Recovery

 

This word describes so many things in my world right now. Maybe yours too? Unexpected things happen to us and around us over which we have limited or no control. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like to not be in control. It’s frustrating and scary. But it’s a place we all know well and if we can share it in our common space, maybe we can find ways to pull through it all together. 

Seasonal lessons.

I am in a season of recovery. I am home from the hospital successfully put back together. I’ve known for many months I needed help. I knew my body’s pain was a message and while I tried to get help, all I got were bandaids in the form of antibiotics. I went from winter to spring to summer and fall asking why I kept having UTI’s. I got no answers.

 

A few weeks ago, a CT scan showed an abscess from last year had never left my body and was leaking bacteria and causing all those UTI’s. The cure was abdominal surgery and reconstruction. I am now ‘fixed’. 

While the trees drop their leaves and prepare to rest through the winter, it is my time to rest as well. It’s hard for me to drop my routines. Pulling and pushing and rolling out clay. Doing yoga. Lifting weights. Picking up my grand baby. But, to recover my strength, I must rest. 

Color therapy. 

The leaves in the park are falling, layering the grass and walkways in layers of color. I love all the gorgeous red, yellow, orange and purple. And even though I don’t like brown, it adds a base for the other colors to shine. 

Like the trees outside, I let my fears and anger and shock and sadness drop like leaves from the past year. I see the layers of branches unseen before like organs in my body, the structures now strong.

As I walk through the park, I drink in the layers of color. I bend myself gently to pick up a few fallen leaves to take home. I play a little with watercolors and pens and yarn. And I read and rest and eat and nap. 

And just as the trees bud in spring, I feel the prickles of nerves searching to unite and flourish once again. 

Searching for answers

And finding none

Be brave 

Time will tell 

And all will be well. 

Easily Dismissed

I  sit here looking out the window from a hospital bed.  Watching the fog move over and around the trees, some turning red and yellow, some green, I wonder how did I get here? It’s a long story filled with fear and confusion and, yes, sexism. 

You see, I am a 69 year old woman. I have grey hair and grandchildren. I am considered and dismissed. I am not seen as valuable or vital or powerful. 

And it pisses me off.

Working women unite. 

Remember the ‘Women’s Movement’? I was one of those women. I went to rallies. I marched. I was going to change the way it had been because my generation of women were serious and dedicated to advancing right along side the men. 

And I did. 

I started in college as president of Women In Communications. I worked at the college newspaper, radio and TV stations. I won an award for a public service TV spot about ageism. And how important it was for people of all ages to be valued. Funny that I should find now, decades later, nothing has changed the negative view of older people. 

I worked in advertising writing copy for newspapers, radio and TV. I handled some of the city’s biggest clients. I won local, regional and national awards. I wore a suit. I carried a briefcase. I also handled broadcast production writing, directing and editing. 

Then I had a baby and it all changed. Why? I didn’t want to park my babies in daycare five days out of seven. I had worked in a daycare center in high school, so I knew a little more than others how that worked. Yes, there are many dedicated teachers and childcare workers, I know because I was one of them but there are also those who are there to do as little as possible. And those who treated some children terribly. 

I couldn’t let that happen to mine. So I freelanced in advertising while taking care of my babies. 

Not easy to do then. No email or internet or remote work yet. I did my best. When that door closed on me, I went back to school. 

Another creative career. 

My goal was to do art residences. My teacher said, do your art first. So I did. I painted and sculpted and, yes, wrote. I’ve been showing my art in galleries and shows and doing residences for over 20 years now. I love it. And I’m still doing it.

My art has changed over the years, as I’ve changed. I went from painting to sculpting to throwing clay. But one change has hit me hard: ageism. 

“You remind me of my mother, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

That’s exactly what a doctor told me 8 months ago, when I went in with bladder pain. He did a test he said would come out negative. It was positive. On and on and on I went from doctor to doctor, clinic to clinic, urgent care to urgent care, being given antibiotics and sent home with the words, it’s not a problem. 

And because I’m a gray haired lady, my symptoms were, like me, dismissed. And because I was told that over and over it was not a problem, I started to deny my own pain and believe it. 

Until finally, a doctor in the hospital ER said, you need an operation. Scary, yes. But now, I sit recovering from a colon operation. I had a great doctor. I was moved to a floor with incredible nurses who listened and helped me so much. 

I was, finally, not dismissed. 

I’ve felt so much fear and confusion and pain. And now, anger. 

What could have been done to save me from this situation?

Maybe being a man? 

Ever heard of PFD PT?

 

I hadn’t either. I’ve hesitated writing about it because it deals with a part of the body most of us don’t talk about. And the symptoms can be tricky to figure out. But it’s very common in women and some men. Ok. Here you go: PFD stands for Pelvic Floor Disfunction. 

According to Wikipedia:  “Pelvic floor dysfunction is a term used for a variety of disorders that occur when pelvic floor muscles and ligaments are impaired. The condition affects up to 50 percent of women who have given birth. Although this condition predominantly affects women, up to 16 percent of men are affected as well. Pelvic floor muscles can be too tight or too loose.” 

I never knew about it until after my surgery in December. After struggling with pain for many months, afraid something was really, really wrong with me, I was sent to get physical therapy. 

How weird is that?

I couldn’t even understand the situation much less the process. It was intense. There were many things I had to keep track of: fluid intake, fluid output, sitting and standing positions. I had exercises to do during the day. 

Luckily, I’ve been doing yoga for decades so many of the exercises were close to yoga poses I’ve done before. And just like any exercise program, consistency is key. I happen to like doing yoga, so it was easier for me to adapt to the routine. Instead of just of doing yoga moves before I walk in the morning, I’ve added yoga moves to do three times a day. 

There’s a FB group for that.

Yup. In case, like me,  you’ve never heard of it, google it. There’s a huge FB group called Pelvic Sanity sponsored by a Physical Therapy group in California. It helped me to understand the pain I was going through and most of all, that I was not alone. But warning: TMI, some of it is a little too much info. 

It took time to get into a physical therapist, but it really helped me. I learned so much and made a lot of progress. I have days without pain now. And I’m very aware of the signals that my body needs a break. I learned that listening and doing my yoga moves make all the difference in the world. 

I was a little uncomfortable about sharing this publicly in a blog, but I spent months and months in the dark, in pain. And if this helps someone else find help sooner, I’m glad.  

Beach Anniversary

 

I realize I haven’t written a blog in September at all! Wow. What have I been doing with my time? Working to finish new work. Doing inventory and packing it up to take it to a gallery. 

I’m so grateful to have a body of work completed. Sometimes it feels like I’m never going to get there and then, I do. 

The gift of a trip.

My wonderful husband asked me what I wanted for our anniversary. I didn’t hesitate. I said, I’d love to go to the beach. Rent a place with a great view of the ocean where I can  sit on a comfy couch and read a book. 

Not very exciting, I know. But after COVID and the flooded house and my surprising emergency hospital visit, I needed quiet and cozy. And I needed to sit and watch the waves come in and go out. I needed the softness of the sand and the tranquil ebb and flow of the ocean. And, of course a beautiful sunset or two. 

Sunsets. 

I love to watch the sun set. The changing colors and clouds moving is my kind of Zen. What I didn’t expect is to be a bit overwhelmed by it all. We’ve been to the beach many, many times in our lives but this one hit me hard. 

We haven’t been anywhere since before COVID. I forgot how much packing and planning and organizing it takes to get us to the beach and back. Dog beds and food. Our food. Our clothes. First aid and medicines. Comfy books, iPads, phones, and of course, crochet. That part was definitely stressful for me. 

But once we got there and saw the view, I knew it was going to be great. It was a spendy anniversary gift for sure. But it was really worth it. 

Sometimes you need to get away

To see new colors 

Hear new sounds

Smell the sea

Feel the comfort of coming home. 

Waiting

 

Today, I’m waiting. I know we all spend a lot of our time waiting. Waiting in lines. Waiting in traffic. Waiting for appointments. Waiting even longer on the phone to make appointments. 

I’m also always waiting on Mother Nature. Clay needs to take its time to dry, to be bisque fired and color added. Then another layer of color is added and another firing. 

Now, I have new ceramic pieces that need to be glaze fired to be finished. But outside the temperature today will be in the 90’s and I don’t need to create any more heat. So I’m waiting. I’ve really had enough heat for the summer, I’m ready for fall. 

Falling leaves and changing colors. 

My hydrangeas are already changing color. The beautiful blues and purples are slowly fading and this year, I’m not sure if they’ll turn that lovely shade of burgundy or fade to white. But right now, I’m enjoying them in their blue/purple loveliness along with the last of my roses. 

I used to hate fall. It meant back to school with lessons and homework. But now, I look forward to the cooler weather and falling leaves. Every year, I wait for a few trees in the park to drop their gorgeous big leaves. I pick them up carefully and take them back to my studio. 

Art from Mother Nature. 

I take these big beautiful leaves and carefully clean them, smooth them out and layer them underneath damp paper towels. I roll out slabs of white clay, carefully lay out a leaf and roll over it to press the leaf into the clay. As I roll, I press veins, edges and even holes into the clay to get all of the wonderful details that I love so much about these tree leaves. 

After I cut them out, they dry slowly under layers of plastic sheeting so they don’t crack. Once they’re dry enough, I bisque fire them. Then, they are washed with a blue/black underglaze I mix up and fired again. Once that’s done, I can glaze fire them. 

It’s a long process. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned working with clay, it’s worth the wait. 

Waiting is not easy. 

Taking the time to let clay or glaze dry

Mother Nature is more patient 

Each season comes in it’s own time

Something I am still learning