Commentary, art, and poetry by Eliette Markhbein, M.S., M.A. Founder, The Therapeutic Arts Program, Department of Rehabilitation Medicine, The Mount Sinai Medical Center, New York City
Drawing and writing came naturally to me while in rehabilitation after sustaining a traumatic brain injury and injuries to my spine, the result of being struck by a speeding car. They eased the physical, emotional and mental pain that were my constant companions and helped me find answers within.
Though complementary, the drawings and poems originated from different perspectives of the topics explored, emphasized other aspects and fulfilled separate quests. For example, “Braced-up” addresses in words issues of self concept and acceptance while the illustration was a life drawing, part of a series of sketches exploring femininity and searching for my own femininity after the accident. As a whole the series illustrate with candor and immediacy universal aspects of disability and rehabilitation, focusing on three periods: succumbing-hoping-coping, roughly a year each.
Succumbing
2005-2006 was the year of reckoning: reckoning with the extent of my cognitive impairments and contending with a person I did not know, could not count on and did not like–in other words the new me in all her splendor. Poems of that year (Writing; Alone; I so miss us) articulate the emotional distress and existential anguish I felt, the physical pain which became chronic, the depression that ensued and the unbearable loneliness, despair and isolation I experienced. I wrestled against drowning forces such as mental chaos, fatigue, lability and fear that was invisible to others.
| WRITING Write, write, always write write when you have nothing to say write when you don’t feel like it write anyway Write to escape, to soar Write to learn |
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| ALONE Tears weigh the air you breathe. You hear yet do not look. Despair dims the light you cross you see yet do not reach. Crouched – a shadow shakes frightened alone. |
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| I SO MISS US Where have the playfulness passionate discussion sense of strength and unity gone? We walk on glass shards afraid of each other’s and our own explosions locked away in pain silently crying alone grieving the light and graceful dancers we were not so long ago. Where have the laughs tumbling freedom gentle touch, teasing kisses as we cook gone? My body is a casket dark from fear tight from despair frigid from pain. |
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Your time is spent away from home away from me. Where have the rejoicing in Fall sun-filled mornings, the lazy afternoon readings the comforting arms gone? You are lost |
Hoping
2006-2007 was the year of discoveries: poems of that year (Displaced; Braced-up; Rays) express a shattered sense of self, the discovery and the need to prevail over panic attacks and other dirty tricks my injured brain played on me, and the unearthing of new sources of peace, strength and clarity.
| DISPLACED Pink antique tiles bear my weight night air from the window brushes my face. White linen drapes sweep the floor a tablecloth covers the table empty but for a glass bowl, reflecting moonshine. Leaning on the wall a tall mirror sends my image inwards, hurting. And I stand in the middle of the kitchen, recognizant of the place the light, the sounds yet not knowing where I am not knowing my way suspended, scared, displaced. |
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| BRACED UP I have become a Frankenstein, patched up high and low and in between. From neck to feet braces, braces, braces holding me up reshaping me. Each set of hard shells, Velcro straps and metal hooks, cutting me tearing me. Yet, when I disrobe and shed my carcasses your eyes rest on my curves and you call me beautiful. |
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| RAYS Rays of something better to come flash my conscience like headlights in the night. A heightened sense of expectation lightens my soul frees my spirit. Seeds of hope and wonder a sense of joy and purpose a trepidation for a new beginning flows vibrant in my veins. A new strength sourced in peace and acceptance rich in possibilities reveals itself slowly. What shape, what color will my new life be? |
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Coping
2007-2008 was the year of growth and fruition: poems of that year (Travel; Florida Summer; Attending) speak of acceptance and integration of my disability; group identification and advocacy; achieving a healthy balance between dependence, interdependence and independence; recapturing a sense of pleasure and playfulness; and reclaiming a social and professional place.
The last poem “Attending” talks about my caring for a locked-in syndrome patient as a Therapeutic Arts Practitioner, a metamorphosis from patient identity towards becoming a healer. As a final note I would like to emphasize that while the series of poems clearly indicate progress and resolution, the issues they describe do not disappear- with time, help and the application of compensatory techniques and strategies one becomes better at dealing with them.
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| TRAVEL Hello, your destination is Gainesville? Atlanta flight is delayed heavy weather down there. Connections will be missed layovers will be long fatigue and despair will settle in. The wheelchair waits You say people will think Hi, I wear a brace |
Mam, do as you are told. No watch- I ring loud and clear Do you have any metal on you? Huh…a brace? Please remove it Can’t- why not? Ok… Step to the No curtains, no privacy |
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| FLORIDA SUMMER Nickel size water drops percolate on the burning tar, evaporting at once. Steam rises fast volutes of pearly upward mist soaking the wind easing my skin curlng my hair. Lemony scent of magnolias infuse the heat tall grasses and leaves green and earthy smells lay thick to the ground Oh no! my flip flops float away go go little boats. |
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| ATTENDING Mute? Not so, not by the farthest stretch of imagination. Your lips shape silent words. I hear them. They stretch and lift a smile: happy. They round, soft and gentle: kind. They pout and tighten: upset. Your eyes lovely and deep shape silent thoughts. I hear them. They reflect deep in their pool variant colors and tones telling me your surprise your sadness your resolve your hopes. |
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Your hands shape silent emotions I hear them. They hold each other close and tender listening to the book we read. They beat to the music light and free telling me your joy in the rhythm. I hear loud and clear the richness of your soul the sharpness of your mind the strength of your will. Your smile your thumbs up when I leave fill me with gratitude to share your life a moment. |
Additional information about Eliette Markhbein and examples of her work can be found on an ABC-TV interview, and in the online journal, Hektoen: “Trauma on Canvas”.
