Threads

A few things have joined up in my head this week. I feel the need to write them down to make sense of them.

First of all, some background information: I am four weeks into my recovery from total knee replacement surgery. I have known that I would eventually need this for about ten years, and for the last five years have been fighting to get onto the waiting list. I have been in increasing pain, and gradually, then rapidly, suffering from ever decreasing mobility.It’s not an uncommon tale I am sure. During recent years I have been working very hard to prove it’s not held me back. I’ve done projects and exhibitions, some funded (with all the stress that implies), some in collaboration, some on my own. I’ve travelled around the UK, to Sweden and to the USA, taking advantage of assisted travel wherever I can. I’ve been a steaming and zooming, “I can do ANYTHING!”, post-menopausal whirlwind. I’ve been trying to prove to myself and others that I am not disabled, merely temporarily and slightly inconvenienced. I became adept at masking pain (mostly) and I went at the world like it was my last day.

And then I had to stop.

It was a planned stop, but up until four weeks before, I had no idea when I would have the operation. I cooked and cleaned, putting batches of food and pre-cooked meals into the freezer. I washed everything, baked, tidied up and did everything I could to make sure afterwards I was able to recuperate slowly, and do anything I wanted, from my armchair. For some stupid reason I got it into my head that this major surgery would be nothing but a physical interruption. I thought I would be able to do everything else from that armchair! I had books to read, a selection of computer-based tasks… nothing was going to stop me at least doing something!

Well that was a load of nonsense. I think I knew it then but the idea of some sort of continuity was keeping me going. I knew this was major surgery, but I couldn’t feel it in my body until it was done. I came out of hospital the day after surgery, a gibbering, terrified, trembling, morphine-soaked wreck. I was armed with crutches, a toilet seat, and a huge bag of drugs. I’d had five minutes “training” on how to use the crutches, told I was “doing really well!” Then sent off home. 

I have to acknowledge here the wonderful support I had on that day from my husband, and the polite, careful but insistent advocation by my son. I couldn’t remember anything I was being told. And I was scared.

The first three days home were weird, still on morphine, and doing physio exercises on the hour, every waking hour. With adjustment of drugs, and some decent food and my own bed, I have gradually found a rhythm, and a calmer state. The pain is still there, but subsiding. The point of all this is though, to say that I have stopped, because I have had to stop. I am now calm. I’m not fighting with myself any more. The initial trauma and response have settled and now I feel I am convalescing. I have made a good initial recovery, but now I need convalescence. It seems to be a forgotten word, and a lost art.

(Thank you Kate for sending me the book Recovery, by Dr Gavin Frances, it has been interesting, useful and very relatable)

I am taking my time. I am resting, sleeping pretty well, doing the exercises and taking myself out for walks, or slowly tagging along with my husband to the corner shop.

My appetite is returning, thanks to Haagen Dazs and salty snacks.

I don’t know when I will be able to drive, but I actually don’t feel in a mad rush for it. I don’t feel able to tackle the stairs at the studio yet, but they can wait.

I have time to look around me now to see what I might do next. 

I am paused.

There are plenty of ideas, plenty of words in my head. In this state of pause they can shuffle themselves around until I am ready for them.

For the first time in probably fifteen years I am allowing myself to NOT fire on all cylinders all the time. Not only am I recovering from surgery, but also from ten years of painful, desperate, over-activity. A feverish decade of trying to prove something I didn’t need to. (To myself yes, but also to people who weren’t listening anyway) I need a break from all that, and from the subsequent energy drain that comes from trying to mask pain. (Because no one wants to talk to the miserable cow in the corner do they?)

So I write this from the aforementioned armchair, and it has been in more detail than I originally thought it would be, and probably longer too. But I wanted to record these thoughts, because I do feel they will be pertinent when I do return to work.

I have a mug of tea, a slice of delicious ginger cake made by my wonderful daughter in law, total control over the tv remote so I can fall asleep to a selection of really crappy and ancient tv detective series.

Repair and healing, physical, psychological and emotional, require time, rest, structured activity, good nutritious food, and love. All of these things I am grateful to have.

I’ll let you know when I start work again.

The holiday is over.

I had my total knee replacement on 27th May.  Just over three weeks ago. It was more brutal than I expected, so I only feel now that I can emerge into the world and start looking about myself. I have not wanted to read that pile of books… not been able to focus, physically or mentally. I’ve not drawn or stitched. Coping with my post-operative state has been enough for my body and mind to cope with. The physiotherapy regime is punishing and all consuming for those three weeks: on the hour every waking hour. But it has worked. They know what they’re doing.

I can now ease back on the hourly schedule to two or three times a day, I can abandon one crutch -which frees up my left hand to use for carrying and doing. My reducing pain management means my head is slightly clearer too. So I look beyond the confines of my own physical existence for the first time.

I’m not able to drive for a few weeks yet, and while I’ve conquered the home staircase, the hard narrow stairs up to the studio still feel daunting.

So what do I do now?

My work has been out in the world, close to home it was selected for the RBSA Drawing Prize, at which I achieved a Highly Commended certificate. Further afield, my Rooted twigs have been in Denmark at Juxtapose, hosted under the Glitter Ball Showroom by Stuart Mayes. Both these events give the illusion of artistic activity, while I recover.

In the last couple of days I have had a couple of ideas I’d like to try next. I’ve jotted them down in my notebook. So when I do get myself up that staircase, I will have something at least to kickstart my brain.

I’ve sunk down through Out of Sorts, nestled into my grief, and given the unsettling sadness a big hug like an old friend.

I have found another gear that I didn’t know existed.

In this extra month between the unsuccessful trip to the hospital and the rearranged one in twelve days time, I have “let go”. I’ve not been to the studio other than to drop things off and pick things up. I have added to the selection of books and have finished off two more that were on the pile.

Before there was a bit of a desperate frantic edge to my collecting of things at home for my post-surgery occupational therapy. But I seem to have found another gear – an extra layer of calm acceptance…

Over the last few days of beautiful weather I have sat in the garden. It’s been between 18° and 21°… perfect for me… I’ve pottered about, listened to birds, potted on seedlings and hung out washing.

In the house I’ve not bothered much about housework but I have tidied up my pile of post op activities and actually started doing them! Knitting and sewing mainly. Repairing clothes, and reconfiguring a vintage patchwork generously given to me by Kate following her Big Sort Out. I’ve not touched my sketch book though, curiously.

I think… maybe… I’m on holiday?

Well… the surgery was cancelled at the last minute, (I won’t bore you with the details) so I am now in a state of limbo. All that preparation at home and in the studio now has me in a sort of holding pattern. My studio is clear, and handed over to Alice, my freezer is full of pre-cooked food, the house is clean and tidy, the washing up to date. My diary is empty. So what to do now?

I had piled up a load of books for post-op reading. One of which I have now read (the daft frothy fiction one for easy reading) and will need to get another for when I go in next time. But the others are sat on the desk, waiting. But somehow I can’t bring myself to open them. I haven’t got the head for it yet. 

I also heard yesterday that one of my songwriting/musician friends has died. This has completely knocked me for six. I am devastated and keep having little cries about him. He was a wonderful kind, generous, gentle and talented man. I admired him greatly and he will be sorely missed. He was a co-writer for some of my Nine Women songs, and played bass and mandolin for a few recordings too. He accompanied me on a live local radio programme at the time. I was so nervous about it, but he was so reassuring and supportive. He was in the band at the start too, and helped form the way we are. I feel privileged to have known him and worked with him, and I can’t believe I will never see him again, or hear him play live… or have a hug and a drink with him. The world is a poorer place without him in it.

So. I am not in a place mentally where I can do anything much creatively, although I do feel I could write some lyrics about my friend. But they will probably be mawkish and sentimental. But I should just do it.

Three of my small drawings on fabric have been selected for the RBSA Drawing Prize Exhibition… I have tried to write a short statement thing about six times and just can’t get it right. The phrase “out of sorts” comes to mind…

I’m experiencing a natural slowing down at the moment. 

Remember the slowing down that happened during that first covid lockdown? When we all stayed home and had time to appreciate what we had (those who did have a home, and those who were safe at home).

I know that this has been cause by my impending surgery and my need to prepare my home and garden, and my mental and physical state. I have not been spending much time in the studio (not least because the stairs are tricky some days). I don’t have a large project on the go at the moment, so there is a natural pause. I have cleared the decks for Alice (my daughter in law) to use the space while I am incapacitated for a few weeks. 

So I am doing gentle housework, garden pottering, and curating my home for gentle sitting when I get home. I’m deciding which books to take to hospital with me, as I will be in for two or three days… something easy and fluffy, and something to make me think a bit. I am actually looking forward to a period of enforced calm. 

The lack of the large looming project, and the winding down process has given me some time to consider what is next. I’m hoping there will be funding for a group project later in the year when I am up and about again, and I’m hoping to be able to take part virtually in the Juxtapose online events as I will have work there in June (but sadly will not be ready to fly there)

So I have things to read, to feed my thoughts during this furlough period… which could be a few months over the late spring and summer. Perfect timing!

I’ve picked up Dandelions again (by Thea Lenarduzzi). And have just finished off Object Lessons by Eavan Boland. Both books talk of childhood, family, and a sense of place that roots us… from very different angles, but they are both speaking to me. I’m always reading several books at once and these two, alongside The Disappearance of Rituals by Byung-Chul Han are providing much food for thought. My idea is that I will finish all three, then pick out a few passages to concentrate on in order to consolidate my own thoughts.

When that’s done I have a few more books to get to grips with, that I have, of course, already started reading/dipping into:

The Patterning Instinct by Jeremy Lent

Metaphors We Live By by George Lakoff and Mark Johnson

And I’m constantly dipping in and out of Lines and Correspondences by Tim Ingold.

I have a love of language and how it forms thought. And also a love of thought and how it forms language…