Tough cookie!

A blog always starts in my head, mostly at night; while laying in my bed. Words and sentences fly around trying to connect to one and other. The past few months I have had a lot of thoughts and feelings but I just couldn't put them into words. Chaos in my head, and in my heart. 

The very first rehabilitation training in January 2017, was nothing but confrontating. I entered the battle field in my most 'sporty spice' outfit: ready for action! Introducing myself to the other patients was a little confusing and as soon as I took off my vest during the warming-up, I noticed a sigh of recognition: 'Aha, you are having a dash too?!'. From that moment I was one of the guys. One hour full power. Just one hour and the intensity of the training wasn't very high, as the average age of the people in my group wasn't very low. Time flew by. I can hear you thinking: 'Piece of cake!'. 

After the training, as soon as my bump hit the bench in the womens dressingroom, I felt exhausted. Not only that very first time. Twice a week I had to show my new friends who was the fittest girl in the hospital and every time it took me quarter to half an hour to recharge myself before I could walk to the subway to go home. At home I served myself an easy dinner at my couch. Shivering and shaking, waiting to feel good enough to go to bed. 

Nevertheless, I felt comfortable during the rehabilitation training sessions. The physiotherapists had everything under control, which made me feel safe. It was a challenge to both explore and protect my boundaries. Very carefully I started to feel like me again, I finally had more energy even after working out. I enjoyed time with family and friends, as if nothing had happened. 

This positive feeling got confirmed by my cardiologist, which I saw again mid February. My focus on physical rehabilitation along with the enlightening conversations with a psychologist began to shed off fruit. Cherry on the pie was that I could halve my medicine, and later -if it would feel good- even stop taking them.

While I was busy trying to get up and recovering my life, too many people around me lost their lives. The father of one of my best friends, overwhelmed by cancer. My dear uncle, who suffered from ALS and could just not breathe anymore. Both ladies I shared a room with during my last hospitalization, too old to yet win the fight. Cor, one of the fellow warriors, unexpectedly stopped by his own heart. And a beautiful young woman who made a conscious decision to end her life herself.

My heart hurt. Feelings of sorrow and anger deep within me. Feelings so contradictory to my 'Joie de Vivre', which I felt strongly before. To mourn and to rehabilitate at the same time, not recommended. I began to feel weaker instead of stronger. Unstable. It took time to surrender to my weakness. A physiotherapist and my psychologist helped me with that. Feeling and acceptance is what I am working on now. However, I have contacted my cardiologist a couple of weeks ago. I needed confirmation plus I felt my body was unnecessarily uneasy. Increasing the Metoprolol gave me the necessary relief.

In my very first blog I wrote: "I will be 'under construction' for quite a while.. But I hope to come back: Stronger than ever!!". I am one tough cookie, and of course I came back! The only thing I am not so sure about is whether I want to be stronger. Stronger than before, than ever. I am aware of my strength. It helps me and it also works against me.

I danced through the last few months, with you but often alone. My heart allows me to rediscover my inner self. Instead of stronger, I now try to live more consciously than ever. We all have two lives. The second one starts when we realise we only have one..