Prompt 215. On Healing & a Deliciously Inky Pen

& a prompt on doodling by Paul Broomberg

Hi friend,

We’re not anywhere close to February, but ever since I underwent my second bone marrow transplant, it feels like Groundhog Day. Months have passed, and I’m still in the same place: still dealing with GVHD of the intestines, still sick from chemo. The days blur together, one like the next. I wake up and get sick, then curl up on the couch with River to recover. I try to eat something, take my pills, often get sick again. I sleep a lot, trying to time my naps so that I wake up right before a friend’s visit. The only thing that’s different is looking in the mirror. My hair is growing back in wisps, and I’m moonfaced from the steroids.

I know from experience that messy, fallow, transitional moments are ripe with all kinds of treasures: new insights, new rituals, new creative pursuits, new ideas. But those take time to emerge—often they don’t happen in the midst of things. My mind flies to last time, a little further along in my healing. I went on my road trip, started writing my book, and began training for a half-marathon. I applied to graduate school and tried my hand at teaching. All those things, when I was still wading through the hardest parts, would have felt impossible. I felt like I was going to be stuck forever.

So right now, I’m trusting that there’s something on the other side. Even if I feel drained of inspiration, even if I’m not writing, even if, when I think about painting, I get stuck at the physical energy required to get my brushes and easel and everything set up. I’m having faith that something will come of all of this. Something surprising. And enriching. And creative.

In the meantime, some reminders: Be patient and gentle. Don’t beat yourself up about your lack of energy, or judge the way you look, or dwell on what you’re missing out on. Trust that something is happening—that your molecules are shifting and rearranging. Trust that you’re changing, you’re healing. Because if I’ve learned anything, it’s that healing very rarely looks the way you think it will.

With all that said, I am inspired by today’s prompt—it feels like a gentle invitation. It’s from a fellow leukemia survivor, Paul Broomberg, who wrote in a few months ago with an amazing drawing, which he made during his recovery to commemorate every part of what he’d been through. It was so powerful that we asked him to share his drawing and his story with you, our beloved community.

When I read Paul’s essay and prompt, I felt an energetic crackling. I felt an urge to reflect on the last year—but not in a way that feels heavy, not where I have to push. It made me think of the brilliant artist Shantell Martin, who wrote a prompt for us called “Follow the Line,” about sitting down with a pen and paper and letting the line lead the way. It made me think of my dear maman’s prompt, “Drawing in the Margins”—about freeing yourself from ego and unlocking a flowing creative mode. 

Paul’s prompt makes me believe I can navigate this next phase of illness in a new and equally creative way: freeform, associative, tapping the unconscious with a deliciously inky pen, letting go. I hope it does the same for you.

Sending love,

Suleika

P.S. After reading Paul’s prompt, I kept thinking about so many past journaling prompts—like Shantell’s, like my mom’s—that have helped me get unstuck. I’ve curated six of my favorites that I hope to write and draw through this week—available for paid subscribers here.

Some Items of Note—

• If you missed it, I sent out the latest installment of my advice column Dear Susu, where I answered the question, “Can I destroy my daughter’s journals?” I wrote about what it means to carry complicated grief, wounds that never heal, and how the answer may lie in one word: mercy. You can find it, along with our community’s gorgeous, tender comments here.

• Two tidbits about the Hatch, our virtual creative hour: Carmen has posted some notes from last Sunday’s meeting, “On Hope as a Creative Force.” We’ve also scheduled the next gathering—it’ll be Sunday, November 20, 2022, from 1-2 pm ET. Mark your calendar!

Prompt 215. Life in a Doodle by Paul Broomberg

I’ve always been more comfortable drawing than writing. My meeting notes are filled with doodles, and for milestone birthdays, I often illustrate shared experiences for family members. When in early 2020, I entered the hospital for cancer treatment (like Suleika, I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia), I realized I wanted to represent that journey in a doodle as well. 

I soon began making a list of everything I wanted to include—the X-Ray Man logo where my central line went in, or the bizarre image of a needle being inserted into my spinal column for intrathecal chemo. I wanted to include the good things (the incredible doctors and nurses and the amazing circle of support and love that formed around me and my family), as well as the tough ones (the dreaded “Red Devil” chemo, the ICU, and the multiple medical complications).

When I was finally allowed to go home from the hospital, I took out the drawing pad and started with a “BLAST” in the pop art style of Roy Lichtenstein. (Blasts are the signature cells of leukemia that fill up the bone marrow, preventing normal blood production). From there it was a process of finding images to represent everything I’d gone through—from my children’s childhood stuffed toys that they (then as adults) offered to me for comfort, to the 56 medicine cups that represent each day of my initial stay in hospital. I also wanted to ensure I had a place on the page to celebrate everyone who had supported me with boundless energy and love.

That last bit is what really pushed me to complete the drawing: the idea that I could give copies to everyone who had been a part of my experience. In this small way, I could show my gratitude to each of the amazing medical and support team and to friends and family who gave so much of themselves—because without them, I don’t know how I would have survived. 

It’s been over two years since my remission, but I still look at the doodle often. I realize now that doodling was a way for me to process the experience. The act of committing each event as a graphic image was so important in the psychological healing that came after the medical healing. The joy now is to have the full arc of the journey represented on a single page, which allows me to deal with the memories in a gentle and positive way. 

Your prompt for the week:

Choose an important and meaningful experience from your life. Make a list of all the people, songs, details, and ideas associated with that time in your life. Without worrying about the final outcome, graphically represent each item on the list, juxtaposing the bad and the good. 

If you’d like, you can post your response in the comments section, in our Facebook group, or on Instagram by tagging @theisolationjournals.

Today’s Contributor

Paul Broomberg was born in Johannesburg, South Africa, and now lives happily in Montreal, Canada, with his wife and two wonderful children and their beloved dog, Pinto.

For more paid subscriber benefits, see—

• Six Prompts for Getting Unstuck, a curation of some favorite past prompts for writing and drawing and our way through

• Hard Journeys & Packing Light, a community discussion from a year ago, where I first wrote about my fear of relapse and shared a passage from Kate Bowler’s No Cure for Being Human

• On the Quarryings of Time, our notes from May’s meeting of the Hatch, where Carmen shared a passage from Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek and talked about the Buddhist teaching of the three poisons