We haven’t talked about physical pain before. We’ve certainly addressed the issues of a broken heart and a tested soul in previous posts. But right now it is physical pain I want to talk about because that’s what I’m dealing with and they say we’re supposed to write about what we know, right? And physical pain is what I know these days. In fact I want to advise each and every one of you who had chicken pox as a child to run out, I mean make a mad dash right now to your nearest health care provider, and get the vaccination for shingles, because I don’t want any of you to have to deal with this.
I have considered creating an alter ego for High Road Artist, a sort of “High Road Artist Exposed—the Dark Side,” an outlet where I can whine and NOT find the silver lining. And, while the thought made me laugh, I rather like the idea because this really has been hard. Nothing, not even Vicodin, seems to touch the pain and some days I do just want to scream.
So Kim (see previous post A Very Mini Artist’s Colony) has been chauffeuring me around to do errands and the other day he decided to take me on a side trip after we were done. During this stunning fall season we’re having, he took me on a road he knew about that went right along the Rio Grande River and through a great stand of cottonwood trees. What glory! What beauty!
I love cottonwoods. Did you know the pioneers sought them out because they were a marker for water, always growing along a stream or a spring? And in addition to that, during the hot summer, their taproots sunk deep into the earth, they aerated water up through their crowns, creating a sort of natural air conditioning for the settlements that took root beneath them.
So I am still in significant pain and, truth be told, I can’t wait to be well again. But in the midst of it all, yes, you guessed it, there IS in fact a silver lining. Because I am blessed with friends who care, who go out of their way for me. I haven’t worked a day at the gallery in a couple of months. Anna and Craig are taking my shifts. And while I still hurt, I do so knowing that my friends are there; they are constant. They offer me love and laughter and beauty. And even if they can’t make the pain go away for real, they can help me hold it at bay until one day, very soon, I will finally wake up and be well again. And we will all celebrate that.
Love to you all,