Time flies..

I am home for two months already. Home, as in at my parents' place. Recovering from an openheartsurgery is definitely something else then recovering from the flu. My bright pink suitcase, filled with nice clothes; tasty recipes; books and (adult) color books, still untouched. I looked forward spending time with my parents after the turbulent period before surgery. What was I thinking?

Since a long time, I feel dependent again. As a 29 year old I had to rest after showering in the morning, I did not want to wash my greasy hair or even shave the jungle! I was glued to my grandmother's chair in our livingroom, waiting for an other cup of tea, or meal. And then rest again, hoping to feel strong enough to welcome guests in the afternoon. My parents supported me; protected me, but also remained at a respectful distance. Still, I rather hug someone then to be hugged.

I feel reset. 
 [verb ree-set; noun ree-set]

~ Noun

·         - reset - device for resetting instruments or controls 

          - the act or an instance of setting again

·         - a thing that is set again 

          - reset button - a push button that you press to activate the reset mechanism

~ Verb

·         - reset - set anew; "They re-set the date on the clock"

·         - specify, fix, limit, set, determine, define - decide upon or fix definitely.

·         - reset - set to zero; "reset instruments and dials"

·         - set - set to a certain position or cause to operate correctly; "set clocks or instruments"

·         - reset - adjust again after an initial failure.

   

"The thing" (my heart!), that is set again to a certain position to operate correctly; to adjust again after an initial failure, needs time. Where I previously was in charge of my body; and never gave up, I am now stopped by it. Too much effort makes me breathless; too much socializing makes me sweaty; too much noise makes me crazy; too much too much makes me so sad. Too much, too soon. 

It is hard to protect my limits, also really confronting. Especially because I slowly start to look like a healthy woman again, I sometimes forget what I've been through. People tell me I look good; I finally gained some weight; doctors see that I am just as strong. Doron - the dancing heart patient: always ready to perform.

So I could not wait to spend a night in my own house in Amsterdam. The impact was bigger then I expected. The few activities where I was used to, were not enough to survive in the big city. I got lost in 'my own' supermarket which was completely renovated at the time I was gone. Totally exhausted I traveled back to my parents. When I had to sit on the floor in a full train compartment, tears came. My physical disability may not be visible, I feel it terribly!

The big question for me is how my body reacts to the new structure of my heart. After 29 years the two pulmonary veins suddenly run in the right direction; the gab between the left en the right atrium has been closed. My blood flows as it should. But will my body accept this, can I handle it? Are the things that I feel right now just aftereffects of the surgery or am I really changed from a race car to a diesel? If so, then I must learn to live with that. I yearn for guidance, both physically and mentally. I am glad that cardiac rehabilitation has started!

Time flies, not just when you are having fun. I have done little, but I have been through a lot. Healing is an art. It takes time; it takes practice; it takes love. A scar means, I survived. 
I am in good contact with fellow warriors, we make jokes until our sternum hurts from laughing. I am grateful The Dutch Heart Foundation has shared my story on their website, and I am touched that a German dance company has used my blog as inspiration for a new choreography. Positive feelings continue to predominate. 
I dare to say that I am proud of myself.