In defence of positivity

Because what you focus on, you amplify

I may have a warped perspective.

I’ve noticed more and more of late the tone of the reactions when I tell people I’ve been in the hospital for over 200 days.

It seems to involve a great deal of hand-wringing, heart-bleeding and extreme empathy for my “horrible situation.” I generally try to nip this attitude in the bud fairly quickly because I don’t think allowing myself to marinate in it is mentally healthy for my recovery.

It’s not that I enjoy being in the hospital—far from it.

It’s noisy. It’s undignified. It’s devoid of the independence that I’ve always strived for in my life. I could very easily wallow in every negative thing about this experience.

But I choose not to.

If I were to complain or focus on all the worst parts of my situation, would it change anything? It might offer some momentary relief and generate some sympathy from the people around me, but I know that ultimately, even those momentary dopamine blips wouldn’t be enough. I would eventually have to complain more and wallow more to get a similar response.

I’ve been in the hospital long enough to have seen ample proof of how this attitude can create an almost addictive cognitive loop that can drag a person down. Given that recovery is a marathon event, the last thing I want is to be carrying any more mental weight than necessary.

I also believe that if I’m focused on the negative and my complaints, I shut down the parts of my brain that I need to problem-solve. If my situation isn’t ideal, then I want to be constantly on the lookout for ways to improve it. I can’t do that if I’m zeroed in on everything that’s wrong about it.

I can’t choose my circumstances, but I can choose how I respond to them.

One of Stefan’s many daily photos that will eventually become a painting.

So, what’s been good about the last seven months in the hospital?

• I’ve made lots of friends among the nurses and healthcare aids. We’ve had loads of laughs together, and I know they are all as invested in my recovery as I am.

• I have a great primary care doctor on the unit who checks in on me every morning. He asks about the health stuff, of course, but also about how things are going in all my various outside-the-hospital projects as well. It cracks me up that he frequently asks if he can steal a couple of Lindt chocolates from my ample supply. I always let him.

• I fill my days in my hospital bed with work and play. During the time since I’ve been here, I applied for and successfully secured two artist grants, filed income tax for our two small businesses, put on my solo art exhibit, continued to work on completing my Wayfinder life coaching certification and started work illustrating a picture book. Am I bored, you ask? Not so much.

• I’ve had the chance to feel the warmth of many friends and family who have come to visit or checked in on me virtually. Getting to go to the opening reception for my exhibit—even if it was on a stretcher—is an experience that I will never forget.

• I feel like my relationship with Stefan has only been strengthened by this wild experience. We have so many plans for when I get out of here that include everything from restaurants to try, road trips to take and a slew of TV shows to catch up on together. In the meantime, I look forward to our goofy gif-filled text exchanges throughout the day, video chats while he walks the dogs and our new obsession with online Scrabble.

Hospital coffee date

Before my fracture, I spent a lot of time living in fear about what might happen if I had a fracture. At the time, I hadn’t broken a bone in over twenty years, so I worried constantly about how I would deal with the loss of my independence.

What kind of life would I have?

Now that my worst-case scenario has happened, I understand that this is life. It didn’t stop simply because I’ve spent these last months in a hospital bed. It’s an important distinction because I know this probably won’t be the last time that I deal with a fracture or a lengthy rehab.

If I’m going to get the most out of the rest of my life, I need to choose how I am going to live regardless of my circumstances.

Silly practice sketch that made me smile.

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Athena is currently on medical leave from creativity coaching with Tilted Windmills while she heals in hospital, but hopes to be back to coaching in 2025. You can read about her ongoing rehab journey in Athena’s Art Newsletter.

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