I love switching around quickly

Because of unbearable pain, I couldn't do anything anymore. Totally dependent on others to ask for help for everything is not my cup of tea, so my brain kept switching non-stop to “what can I make possible?” the past few weeks.... 

The TV camera is already running on Mon Feb 3rd for the interview about bullying at my home table. My face shows the pain when something misfires in my knee. I mutter ‘'will shoot back in a moment, I'm fine’' and tell my story with my teeth clamped together. Between the journalist and the camerawoman I hop over to the couch for some shots there. They let themselves out, because I really can't go anywhere for a while and am really in pain now, which doesn't stop even when I sit dead still, worse than childbirth! 

'Come on' says physio Joa when I call him that same afternoon if he can put a tape on today. My dear husband drags me there on a wheeled chair to the car and sitting on a walker inside. Something more seems to be going on, so that tape isn't coming, he puts me in a machine with my knee to move unloaded, hoping it will kick back in. 

At home I re-watch the broadcast of Editie NL and marvel at how many people are home at 6:15 p.m. with the TV on. That night is hell, I barely sleep despite the maximum cocktail of painkillers. Tuesday the family doctor can't do much examining due to the extreme pain. 

Thursday the orthopedist concludes that the photos are good, my meniscus is not, so surgery is needed. I fill up, because the optimist in me wants it to be better than usual. The docter-in-training comes and sits next to me on the treatment couch, looks at me compassionately and briefly strokes my back - that's going to be a good doctor - while the orthopedist calls for an emergency MRI and OR spot. He puts a syringe in my knee, unexpectedly lugs and rattles on this and declares “sometimes it shoots back by itself. I ask him if it would hurt to just go to work next week, if the pain is doable. He winks, "as long as you don't force anything!

With crutches, I can move myself small distances again on Friday, the pain seems reasonably under control and my energy is coming back. So I switch with my clients whether it is okay to come to training with crutches though and charter my dear husband as driver for the coming week. 

Saturday we buy another car in one day, because that switch car of ours was actually long overdue for replacement, and an automatic gives me back my freedom because it's my left knee! Unfortunately, it won't be roadworthy for another week.

It is still dark when we are on our way to Tilburg together at 6:15 a.m. on Monday, Feb 10th, the vacation feeling creeps up on us. That night we eat and sleep in Groningen, where I work the next day. Wednesday we have a home game in Haarlem and the MRI scan, Thursday we go to Nieuwegein. It's nice that he gets to see all the locations where I regularly work. Making the best of it together, that's what we're good at! I don't let myself shut down so easily, but what I don't know yet is that the universe is going to take another crack at testing my switching ability. 

Mon Feb 17th I get the results of my MRI, a ruptured meniscus that needs to be sutured, making the surgery longer and the rehab time afterwards not 2 but 6 weeks. That night I sleep next to my 85-year-old father who, due to Parkinson's, is restless at night and needs help, because Mom can't take it anymore for a while. Tuesday night I sit next to Dad in the hospital emergency room, where he ended up against his and our wishes. Two weeks of switching between emotion and being practical. I make arrangements; cancel work, engage AOV, look for a place for Dad in a nursing home or hospice and fight for his euthanasia wish. Every day I drive our new automatic to the hospital and there I let myself be pushed through the long corridors in a wheelchair to visit Dad and support Mom. My world consists of only this fort two weeks.

Mon March 3 there is finally green light for euthanasia at home, Dad has been talking about nothing else in his clear moments for the past few weeks, this is what he wants, no question about it. Tuesday is switching between organizing for a few more great hours at home tomorrow, his farewell ceremony next week and the online screening for a Harvard assignment I really don't want to miss. Wednesday afternoon he is at home in his familiar easy chair handing out Dinkies to the grandchildren, sleeping, dancing from that chair hand in hand with Mom and enjoying the baby bites of herring and homemade pumpkin soup we feed him. We laugh, cry and squeeze each other's hands as I read him my farewell speech while alive just before the family doctor arrives. That night I watch and sleep next to Mom, while Dad lies there beautifully downstairs. Grief and relief dance through my body, the farewell card and his farewell on March 11th was beautiful and good, the way he was!

March 7th, after my love Goran's shoulder surgery, it turns out that not only his tendon but also his biceps were torn off, so the first six weeks he has to stay in a sling and really can't do anything. But together we will get there, I have my hands free and he has his legs, we joke.

Fri March 8, I'm done walking on crutches and decide to try it without. That goes pretty okay, so the thought that my knee is the exception to the rule and does recover naturally doesn't let me go. I switch with my orthopedist. He is clear, if I don't operate on April 8, all hell is going to repeat itself. And he is decisive and understanding 'if it is doable in terms of pain and movement you can drive again sooner than after 6 weeks. Will you help remind me in the OR that I will make a note in your file so you do have insurance?' Yes, I will! So nice to switch fast to what is possible. To be continued.

Can you or your team use some help in switching to 'wat is posible'? Feel free to contact me.

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