So.... I'm hung over (as if my life isn't already full of interesting things)....On top of having a lifetime of Chronic Illiotibial Band Syndrome (ITBS) and Illiopsoas Tendonitis aka Snapping Hip Syndrome, I've been diagnosed with mild Bilateral Acetabular Dysplasia. This means that the hip joints are the wrong shape, or that the hip sockets are not in the correct position to completely cover and support the femoral head (the ball of the femur/thigh bone). This causes increased force, and abnormal wear on the cartilage and labrum lining the socket. A joint that is out of place or shallow (like mine) will wear out faster than one that has a more normal shape, kind of like the tread wearing out faster on a tire that isn't correctly balanced. If the dysplasia is left uncorrected then the cartilage will continue to wear and cause osteoarthritis. However, since I have a "mild" case of dysplasia (
My right hip is worse than the left), the orthopedist is recommending physical therapy to strengthen the muscles and pretty much do everything she can to avoid surgery for as long as possible because luckily, my cartilage is still in relatively good shape. The surgery, since I know you're curious, is also known as a Periacetabular Osteotomy - Link for more info: hipdysplasia.org/adult-hip-dys…, a surgical treatment that requires my pelvis to be cut in several places and reconstructed. Joy.
The good news is, I can avoid surgery FOR NOW. The bad news is, I have a labrum tear in my right hip, which can't be fixed and pretty much makes everything I do hurt. If I injure it further, then surgery will be unavoidable. So, no running, no jogging, limited walking (because any time spent on my feet above an hour, pretty much feels like someone's jabbed a sharp object into my hip), no sitting in one place for over an hour, no lifting over 25 lbs, no crouching, stooping, twisting, speed walking, or skipping, no deep knee or hip bending, absolutely NO dancing, and oh yeah, no bicycles, or anything sporty like hiking or climbing except for swimming (run on, I know. Takes a deep breath). I CAN swim and that has actually been recommended as part of the therapy. I'll find out more tomorrow.
If I must perform any of those action restrictions, then I have to do them VERY slowly, like I'm an old woman and made of glass.
So, a life that I've already lived with daily leg pain has only been exacerbated. Joy.
As if things couldn't possibly be worse. Due to all the medical restrictions, following the end of my medical leave, my Doctor said I can work full-time hours, but only within his directed restrictions. Evidently, my job's idea of working with those medical limitations was to cut my hours by more than 75%. So, I'm unemployed and I may have to go on full or partial disability. There are too many unknowns and I've got so much going on at the moment other than frantically finding a way to pay for everything because the fact of life is, there are still bills to be paid. I'm contemplating taking commissions but I know next to nothing on how to establish it and pricing is an issue because I think my art is shitty and isn't worth more than the mechanical pencil lead and erasers I buy to create it. I don't think people should waste their money on my work when it's so easy in the modern world to just copy and print my pics from your friendly neighborhood printer for free.
So, if you're wondering why I'm a little slow at doing pretty much everything it's because I'm horribly depressed, watching a lot of Netflix to try and keep my mind stimulated, and my muse has all but completely abandoned me. I don't have any other decent excuses for it. I just haven't written squat and I'm barely drawing much at all and it's so very difficult to give a fuck about anything anymore because my disability has pretty much ruined my life and there aren't enough words to describe how much I fucking hate it. On top of that, one of my long time friends who has supported my work for the past ten years, recently died and to rub salt in my wounds, I had to go and lose my hero, Robin Williams, as well (now I have to make the difficult task of removing the dream of meeting him off my bucket list). The impact that the suicide of Robin Williams had on me was so profound... It was like a slap in the face. It was personal, in more ways than I can ever fully convey. These feelings I have are beautifully reflected
by writer/artist Erika Moen in her illustration based on her feelings of depression and how she responded to Robin's death. www.upworthy.com/she-felt-she-…
The only reason I even have the initiative to get up and move every day are my friends, family, and my significant other, . They make life worth living for. It helps to remind myself that good things come to those who wait or to those who are willing to get up and do SOMETHING to get shit done, like caring for my cats and taking care of the household chores I'm capable of doing without harming myself. I need to give myself a purpose because there's no purpose to be had in giving up and lying down to wait and die.
And so, I have nothing more to say or blather on about... I leave you with this because Renoir pretty much says exactly how I feel (only I'm not a man, so I can't necessarily paint with my dick, but if my hands in addition to my legs were to ever cease to function, then I'm sure I could figure something out).
Excerpt I wrote on a favorite scene from the 2012 film "Renoir" (it's on Netflix Instant Watch, go watch it).
A Doctor is treating the elderly artist, Pierre-Auguste Renoir. He encourages the old man to walk, which he does despite being severely crippled with painful rheumatoid arthritis. Renoir rises shakily from his wheelchair, gasping in pain as he manages to rigidly shuffle through billowing white drapes leading out to a balcony overlooking the sea. He approaches a white wicker chair beside a round three legged table and lowers himself to sit with a huff. Squinting in the bright afternoon sun, he looks up at the Doctor standing beside him and says, "I give up." He pauses for a moment, then continues, "Walking... takes all my strength. I won't have any left for painting."
The Doctor gestures to Renoir's gnarled hands, "And when you can't use your hands anymore?"
Stubborn and set in his ways, Renoir chuffs. "I'll paint with my dick."
Amused and unable to think of anything to say in response, the Doctor folds his arms and smiles.