15:33 The bell that no one wants to hear
It was a call on Friday afternoon at 15:33. I was just preparing a kwis beer tasting. In a few minutes my afternoon changed from light to heavy. Since then, I've been trying to write down everything that happens. Not to get pity, but to keep my head and heart together. These blogs are my way of understanding, sharing and showing how I deal with them – sometimes serious, sometimes humorous, but always real.
“Life does not call in advance to ask if it is convenient.”
⁇ Days of blankets and discipline
The last few days have been quiet, almost boring. Lots of bed, lots of couch, lots of cold. Sylvia literally kept me warm with blankets, nourissement and attention.
I kept my medicine schedule clean, like a model patient with a watch. There was something soothing in that rhythm.
Recovery is a matter of discipline: Not in doing, but in letting. Not fighting, but following.
“Sometimes healing is mainly an exercise in idleness.”
⁇ The knife sting in slow motion
Occasionally I am reminded that my throat is still in cultivation.
An innocent feeling of itching suddenly turns into a stitch, as if someone goes with a knife along the inside. A very blunt knife. With rust. And cartel edges.
The pain doesn't go away immediately, it sticks and then Sylvia is there, with her hand on my shoulder and her look saying: breath.
According to my own research (Google and ChatGPT, a dangerous duo) it's crusts that let go.
It sounds silly, but it's actually hopeful: What comes out makes room for recovery.
“Even pain can be a sign of progress.”
The night I slept
Last night it happened for the first time: I slept through my medication.
No pain, no waking up to swallow, no countdown to the next dose.
That sounds banal, but it felt like a victory. As if my body were saying: ‘I'll take care of this.’
Day eight is over, and connoisseurs say that days four to eight are the heaviest. If that's right, I'm on my way to the lighter side.
“Sometimes progress is just a night where nothing happens.”
⁇ Small bites, big steps
Slowly the appetite returns. Yesterday I ate a frikandel in (very) small pieces; a culinary highlight after days of liquid diet.
Sylvia came up with the brilliant idea of icecoffee. Cold, soft, and sweet enough to feel that there's life in me.
Every day I eat and drink a little more, very gradually. Saving energy is now my main task.
Next week, radiation will start somewhere in Enschede, every working day, for six to seven weeks.
Tuesday I have a call appointment with the Antoni van Leeuwenhoek, probably about the biopsy result. I don't know what's coming yet, but I do know that I need some reserves for that time and I'm building them now.
“Recovery starts with small bites of courage.”
⁇ For now
For now, this is where I stand. Quietly ahead, with coffee, blankets and Sylvia as my regular medicine.
I have zero reserves, but a growing desire to live healthier. A late resolution at 51, but better late than never.
The days are getting lighter, literally and figuratively.
‘Heaviness may have light. And light sometimes weighs surprisingly much.”
English (UK)