The color of pain and beauty

According to the American Chronic Pain Association website, I am "non-functioning". I agree.

Is this blog entry a cry for help? Probably.

I'm scared, and that might be worse than being in pain. Hell, I can stand a little or even a lot of pain. But, from reading various articles on line, I am bewildered by the lack of care I am getting, though there are so many people without appropriate care that I shouldn't have a scrap of bewilderment in me.

I have areas of complete numbness in addition to pain. This sounds bizarre, but I can stick a fork into my right foot and not feel a thing. There are other places where I am totally numb, too, but I'm not going to sit here sticking sharp objects into my skin to check them out.

According to what I have just read on line, I have at least three conditions that call for an immediate consultation with a neurologist. Yet, I don't have a doctor's appointment for 13 days, and I know that this appointment is only to arrange for a referral to another doctor. Just knowing this is frightening to me. I'm living one hour at a time, in essence, and there are a lot of hours until the 22nd of December.

Pain renders me stupid. I have no idea what to do. I can see that my physical inactivity is not good for me, but there are so many movements that cause such excruciating pain that I really can't motivate myself to get up off of this sofa and away from my heating pads.

By the way, the judgment of "non-functioning" was the "Quality of Life" assessment. I don't agree that I'm a ZERO on quality of life, but by their standards, I am.

I have nothing further to say (noted later: fat chance of that). I promised there'd be no more diary-like entries. Okay, I'm nearly desperate, so I broke my word. If there's anyone out there with any suggestions, I'll take them. Please don't suggest that I consider euthenasia.

I wanted to find a contemporary artist's work to grace the top of this post. I found an interesting site called the Pain Exhibit. It would not allow me to copy any of the work.

It's snowing outside and is quite beautiful. I watched the birds for a while. The juncos, which were written about so well (as per usual) on Turn Outward yesterday, were a lovely sight in the snow, as they always are. The dark gray of these birds is a magnificent color. It could easily be described as black, but it is not. I find this color quite rich. I note as I look around the room I am in, that I've painted the trim the very same color. This gray is the color of impending storms, slate, dusk, dust, and the tip of my cat's tail. Maybe I'll just post a square of gray. It is also the color of my mood, if you remove the beauty. I am moving in and out of the black hole of despair. The juncos, on the other hand, even if they are dark gray, are the opposite of despair, though who knows what goes on in their little brains. They are plumped up today, looking much bigger than they are. The temperature may have risen to a whopping 18 degrees from the -6 of last night, but the wind is blowing. It amazes me that the birds can survive in this. I saw some goldfinches, which I do not remember ever seeing at this time of year. I just flashed on these little birds wearing tiny down jackets, but hey, they are covered in down, now that I think of it. Duh.

Image note: Cy Twombly Unititled #19 Sorry, I don't know the year. Always loved what I think of his "blackboard paintings". Don't know why. Analysis is hopeless today.