Author: Joy Murray

In the last few months I’ve seen spectacular sunsets.  I’ve not been well, so I spent some quality time staring out the window.  And the sunsets have been earlier and earlier.  My heart yearns for the solstice, and the beginning of longer days.  In that spirit, I painted this 8×10″ sun RISE painting in acrylic.

I used thinned down pigments and many layers.  I liked layering darkness, then blotting it up to reveal the under-layers of light.

As I’ve aged, the winter solstice has become more and more of a sacred day for me.  Even if I haven’t been through hardship, getting through the year to that moment seems like a rite of passage.

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(I wrote this post 2 years ago, but wanted to share it again.  Hope you have a great Thanksgiving, and don’t stress out if your sorrows seem to outweigh your gratitude.)

I remember the Thanksgiving I began the tradition of asking everyone at the table to tell something they were grateful for.  Before then, we might have said grace or not, depending on who was there.  My extended family’s spiritual practices ranged from out and out atheists to Southern Baptists.

I didn’t have a particular religion, but I was spiritual, whatever that means.  I was in my mid-30s.  My two children were 9 and 10, I believe.  I don’t remember who in the extended family was there, except my younger brother.

He was around 30 and had been dealing with schizophrenia for about a decade, mostly through denial.  We were all in denial.  I’d hoped that the prompt would help him find something inside himself to be grateful for.  He was an incredibly creative and energetic person at times.  I wanted him to see that in himself.  Or to be grateful that he had a place to live, or for the food we were eating.  Something.  Anything.

When we got to him, he scowled and muttered that he had nothing to be thankful for.

“Nothing?” I asked.

“Nothing!” he said.  It broke my heart.

My gregarious and kind husband relieved the tension by talking about being thankful for family and food and some other things.  I’d had lots of experience covering up a broken heart, so it was easy to get on with the festivities.  My brother left after he ate.

I think he only spent one more holiday with the family, but each Thanksgiving, I remember that scowl and statement.  I’ve actually become grateful for it.  It reminds me that gratitude has its limits.  It’s taken me years, but it taught me that I can’t brush away, cure, or repair the darkest parts of life.

Minds, hearts, and bodies are so fragile.  Those who appear strong have invisible cracks and fissures on their souls that no amount of gratitude or denial can repair.  But we keep breathing and moving forward.

Unbearable things happen and we must carry them.  Some of us do it with grace, some of us with anger and despair.  I’ve carried my burdens both ways.  Sometimes I think anger and despair is the more authentic reaction, but the more I intentionally practice gratitude, the more I realize there are an infinite number of invisible forces helping me bear my burdens.

Since that Thanksgiving, my brother died a sad and lonely death, my own health has deteriorated from a disease called Transverse Myelitis that has compromised my strength, energy, ability to walk, and my ability to have a job.   Other loved ones have died, have suffered injuries and losses.  Wars have continued to mar and scar the world.  We rush blindly toward our own destruction.

And yet, and yet…I’m more and more grateful for the challenges and heartbreaks I’ve experienced.  I’m so much more aware of how one thing carries the other, how we are always in darkness and light, always fully alive but stumbling toward the mystery of death.

The book Waking: A Memoir of Trauma and Transcendence by Matthew Sanford, is the story of the author’s journey to healing after being in a horrific car accident when he was 13.  His family’s car skidded off an overpass, killing his father and sister and leaving him paralyzed from the chest down.  A quote from him that I hold close to me is:

“When I ‘left’ my body during my traumatic experiences, it was my body that kept tracking toward living.  It was my body that kept moving blood both to and from my heart.  Often, as we age and can no longer do what we once could, we say that our bodies are failing us.  That is misguided.  In fact, our bodies continue to carry out the processes of life with unwavering devotion.  They will always move toward living for as long as they possibly can.”

My life seems dark at times and I think I can’t bear another challenge.  I’ve learned enough, thank you very much.  Nevertheless, more challenges are coming for me.  As long as I walk this earth, along with every other human, I’ll struggle with loss and sorrow.

So my work is to not let it blind me to the beauty of nature, the cycle of seasons, the comfort of good friends and the blessing of a roof over my head.  I have to make an effort to balance the light and the dark.

A week ago, I was talking to a child in the neighborhood about being caught out in a rainstorm.  She said, “I saw you!  You were talking to a plant.”

I laughed.  I was actually taking a picture of a maple sapling growing from the center of a rhododendron bush, but I was in fact, talking to a plant.  Or communing with it.  Capturing it, too, treasuring it.  It was a thing of beauty on a cold stormy day.  I’m glad I didn’t keep my head down in the rain and miss these growing things.

I know one day, my life will be over, and I’ll flit away into the mystery.  While I’m here, I’ll continue to pay attention when I can, and cry when I need to.

I’m mortal.  That’s the thing I’m most grateful for.

I’ll end this with a link to a lovely review by Maria Popova on Brain Pickings of a posthumous collection of Oliver Sack’s essays that he wrote while he was dying, aptly titled Gratitude:

https://www.brainpickings.org/2015/11/24/oliver-sacks-gratitude-book/

Thanks, my friends, for reading my post.

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If you’d like to support my art and writing, please consider becoming a patron on Patreon:

https://www.patreon.com/user?u=8001665

You can get prints and cards of my work on Redbubble:

https://www.redbubble.com/people/JoyMurray/shop?asc=u

I had a pinched sciatica nerve for about a month.  It’s caused severe pain every day for that long.  I have moderate pain most of the time from osteo-arthritis in my hip, knee, ankle and toes.  This is caused by my limp from my neurological problem, transverse myelitis, which started when I was 16.  My right leg is atrophied and weak.  I walk by leaning over a bit, and kind of throwing my right leg forward.  Still, I walked a lot and even rode a bike until my mid 30s.   Since then I’ve had to use a cane, then a walker, and now I’ve added a wheelchair to my collection of assistive devices.  I’ve accepted these challenges with relative grace, though I also have bouts of terrible depression and feel defeated.

The pinched nerve caused pain all down my right leg.  I couldn’t find a position that was comfortable except flat on my back.  My doctor  was out of town.   I went to a minor emergency clinic and they gave me an anti-inflammatory shot, which helped for a few days, and gave me a referral to an orthopedic clinic.  That was on a Friday.  The following Monday, a friend drove me miles and miles to the clinic.  There was a 3 hour wait once we got there

The doctor took x-rays of my hip.  When he came back with the film, he was concerned about the curvature of my spine.  I gave him my information sheet that told of my neurological history, and my latest MRIs.  He glanced at my information then suggested a course of steroids.

“I’m concerned about taking steroids.  I have a bi-polar disorder and I’m afraid I’ll have a bad reaction.”

He looked slightly put out.  “So are you like Robin Williams or do you just have mood swings?”

My brain froze and my guard went up.

It’s very hard to admit I have a mental disorder.  It’s hard for anyone.  I think the doctor may have been asking if I was suicidal, but I thought he was asking if I was talented like him, or as wild as him, or — I don’t know what.  I don’t think I have it as bad as Robin Williams did, but like so many with bi-polar and mood disorders, I do have a little voice inside me that whispers I’d be better off dead.  I’m afraid if I get manic on steroids, I might not be able to ignore it.  I’m between psychiatrists right now and am self-managing, so I don’t really have a good team to consult or keep an eye on me.  But I couldn’t say any of that.

“I self-manage now, so I guess it’s not severe but…”

“We can put you a short course of steroids to get the inflammation down and then we can figure out what the next step.”

“Can’t you give me an anti-inflammatory shot?”

“That’s not going to do much…” and after that all I heard was blah, blah, blah.  I was standing on one leg and leaning against the examination table.  My mind started going in circles.  I wanted out of there.  My fear of being a “bad” patient, not following doctor’s orders, and my feeling of insecurity about admitting my mental disorder had erupted.  I kept a calm face, said I’d take the steroids, told the nurse I’d call in three days and then I got the hell out of there.

I didn’t take the steroids.  I was already fighting a compulsion to chop all my hair off.   I’d been in bed so much, that every time I looked in the mirror, it felt I was wearing a rat’s nest.  But cutting my hair off is a compulsion that flares up from time to time, and usually I resist until I can get to a salon and have it properly dealt with.  (Actually, a good way for me to fight that compulsion is to start an art project involving scissors.)  I could see me on steroids shaving my head bald, then deciding I’d ruined my life, and then…. I was gripped with fear, and felt stupid, too, for being so fearful.

I called my pharmacy to cancel the prescription, but the clinic hadn’t called it in, so that seemed like a sign that I’d made the right decision.

I spent a lot of time in bed, sometimes in tears because it hurt so badly, and isn’t my life challenging enough as it is?  Must I go through this, too?  I thought about the people who think I’m an inspiration.  If they could see me now, bitching and crying and whining like a little weasel weenie.

But my doctor was back in town after a few days.  He’s a great doctor.  I heard him in the next room talking and laughing with an elderly woman.  Then he came in my room.  I was stretching out my leg, leaning on the examination table, in obvious pain.  He gave me a hug.  I told him the steroid story, and he shook his head.  “You shouldn’t have to put up with that.”  He increased my pain meds, changed my anti-inflammatory meds, gave me an anti-inflammatory shot, and called my neurologist to get my appointment with him changed to an earlier date.  He gave me stretches to do that helped.

So thanks to him, I was able to work on my paintings a few hours a day, and have the art show I planned.  Then a few days ago, I woke up and the sciatic pain was gone.   And due to the different anti-inflammatory meds, my normal pain is at a very low level.

I was so glad I waited it out.

It wasn’t the first time I’d refused steroids.  When I was younger, and they hadn’t figured out exactly what was wrong with me and there were no MRI, I seemed to have the symptoms of multiple sclerosis.  One neurologist I was seeing had been very nice to me, but when I refused steroids, he told me he wouldn’t see me anymore.  “There’s nothing I can do for you.”

I know many people who’ve been helped by steroids.  And I might take them in the future.  If I lose strength in my upper body, if I lose my sight, I’ll try them if that’s the best option.  I’ve talked to psychiatrists about it and they agree that steroids are risky for people with mental health problems.  I would need to be monitored.  Another fear then pops up.  Will I have the good sense to ask someone to monitor me?

After this little drama, though,  I’m more confident that I will.  I’m also more confident that I’ll worry more about my own health, my unique situation, and less about following the doctor’s orders.

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If you’d like to support my art and writing, please consider becoming a patron on Patreon:

https://www.patreon.com/user?u=8001665

You can get prints and cards of my work on Redbubble:

https://www.redbubble.com/people/JoyMurray/shop?asc=u

Thanks to my patrons on Patreon and those who bought my art at my art show, it looks like I’ll be able to keep my home internet service.  Thanks so very much to all of you.

I haven’t been as productive as I’d like because I have a pinched sciatic nerve that’s left me in intense pain.   My doctor was out of town, so I had to go to a minor medical clinic then an orthopedic clinic.  Neither were very helpful. (I’ll write about that in a future post.)  I’ve spent a lot of my time flat on my back or propped up on pillows with my leg straight.  It’s the only way I can get even close to comfort.

I was afraid I’d have to cancel my show, but when my doctor returned, he gave me an anti-inflammatory shot, a prescription for anti-inflammatories, and increased my pain medication.  It hasn’t eliminated the pain but it gives me a few hours a day when I can get out of bed and do some creative work.  It gave me enough relief to have the show.  I didn’t get as many paintings finished as I’d like, but I had enough.  My son Timothy Allen showed his work, too.

I’ve always taken comfort and found pain relief in drawing and painting.  But for this bout of pain, I couldn’t do it.   I can’t sit down comfortably.  I can’t stand for long.  I’ve been able to accept my physical limitations in the past.  Using a wheelchair and a walker isn’t the worst fate in the world.  But without even that option, it was hard, hard.  If this was going to last forever, I’d ask my son to make me some sort of art station I could use in the bed.

I got a bed desk, so I could write, use my laptop, and prop my books up. (I’m getting a phenomenal amount of reading done.  Also watching movies til my brains ooze out my ears.)

But the bed isn’t very big, I can’t easily get up and fetch water or clean brushes.  Besides, I was in pain and depressed.  But for the hour or so I could get up, I worked on a piece exploring my feelings about having a long term disability.

I love drawing and painting hands.  A few years ago, I saw this piece by Portland artist Andrea Benson.  She creates amazing and insightful art using encaustic paint and layering techniques.   I got a postcard of this piece and it has been on my inspiration wall for a few years now.

I used the pose of the hands, though mine are less detailed.  I created a figure trying to understand herself.  It’s such a bitter thing to feel my own body is fighting me, is unraveling and there’s not a lot I can do about it.  Yet in the few hours I was able to work on this, I felt serenity.  I don’t have control over much of this life, and I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got.

Art saves me over and over.  It doesn’t cure me though.  In this work I found a way to calm myself, to add a little hope and color to my unraveling.  I hope to make a bigger piece on this same theme when I get better.  This painting I’ll keep for myself.  An homage to the frailty of my body and the hope that when I’m released from the physical world, my elements will return to the earth and blossom.

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If you’d like to support my art and writing, please consider becoming a patron on Patreon:

https://www.patreon.com/user?u=8001665

You can get prints and cards of my work on Redbubble:

https://www.redbubble.com/people/JoyMurray/shop?asc=u