Wound Clinic Waiting Room

Wound Clinic Waiting Room HCMC

Lemons into Lemonade

       You refused the Blood Transfusion. It would be your 9^th one in the last few weeks. Sitting there with your friend your legs are bloated with fluid and any extra movement gives you shortness of breath. I worry. Then I worry some more. The nurse calls me out into the hall and tells me how concerned she is. But you won’t budge.

       We take the ride to HCMC with a great guy. All the way we talk about the lakes of Minneapolis and I tell him about all the ones I love. I could sure use a swim right now. Stress builds.

At the Wound Clinic the nurse who helps you is worried too. We are all worried. You try to walk to the bathroom but get too winded. I help you in the bathroom.

 Oh my darling how things have changed.

You go to your appointment and I sit with my companions in the waiting room. There he is. The man I drew months ago. Still on oxygen. His small turned in feet padded in soft materials. And his eyes so sad. He doesn’t make eye contact. I look upon him with compassion. But I don’t linger, the way I did before and before I know it he is whisked away.      The room empties.  I am so stressed out but force myself to take out my crayons and add color to the simple and well balanced waiting room drawing I did a week ago. And then I relax. The woman sitting next to me strikes up a conversation. We relax and chat. I add just the right amount of color. Then I call the Cancer Center and arrange for your blood transfusion tomorrow morning. Suddenly I feel relieved.        Kind of.

When your appointment is over the nurse and I confer and feel that the right decision has been made.

Out in the lobby the warm sun of this spring day dances over us. It is a long wait after all. I take out my paints and make a tiny studio for myself there amid the chairs. I keep thinking our ride will be here any moment…but we wait so long that I am able to finish my painting. Our driver is the first one we had weeks ago. He’s had a bad day. The woman in the van had a bad day. I had a bad day but not as bad as theirs. As we drive along he tells me his problems. Josh yells from the back. I suddenly feel our problems are not so bad after all.

Lemonade from lemons all over again!

Eyes at The Well of Tears

Eyes at the Well of Tears

      It is raining non stop outside now...after the longest winter. The streets have turned into lakes and my alley is icy and rutted.
      I leave the hospital about 6 and head south on Hwy 55. Of course I follow an ambulance as I move into traffic. Its light beeping and flashing.
     My windshield fills up with rain... and I would call it tears.... Not unlike the tears I shed as I held you closely this afternoon. Disbelief...wonderment and questions filling my body.
You said you might need another Blood Transfusion. That would be your 9th.

    Wonderment, grief and questions fill me. I hold onto you. My eyes at the Well of Tears fill up and I hold you closer.

      Eyes at the Well of Tears remain.

The Garden March 12, 2019

The Garden

      I carefully fold up the order for plants and garden supplies along with the check I helped write out. Slipping it carefully inside the envelope I lick it and seal it. You comment as I write out our return address and then I find a stamp of a child playing in a snowbank and carefully place it on the corner of the envelope. It is still winter. I climbed over an icy snowbank and then walked on ice to get to see you here in the hospital.

Yes it is still winter and despite set backs and ambulance rides and tubes and blood transfusions you have been ardently and adamantly planning this years garden. 464 dollars (including tax and shipping)

of goodness will come to the address I wrote so carefully in the upper left hand corner of that envelope sent to Gurneys. 

        Outside it is raining, but a few days ago we had snow and before that more snow and before that deep cold. It has been an endless winter and you've had so many medical problems. Once again we are back in the same room in the same unit. Kind nurses watch over you even when you are grumpy. And I come to see you

every day...even when the weather is bad. Yes, it is an endless winter. 

Albertine your nurse

So I sealed the envelope full of orders for packets of seeds and plum trees and a large container that will hold the cherry tree. You are still on oxygen at level 4 and even going to the bathroom tires you. But we look past all this to spring and every number I write down is like a sacrament of hope that you will be well enough to plant this garden with me..once the snows have melted..once the grass is green...once you are stronger again...once we have left the winter far behind. I hold onto you and write each number carefully in the square provided. Each number a tiny hope, like a tiny seed to plant.

The yard will be full of flowers, trees and plants. We planned it out on paper where everything will go. The old church pew will be dismantled...that is where the asparagus will go. And you've marked where the fruit trees will be placed. The boulevard will be full of flowers and by the Free Library there will be a lilac bush that those stopping to get books can enjoy.

    The snow will melt. I will hold onto you as we plant these hopes together.

Vulnerable

Vulnerable

       This afternoon I drove north on 55 at rush hour on my way to draw at HCMC… I looked for the Tent Encampement and then there it was. So visible and invisible. So much need so apparent. And so much vulnerability. I could not stop to draw for I was on my way to the hospital.

       Parking was easy to find in the late afternoon and I hesitated in my car. No one was expecting me, but I made my way. In the coffee shop a large woman spotted me and asked about the support hose I was wearing and we chatted. She did not want to be drawn.

     Drawing is connecting and it can be vulnerable too. I kept walking and found my way to a nurses’s station on the 4^th floor.

There I drew and visited with a nurse in the Surgical Trauma unit.  I tried to do my best.

    Then I sat in a chair and drew the long hallway of Cares as people passed by, as someone was guided on a gurney far down the hall. The empty and the full hall… and the vulnerable patients in their rooms struggling with pain.

    On the way home I drove closer to the encampment. There are amenities and there are needs and there is my friends articulate letter to the editor this morning

   I drew the best I could and then left to come home. Here I sit with my husband and his vulnerable health.. and my own vulnerabilities come sharply into focus as well as I struggle to sell my art and make ends meet.

Checking Blood Pressure in Internal Medicine

Sometime in April      Wallace’s Appointment in Internal Medicine

            I entered through the narrow door. The one that leads to drawing and wonder.

I drew Wallace’s physical check in yesterday for blood pressure. There was some concern about his high blood pressure. My Concern is that he has been so subdued and withdrawn. Medicated.

Friendly caring doctor. I drew her, the documenter, and the nurse in turquoise. I paid attention.

            The day opened around me like a flower. A beautiful flower, luminous.

I got the exact permissions signed.

We left. I felt like speaking to everyone we met and I did.

We crossed the luminous skyway upheld and embraced by light.

             We went to eat lunch and met caring my brothers former doctor whose embrace and kindness to Wallace moved me deeply. Then we ate. I thought I saw Jean from PT but didn’t find her even when I ran after her. What I did find later was a memory of a print that might be sold and that would bring money to me.

Then I saw Kris and Sheila.

Saw my supervisor. I love her emotionalism and stories. 

She helped me with schedule advocacy/ email/invoice clarity. So Great! So much help.

Then I took Wallace home.

Then cleaned for 10 minutes.

Back to HCMC with Josh for his acupuncture appointment.

I drew deeper and looked closer.

Saw the Actual Needles.

Drew deeper. Borrowed charts. 

Felt the subtle energy all around me.