s a relief to see his personality come out.

Joe is back to

  • thinking his food bowl is empty bc he ate a hole in the middle and he can now see the bottom of the bowl.
  • to standing half hidden behind a curtain in some creepy stalker way, observing me from a far, as I use the restroom.
  • Resumed his hobby of bombing Zoom meetings
  • and critiquing my art. He takes his job as studio cat very seriously.
Joe – Sundrip Studio Cat

I figure he’s going eventually going to be 100%.

My hard lesson has been learned.

Faith – Joe’s mom

Therapy Review: Sundrip. Death and Dying

Posted on by Faith

Content: Self love. Sundrip and social media. Death and dying. Sexual Assault.

We talked about shame and guilt. Guilt is for actions but shame describes who I am.

Self Love. We talked about fear as it relates to self love. I fear saying I’m worth loving because doing so means I have to fully accept that my mother was wrong. To a certain degree I still deny the full impact of her actions and what she allowed.

I know I have self love to a certain degree. I said I love you to myself for the first time ever.

An opportunity for further targeted psychological treatment has opened up to me. I’m not in the mental health space to accept it but the offer stands. The practitioner, aka Hippie Therapist, will allow me to video conference. This doesn’t replace Dr D.

Sundrip. I’ve said several times over the years that I’d like to walk away from Sundrip.com as it is now. I know in my heart I can’t simply shut things down. Sundrip is my baby, but I think it’s time to bring this to a change from what it is now. It has been definitively decided that I’m closing the blog part of Sundrip in five months time. Why 5 months? Three months are too few but 6 is too long. I need to take gradual steps. I’ve set a date.

This is going to be difficult but needed. The world has changed since I started this blog. The internet has changed. Honestly, I fear I have too much to lose by continuing as is.

Death and Dying. We spoke about how I gasp and sit up in bed because of feeling like I’m on the gurney, at the hospital being wheeled to a surgery I wasn’t expected to survive. That was 2018 but it still haunts me. For days I said goodbye to my friends. We wept and supported each other. I apologized for the hurt I was causing by being in that condition. I said goodbye to my long term therapist. I so did not want to hang up.

It felt like I had been given the death penalty and that at 11am (?) I was going to die.

That hallway was long. The room was cold. They asked me to take a deep breath. It felt like I was participating in my own death. I wasn’t supposed to survive that, so I felt like I was asked to take my last breath. Breathe deeply and go to sleep w a 15% chance of surviving. I took a deep breath in and exhaled the name of my God. The anesthesiologist was brilliant and supportive.

When I woke from a surgery done only a few times in the United States, the nightmare wasn’t over. Did I survive a 10 hour surgery only to bleed to death? The nurse held my juggler closed with her hands because I would not clot. Another nurse held the artery in my groan. Other means to stop the bleeding were used too but the main way they got it to stop was to clamp them manually w me awake.

Despite the violence in my childhood, I never begged my mother for my life or for her to stop. In the hospital that day, w the sheets turning red, I begged the nurse to please not let go. She said she wouldn’t. She said to be quiet, turn my head to the left and look up. Eventually I woke up in the arms of my friend. The first thing she said was, I never knew you were this sick. This is Lupus? She held me.

Amazingly, I only have one physical scar from the surgery to get all the blood clots. Despite the foot being dead, I had to wait 2 more months before they could amputate it. The skin began to slough off. That sight is burned in my head.

The recovery room after the blood clots surgery was interesting. My bed was in the middle of the room. It tipped in different degrees, went all the way to the floor and quite high up. I had my own nurse. I was her only patient. I still remember her name.

There was a large area w homey furniture to the right and down a step, other friends were allowed to stay. I was in complete shock and so was everyone else.

Daily, for five months they took my blood directly from the vein, not the IV. I understood why but it still felt like torture. Changing the bandages on my new stump sometimes took 2 hours. It was torture. I felt like I was going to crack.

Dr D and I are discussing possible emotional and cognitive issues as a result of the stroke. We don’t feel that Pseudobulbar affect (PBA) applies to the fullest extent, but we are exploring emotional differences since the stroke.

What I’m aware of at this point is that I’m unable to emotionally or physically cope. I feel like my insides are missing and have been replaced with a dark hole and overwhelming despair. I don’t feel like I can reach inside for strength because I feel hollow.

In 2020 I was assaulted. Where am I safe? How do I protect myself? I’m afraid.

I need mercy.

Faith

Dignity in sickness and in health

Posted on by Faith

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 Faith

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

Paranoia Art

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When I was young my mother used to tell me quite often that a person was trying to punish her for a perceived slight. She constantly accused my sister and myself of stealing money from her purse even though neither of us had done so. I didn’t realize then it was paranoia but now I see her behavior so clearly that it frightens me.

As she got older her paranoia got even worse. She feared I was trying to kill her, feared my sister had conspired with me to kill her, so on and so forth. She trusted no one but her baby sister, no one.

I fear being like her in this way. I have recently had bouts with paranoia, nothing like she had, but paranoia nonetheless. I don’t fear people are watching me or trying to kill me. I just watch everything because I don’t trust much. I then become obsesses with matters until I exhaust my mind.

My paranoia worries me. My obsessions worry me. I hope that I’d accept medication and treatment if things got to the point of how they were with my mother.

This 7×10 piece was drawn then painted in watercolor in my art journal pad. It shows a young girl (me) with her eyes closed and an unreal world swirling around her. Her body twists into a background of watching eyes that trust nothing.

Faith

It’s Friday!

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Ah yes. It’s Friday. There will be popcorn and beer, art and music. Let’s get this party started!

Me, looking unmotivated

The studio shelves are stocked with supplies. I’m ready to go. I’ve been working on a small piece for a few weeks now and I’m past ready to finish it.

It’s been a week of high anxiety and OCD symptoms but I’d like to put all that behind me and just have a little fun. So that is what I’m going to do.

Faith

Lola – Queen of Sorrows

Posted on by Faith
Lola

She accurately represents how I feel often. I wish I could say that I’m okay and that life is good. I mean really, complaints should be few but in general I’m not a happy person.

I named her Lola because in some languages it means Our Lady of Sorrows. It seemed so appropriate.

Lola is my third handmade sad doll. I made her with real hair this time instead of yarn. I really like the look. Lola is in my personal collection and sits where I can see her each day.

Some have described her eyes as knowing and with a story to tell. I just think they look wide and sad, much like my eyes as a child.

I made Lola a little sister named Victoria aka Victory. She’s not a sad doll. As a matter of fact, she’s a doll that is at peace. She’s not grinning but she is full of life and innocent. Victory is also in my private collection.

Victory

Now comes Grace. Grace was to be the 4th sad doll but she ended up not looking so sad. I like little Grace.

Grace

I like her wine colored dress and the bow in her hair (not shown in the photo). She’s wearing a second-hand Gloria Vanderbilt dress. I couldn’t believe I found that little tiny dress. It’s just adorable. I added a small heart button and put the tiniest, little gold details on it, not much though. The dress is simple which is what I like about it. I added a small piece of gold hair jewelry to her long, braided, yarn hair. Little Grace will be going home with my new nurse’s aide next week.

So while I deal with some sadness and depression right now, I’m out here making dolls and doing my best to manage life.

Faith