I had a great talk yesterday with my physical therapist. We only talked, but it was necessary to tell her of my current situation, and how it will continue the next couple of months. How it will affect our work, and my progress.

I haven’t really talked about my state of denial. Or at least, that’s how it feels like. I am more worried by the fact I am causing Ramon so much grief, and can’t share emotions. We talked about it from time to time, and we even managed to perfect our level of sinister yokes. But I spoke the words, but really said nothing. Like it wasn’t about me, or us. But after my talk with my therapist, it was like something had opened up a bit.



Yesterday evening I was browsing on Facebook, and saw an update of Emma Bridgewater her new collection. There were a couple of mugs in particular, that caught my eye. ‘Cities of dreams’  is a new range of mugs with cities like Amsterdam, New York, and Paris are painted on the mugs. Where the Paris mug was described as ‘the anniversary in Paris’, ‘memories at the breakfast table’.

I looked up from my phone, then at Ramon, and the moment I wanted to speak the words, I choked up. A huge lump was in my throat, and tears rolled down my cheek while I looked at him. I swallowed two, three, four times, and then finally some words came out.

‘Maybe we can go to Paris next year for our anniversary, as we always did on the seventh of January. The past two years we didn’t go because of other more important things that came up, but seeing this could be our last…..’

Oooh, how I cried. And  oooh… how I so not wanted to do this. Ramon finally displayed moments of being okay, not tearing up every time he looked at me. I allowed myself 5 minutes of the ugly cry, and blubber all over his shirt while I hugged him, squeezing with all my might.

But it didn’t quite stop there. My brain began to start working again, and while my willpower is shushing it down, small parts come through anyway.



I feel rushed. Rushed in completing things I still want to do, or need to do, like finish painting the clogs I promised to a friend. Or being fucking Wonder Woman in a cosplay event. When I went outside to get my mobility scooter to do some groceries, I was nailed to the ground. I stared for a while and then I walked inside the garage to just sit for a while in our side car. We were supposed to have lots of time to restore it to its former glory, and then ride together  in style with our doggies. Are we ever going to ride together in the side car again? Will I still be okay next spring? Will it still be possible?

I took Ramon ‘s word to write an email to the LUMC. I know they can’t do much, but I just wanted to inform them of my current situation. So when I came home from groceries, I sat down to write an email. I think I backspaced it a thousand times. What are the correct words to inform a doctor?

Eventually I just wrote what was in my head. And asked for any help possible, even though I know there  probably won’t be any.

Two hours later I got a call back from one of the doctors. She was shocked to hear of my news. She just came back from holidays, and had 500 unread e-mails to go through, but when she saw mine, it was urgent enough to put on top, and call me back immediately. They’ve now arranged a meeting next week because this is an urgent case. I still make it less of a meaning for myself than it actually is,  but the way the doc from the LUMC spoke, made it ever so clear, this has reached its end.


Deep sigh….

Still not want to think about it…..

Just want to cuddle up with my babies…