Something has changed

I’m feeling better since the weekend. Nowadays, when I leave the office in the evening, I don’t feel like falling into this deep hole that I fell into day after day. Of course, I do cry here and there. And I don’t feel so bad about that. It’s a healthy thing to do. But my outlook is better now.

It changed after I visited a therapist on Friday night. Friday was a bad day for me. I cried ALL THE TIME. That was the case also when I was sitting in front of the therapist. But he is good! I left and felt relieved and felt that something can be done. I will definitely go back in two weeks. On my way home, when crossing the river, I decided to get off the tram and sit by the river for a while. The weather was wonderful and people just sat there, drank wine and enjoyed the sunset behind the city’s magnificent cathedral.

~ Evening sun, skyline, and the mighty Rhine river ~

It helps to be in this beatiful city. The people here love their city and the city wants to be loved. The picture above is proof for it. And not only that. Everyone I have met here so far is just so friendly and warmhearted. I really enjoy wandering through the city and talking to random people in the stores.

Then Saturday was just a great day for me and I came home exhausted and happy. That continued on Sunday. I had a very slow morning and then took my bike on a tour to a beautiful park and arboretum. I found a place to quietly read the weekend newspaper and then walked through the park a little bit. I had to fight back some tears. We both loved botanical gardens and rhododendrons which they had plenty of. But still, it was a wonderful day that I truly enjoyed!

Happy Birthday

Today is your birthday. I visited you at the clinic, brought you flowers and gifts from me and my parents. You really liked the gifts and my visit but it was hard for me to celebrate your birthday at the clinic. One and a half years and you are still in there. When does this nightmare ever stop?

You were very close to coming back home again. Lately, you were home on weekends and I felt you are doing fine. When you are able to leave the clinic it is so much easier for me. I can just do my usual errands without scheduling my trips to the clinic. And it’s great to have you home. A little bit of normality.

However, your condition got worse and now you are not allowed to leave your station and you have to check the nurses’ office every hour. You call it suicide watch.

I’m totally lost in what to think about it. In a way you made great progress in opening up to the doctors before you were in actual danger. I’m so glad that you did because the doctors wanted to send you home and we both got more and more worried about you. But at the same time I cannot understand how you are still so badly in danger. On top of that, I thought I learned from your last attempt. I thought I can read the signs. Last week taught me that I cannot. I was relieved to hear that you can stay at the clinic longer, I didn’t know that you have to be on suicide watch.

I sometimes worry whether you will ever be ok again. I know you want to feel better again. You work so hard. And we have so many plans. And there is progress. I can tell that there is. But then again, these steps are so tiny. And then I hear stories of depressed patients for whom no therapy worked out. Like this case in Belgium that everyone is discussing right now.

Tonight I worried so much about you that I called you again and we talked a little. It felt very good. You explained more about how you are feeling right now. And that you told exactly that to the doctors last week. I hope they can work with you on it.

A lost summer

This last summer was difficult. The whole year was an up and down, but the summer was especially difficult. I don’t remember a lot of it. Usually looking back, one remembers travels, ice cream, cold beers and easy going conversations after work at a patio of a pub or a Biergarten. I have these memories of it, too. My strongest memory of this summer though is riding my bike over a bridge, hurrying to catch the ferry to our favorite beach and later lying on that beach. And whenever I close my eyes I have the image of my phone with an incoming call from my parents earlier that same day.

“Your Dad isn’t doing so well! He has a tumor.”

Then we learned it was cancer. Then we learned it was a highly agressive cancer, not operable. The many trips home, visits to the hospital. A difficult surgery, nevertheless. Then, beginning of September finally some good news. The surgery went well! Dad is recovering fast. A huge relieve!

It feels like we bought time. I guess, that’s what it must feel like when you overcome cancer. Danger averted. But how will he deal with the remaining disability? Will the cancer come back? How long will it take for the cancer to come back?

These are the questions that remain after this summer.