The center cannot hold…

I’m losing track of what to share anymore—what I’m supposed to say, what’s worth trying to communicate, or even possible to...

I’m writing this to share about my health and upcoming surgery. I’m probably trying too hard, reaching for a pithy blog-post-weight philosophical truism to share. But also, I’ve been facing the question of what to communicate how, when, to whom for three and a half months, and… here I still am. Anyway, if you don’t want to read the rest of this meandering, mildly flatulent quasi-diary entry: I’ve had a lumbar 4/5 disc hernia since 2022 or earlier, causing constant acute pain/discomfort since April 2025, to be addressed July 29 with anterior disc replacement surgery, followed by a 12-week recovery.

But like I said, I’ve lost track of how to share that in a meaningful way that reflects my experience as I move through it…

 Partly it’s our fractured structures and rituals of communication. Partly it’s the challenge of finding serviceable, adequately resonant words. Partly it’s the moving target of the situation, making words set down in print unreliable representatives beyond the present moment.

Partly it’s that I’m getting out of practice sharing much of anything. I’ve been laying low for a while—literally: lying on the floor a lot, with limited ability to sit, stand, walk, work, leave the house, pick things up, and, increasingly, find clear thoughts or words.

I’ve been grappling with how to name and frame and discuss and participate in my situation. What duration constitutes ‘chronic’ pain? For that matter, what sensations qualify as ‘pain’? What about ice, numb, bees, needles? Am I ‘injured’ even if there was no mechanism of injury? Is it still ‘disability’ if I (may) get to return to (some of) those abilities? (which ones? To what degree? Through what amount of effort? How do I invest in that outcome?)

I’ve charted the awful passage from Injured Body to Sick Body—struggling to even and lighten my gait, to stay engaged with sensation, to keep pushing to the edges of the pain, to keep all of the solidity and pliability I possibly can as foundation for recovery… It feels different than if I were permanent, I think—I don’t know if I could sustain this level of pressure if that door weren’t open. Although I’d certainly get back to living, instead of sitting here on hold…

 I’m so tired of IT, of thinking constantly about it, being consumed by my situation. Literally consumed: it eats attention, energy, focus, space in the calendar, pleasure, joy, so much of the good parts. Thankfully incredibly ecstatically maybelikely I will get to stop being consumed by it soon. Maybe I’ll even someday get to stop spending substantial energy-attention focused on my abdomen/spine/dantian, monitoring feedback loops for any signs of stress, pain, or apprehension. 

Actually, based on conversations with people who’ve had this surgery, maybe I shouldn’t expect to ever release that attention.

But hopefully it will become less. Because I’m really tired.

But also because it’s a reasonable hope to nurture. That’s what I’m focused on. There’s a procedure to address this. I just need to move through another week of this life, and then I can reasonably hope that I get to transition to the other one—not return exactly, but in broad strokes. All in all, not a bad focus to have right now—a much more prudent and ready-to-hand hope than when I let my eyes out to the dumpster-fire-riddled horizon… But still, it’s a hope, and hope exists intrinsically within uncertainty.

And partly it’s that—uncertainty. I’ve spent the last 20 years making art on this topic, but this isn’t an art, it’s an entirely different mode of communication. I need to represent my situation and experience accurately, without melodrama or rugged stoicism. Within that mandate, I can’t figure how to play out my fears, hopes, and struggles in a way that’s not trite, whiny, mole-hilling the problem as if I’m the first person who’s ever experienced pain; but also doesn’t downplay what I’m pretty sure is an inflection point in my life.

Partly it’s that: that it’s about me, my personal situation and experience. These things feed and inform and define my artmaking practice, but they aren’t what the art is about, it’s about the audience-participants’ experience of it. Nonfiction is a really different light to shine on the world. My art trucks plenty in nonfiction, but always embedded in artistic formats for creating and sharing. To step into a container of ‘notifying message’ vs ‘arts experience’, and then to shine that harsher nonfiction light on myself…

 So partly it’s this dance with vulnerability, and how I let myself be seen in this broken state. Which is also why the reach for pithy truism feels so important, to have something to offer as I ask for attention, to show my value when that feels so uncertain right now.

So ultimately, it’s fear, I guess? Social fears, fear of loss (of function, sensation, autonomy, access to the places and activities I love), inchoate fear of uncertainty…

Anyway, that’s why it took me so long to share. Not much more I can think to say about it, so I hope the pithy shit already happened for you? Anyway, I hope to see you after.

Oh wait, that brings up one more point: where there’s fear, there’s love. Thanks for reading.

Love,

Patrick