A Valiant Effort

Most times my husband and I remark upon how blessed we have been throughout our lives. We still feel blessed. Yet right now we’re facing so many challenges from so many different directions that it’s easy to occasionally feel down-hearted, and with my art, almost a bit defeated.

You’re aware, of course, of my vision problems. Some days, it seems, are better than others, and recent days have been difficult. While I’m able to drive and to function normally for the most part, close-up work is exceedingly hard — and that’s what artwork is!

You’re probably aware, too, that the retinologist my husband and I both see, Dr. Robert Fletcher, was involved in an auto accident. We don’t know all the particulars, but we do know that broken bones were involved. Will he be able to resume his practice? Or will this mean retiring? Will we need to find another retinologist? So many questions and no answers at the moment.

My husband’s eye problems involve additional doctors, and his most recent visit to the doctor who performed his retinal detachment repair brought somewhat discouraging news. Although his eye looks good and everything is healing, it’s still going to be another two or three months before the next step can be taken. Of course he’s frustrated. He has no lens in his left eye, so his ability to function normally is quite limited.

Now, add to this a number of other emotional challenges.

Although my oldest daughter has more or less taken over dealings with my older, demented sister who is in memory care (too far away for me to attempt driving), she’s still on my mind, of course. My father-in-law, is also a bit of a challenge just now. He recently celebrated his 88th birthday, is in a care facility about 5 minutes away, but insists he’s well enough to go home. My mother-in-law has opted to move to Tennessee with a daughter, and the whole family is in an uproar trying to deal with finances, care options, and a very cantankerous old man who wants everything his way.

Last week another daughter was notified that her most recent lab work shows some concerning indications. She underwent surgery last summer for stage IV ovarian cancer, and there are fears now that there may be a recurrence. She goes in for a CT scan on Monday.

Now, add to this another bit of bad news. Our newest kitty, little Butternut (whom we adopted after losing our precious Buddy Boy) has not been doing well. He stopped eating on Thursday, wasn’t playing at all. He’s not been putting on any weight. In fact, our suspicions that he was losing weight were confirmed when we took him to the vet on Friday morning. He’s lost 1/2 pound in the last week (only weighing in at 4.3 pounds for a 6-1/2 month old) and the devastating news is that he has feline leukemia, for which there is no cure.

The one bright note I can bring into all of this was that Hopie, our little “fat cat” (the one I’ve unsuccessfully tried to draw several times) got a negative test result. Our other cats, Flower Child and Mr. Gray, were both already vaccinated for the feline leukemia virus, but because Hopie is an indoor-only cat, she had not been vaccinated.

When we adopted Butternut, I had no idea that he had not been tested for leukemia by the shelter and the vet there. So he came into our home where we had an unvaccinated cat who quickly became his best friend. Hopie and Butternut have played together so much that I was extremely concerned for her well-being after receiving Butternut’s diagnosis. A visit to the vet set my mind at ease there. She was tested, and after getting the negative result, she was given her first leukemia vaccination. A “booster” will be given in about 3 weeks.

So, emotionally, folks, we’re drained. On Friday I was hardly in the studio at all. Between Butternut’s morning vet appointment and then Hopie’s quickly-scheduled afternoon appointment, I had some time, but no emotional “wherewithal” to even think of being creative.

It’s sad to see a kitten hurting and suffering in any way. Although Butternut doesn’t appear to be in any pain, you can take one look at him and see that he’s not doing well. He ate a little this morning, and he played a bit. On Friday, the vet did give him fluids subcutaneously since he was dehyrated. This definitely helped!

Why am I writing about all of this on an art blog? I’m writing because this blog is not just about art, but about my personal experiences — and the two intersect in so many ways. Art is very much an emotional process. What happens to us is reflected in our creative work.

One way in which emotions play a role is in shutting down any creative expression. This is where I was at on Friday. Difficult things can require time to be sorted out in our heads and hearts. We need to emotionally and mentally process information.

It was very much the same when my daughter first received her cancer diagnosis last year. All creative expression simply shut down. Five days later, however, I came to the studio and did a simple little painting for her. It was a form of “meditative art“, a way of dealing with all the emotions I was feeling.

In a similar way, I created a little drawing yesterday morning, not really so much to express my emotions as to simply prove that I can get through these challenging moments. The drawing isn’t much, but there’s meaning behind it.

I’m not asking for comments or critiques on the drawing. It is what it is, and what it is, is “a valiant effort” — an effort on my part to wipe away the tears, an effort to truly “look beyond” my limitations, an effort to find something beautiful and meaningful in a world that suddenly seems beset with things going wrong.

Recently our irises began to bloom. I’d been hoping to take a little time to sit beside the tree and sketch these beautiful flowers. Mother Nature, however, has not cooperated. We’ve had fierce rainstorms which beat the irises down to the ground. We’ve had chilly temperatures. There just hasn’t been a good time to go out and sketch.

Irises, perhaps you know, are symbols of survival. In Japanese culture, irises represent hope and courage. These are qualities I need in my life right now. I need them for myself, I need them for my family, I need them for my beloved kitties.

And so I stepped outside on Saturday morning, and I made a very quick sketch. I hurried inside and sat here with my new Sennelier oil pastels and — as best I could — I chose colors to blend and just made a valiant effort to create something to give me strength, something to symbolize hope for the future.

Somehow, like the irises, we will survive. The rains might beat us down, but we will come through these troubled times. We will love our little Butternut for as long as we have him, and we will take life day-by-day dealing with whatever comes our way.

We are blessed. We will never lose sight of that truth. Sometimes it rains, sometimes it pours, but through it all, there will always be hope and courage.