Faith
Photo story – The Restoration
Tag: Amputee
Therapy Review: Sundrip. Death and Dying
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
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
Sewing with a machine as an amputee
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
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.Â
I’m new. I’ve changed physically and emotionally. My eyes haven’t stopped watering since the amputation. They water nearly non-stop.Â
I feel like I’m complaining but all I’m trying to say is that laying down new roots at 47 is difficult.
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.Â
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.Â
Jordan
Strong Enough
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.Â
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.Â
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
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
Both works were created after the amputation and are in watercolor and ink.Â
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.Â
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.Â
Faith
Girl Inside
Art by: Faith Magdalene Austin
Art Title: Girl Inside
Media: Watercolor and Acrylic on 98 lb paper
Style: Raw, African Americana, Folk Art, Black Art
Finish: Sealed, signed,
Here’s a close up look at this very emotional piece of a girl with someone else inside.
SUNDRIP – Art for Life
www.sundrip.etsy.com
Don’t Forget Me
My physical wounds have healed faster than emotional wounds. There’s a real fear that time will pass, I’ll ‘look better’, and people will forget that on the inside I’m still struggling.
When all this first happened and for the entire 5 months, friends leaped to my assistance. I had more visitors than I knew what to do with. 🙂 I felt loved. Now that things are going back to my version of normal with Lupus, I fear being left and yet I know the fear is unfounded. My friends love me and I know it, and I know that they were there for me before all this happened. But there’s this fear that all the love and attention is going to stop, and I’ll fade right into the background and be forgotten. I like the feeling of being loved. It’s not entirely new but its new enough that with a taste of it I don’t want to let it go. Continue reading “Don’t Forget Me”
Surviving to Eke out Gratitude
Monday was one of the hardest days I’ve had in a while. It started off with nightmares that stayed with me for much of the day. I tried to go back to bed to start over but had yet another nightmare. Then as planned, I got myself together, got on my horse (wheelchair) and left the house despite mega pain. I went to the shoe store and cried my eyes out in the store unexpectedly. I had no idea the grief would hit me right there in DSW but it did and there I sat crying in my chair in front of people. I felt like a fool.
Later I went to the post office to send out art only to discover that it was Columbus Day, no mail. That would have been fine except I was already at my max of stress and physical pain. Then later the big worry happened, I fell. Continue reading “Surviving to Eke out Gratitude”