Lying fallow

It's been nearly five weeks since I duffed my arm up - I wish I could say that I've had a nice time of it and indulged in some serious relaxing, but until recently my days have been dull and pain filled - I don't mind admitting that I've had some pretty bleak moments. I had three cracks in my upper arm/shoulder joint and it was never going to be an instant heal; using it for anything has ranged from difficult to downright impossible.

From an early age I decided to dedicate myself to a creative life - there has been no room in my life for a 'proper job' which might have made things financially easier, nor for children who demand so much care and attention. All I ever wanted was what I had until recently, even during the many years when I barely earned a bean from it. Literally everything I do revolves around a rich, image filled inner world which soaks up inspiration from the outer world. Losing the physical ability to draw even a rough scribble has been a very hard lesson in learning to appreciate what I used to take for granted; my creative mind went dead for a while, which was almost worse than the constant pain.



So far, so self pitying. I also realise that it was my own silly fault for falling off a stile in the first place and that far worse things are happening in the world. It's not terminal and I am finally getting better. More to the point, I have really appreciated everyone's kind comments and private messages - thank you so much - if they were magic medicine I'd be turning cartwheels. I have also been the lucky recipient of this gorgeous stained glass fragment with engraved hare, from the hands of LiZZie - I have long admired her work, though our plastic window panes do not do this beauty justice. She sells similar items in her Etsy shop, and they are ideal Christmas presents, so warm and glowing.

Also, huge thanks to the kind friends who took the trouble to send me cards and little gifts, all of which brought bright points to my days. What is that horrid brown lump in front of them? Why, it's my voodoo quince of course.

While we were in Herefordshire, Andy went off exploring and returned with a quince. It was a golden, bumpy-lumpy hard fruit - inedible, but beautiful to look at. My arm was colourfully swathed at the time with wrap-around bruising which has only just faded, and I pretended that the quince was soaking the bad stuff up as I recovered. It will be at least a week before I have something approaching normal mobility, by which time my voodoo quince will be ready for a ceremonial dumping in the compost heap.

Next week I have a check-up x-ray to make sure everything in my silly arm is behaving. I can't feel anything crunching around inside anymore and I can put a little weight on it. I can chop vegetables again, spread butter on toast, do my trousers up and almost clean my teeth right handed again. When I can sleep in our bed again, not the saggy sofa, when I can haul myself out of the bath on my own (thank you Andy!) and needle felt for more than ten minutes without cramping up, I will be properly well again and be a little less boring.