No really. There were and I thought it was time to do something about it.
My New Year’s resolution was to head to the studio every day. I had decided to take the rest of 2013 off and although I ventured down to my work space every-so-often I had not dedicated a full day there in nearly a year. It started with a little painting project. We surprisingly needed new furnace units (yes --- TWO!) and these new high efficient beasts came with shiny new pipes that wove their way through the basement ceiling and out the back of the house. So being the perfectionist that I am (or perhaps the new glaring white pvc pipes just proved begrudgingly as a reminder of the new drain to our “fun fund”) I set about painting them so they would disappear into their surroundings. It was nice to be down there. Taking needed breaks to not anger “the hand” I started to deep clean and organize. I also started to decorate the space more like a living space and a little less like a display and sales area.
I liked being down there! I was having fun again in the studio! I planned my calendar like everything was “normal” and as if “the hand” wasn’t a problem. I hunted for a few fun market pieces to fill the studio assuming my production wouldn’t be what it was just a couple of years ago and this would be a great addition to my own creations that I hoped to make.
I sat at my desk with my shiny new swing arm lamps and sat comfortably in my new drafting chair and took the time to catch up on magazines and craft industry news. I was starting to warm up to the idea of truly painting again I put the fear aside and even started sketching. Just. Sketching. The smooth lines that I used to effortlessly generate on the white pages aren’t there. It was like my hand was not listening to my brain and my ring and pinky finger seemed to not want to work in coordination with the other digits. I tried tirelessly for a few hours hoping things would improve, praying to return to a familiar level of accomplishment but I couldn’t. My hand began to tighten and “the hand” didn’t want to work much at all.
I sat in a slump and cried the ugly cry. When I returned to reality I headed up to grab the familiar ice packs and pack the hand and arm in them. The muscles in my forearm burned, the elbow tingled and “the hand” felt detached from me. The Dr’s words “don’t do what hurts” rattled in my head and they made me angry.
I sat down and grabbed the lap top and left handedly started searching for answers. If this last Dr didn’t care to find them, I would. I’ve known since three months post-surgery something was still wrong and I can’t accept “this” as normal. For starters I made an appointment with a new Dr. Then with the help of Google and much reading, I found a few possible diagnoses that symptom-wise sounded very much like what I was going through. The answers could lie in my neck (which also took quite a literal whipping in my tumble) or it could lie in a little torn area in my hand between some bones and if I stretch the options wide enough my elbow may even be the enemy. And although I am betting on self-diagnosis A, I now feel armed with options and want to be able to walk into this Dr’s office feeling like I know a little more about this mess, and feel a bit more knowledgeable than I have been before. So even though I tried painting a real original yesterday and it too proved awfully painful, I am hoping for the best. I am hoping for answers and even more so, for a solution.
I’m not myself without painting. I’m not myself in pain. I hope the end to all of this is around the bend. It needs to be. And so until then I will putter about the studio but continue to keep my resolution and at the very least hunt for more cobwebs.