The art of adaptation

Home from the hospital and figuring out my new normal

After ten months in the hospital, I am finally—FINALLY!—back at home. It’s been a long recovery thus far and, unfortunately, it’s not over yet. I estimate that I’m about 60-70% of my strength and functionality before fracturing my thigh bone last March.

What does that mean going forward? No one really knows. I might get to 100% again through my ongoing rehab… or I might not.

The only thing that I can do is acknowledge where I am in the present moment and adapt. Here are some of the ways I’m doing that.

Being kind to my recovering body

While I was in the hospital, I had little trouble ensuring that I was getting enough rest because there was simply so little else to do. Even when I was up in the wheelchair, there was a limit to the amount of time I could browse the gift shop or check out the artwork in the hallways. Invariably I would get bored and wander back to bed.

Now that I’m home there are so many things that I want to do and have been longing to do for months. It seems like everywhere I look around our apartment there’s a plant that could use a little extra tender loving care or a pile of items that needs to be sorted ahead of our big move. I’ve especially missed cooking for myself—ten months of hospital food will do that to you!—and I’m eager to dive back into making all of my favourite recipes again.

My body… well, it’s not entirely on board with all this new activity.

At the hospital, I was only up in the wheelchair for an hour or two before I went back to bed. Asking my body to suddenly be up and active for three to four hours at a stretch because I get so involved in whatever it is that I’m working on isn’t fair to it. It’s also going to be counterproductive to my recovery in the long term.

My solution is to use the timer function on my watch. This is a trick I often used at the studio as well to ensure I didn’t overtax my cranky back when I was deep into working on a painting.

When I get in the wheelchair, I’ll set the timer for two hours as a reminder to myself to rest. I don’t need a long break—typically half an hour to an hour lying in bed will do the trick—and then I can get back up in the wheelchair to continue whatever it was that I was working on.

These momentary acts of self-compassion are much more effective and productive than constantly driving my body beyond its limits.

Regardless of whether one is recovering from a major injury, pain and fatigue are the body’s way of trying to send us a message. It’s our job as our body’s caretakers to pay attention and act accordingly.

Responding creatively to limitations

When I first went into the hospital, I was slammed with a barrage of grief over all the things that I felt I had lost. I spent my first months in hospital flat on my back wondering if I would ever be able to paint again. Since I also couldn’t sit up to use my laptop, I was forced to use my phone for everything, which could be incredibly frustrating.

Slowly though, thanks to reaching out to other disabled creatives, I began to learn of other ways of working that didn’t require me to sit up.

While I was in the hospital we purchased an iPad stand that suspended my old iPad Mini over the bed allowing me to work on my back. While the Mini chugged and heaved as it struggled with my larger Photoshop files, it still allowed me to complete the advertisements and remaining art for my August 2024 solo exhibit. We also discovered a way for me to use an old laptop stand with my hospital tray table to work on my laptop again. With this setup, I did everything from filing our business taxes to applying for grants to writing the many articles for Athena’s Art Newsletter and Tilted Windmills throughout my hospital stay.

Since getting home, I have further invested in this in-bed setup by purchasing a much more robust iPad Pro that has the equivalent computing power as my laptop. I will be using it to create the final artwork for the picture book project I’m working on for Toronto’s Owl Kids Books—something my poor little iPad Mini would’ve keeled over if I had attempted. I also purchased a wireless Bluetooth keyboard which I am currently using to type this article while lying in bed roasting my sore back on an electric heating pad.

Of course, I am also doing physiotherapy and striving to sit in the wheelchair for longer periods so that I can hopefully return to painting at my studio again. What this long-term investment into an in-bed workstation provides is an alternative that will allow me to do my creative work regardless of the pain and fatigue levels I happen to be dealing with on any given day.

Importantly, adapting to limitations doesn’t necessarily require high-tech or expensive solutions either. When artist Hugh MacLeod was down on his luck, he began creating tiny one-panel comics and works of art on the backs of business cards. This limitation created by his chosen media and circumstances rapidly turned into a signature style. He has since gone on to write several popular books on creativity including one of my favourites, “Ignore Everybody: and 39 Other Keys to Creativity.”

Celebrating every win

Despite my best efforts to take it slow and pace myself, I’ve still managed to painfully pull muscles in my back in on two separate occasions since I’ve been home. I know these injuries are rooted in my impatience and I catch myself becoming frustrated by my inability to do everything that I want to do. In my worst moments, I begin to mentally chastise myself and wallow in a sense of uselessness.

This is why I began keeping a “Done List.”

It’s an idea I first read about in one of Oliver Burkeman’s books. It was either in “Four Thousand Weeks” or “Meditations for Mortals”—both are excellent.

We’re all familiar with the idea of a “To-Do List” where we itemize all the things we feel we need to get done. Burkeman recognizes how demoralizing such a list can be because there will always be something new to be added and it’s impossible to completely clear off the list. In my case, I also get frustrated because I see all these tasks around me that I want to get done, but I can’t physically complete them at this point in my recovery.

Instead Burkeman encourages creating a “Done List” and recording all the tasks that we complete on a given day. This could involve breaking down a large task into bite-sized chunks so that each one can be recognized as an accomplishment. It might also mean writing down seemingly basic tasks like making breakfast by myself, putting my laundry away or tidying up the counter in my bathroom.

By writing these tasks down on my “Done List” I am reminded that it wasn’t that long ago when I couldn’t do any of these things myself. It shows me that my days are filled with an ever-growing list of small triumphs that I am building one upon another.

All recoveries are imperfect—what matters is adapting to the path to ensure that one is moving in the right direction.

Athena is currently on medical leave from creativity coaching with Tilted Windmills as she continues to regain her strength, but hopes to be back to coaching later this year. You can read about her ongoing rehab journey in Athena’s Art Newsletter.

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