Status Update

STATUS UPDATE – Missed Me Much, Miss Me More

To all the people who don’t like me nagging about my health: here’s your chance to tune out now 😉

I hate nagging as much as you do, but sadly at this moment it’s the one thing that got me further into feeling better. There have been some changes in my life recently, some of which I am quite proud:

  1. First change (not good): for a while now I’ve been getting really sick on at least one day a week, regularly. Weird, huh? I say it’s the *whispers* hormones again, but I am no doctor so what do I know? All that I do know is that every Wednesday (and one Tuesday) since five weeks I get physically unwell to the extent that I can’t do anything but lie down and hope it goes away fast (which it never does). Nausea, stomach aches, bowels playing up… You name it, I’ve got it.  For hours on end. And every Wednesday…? 😮 That makes no sense at all, so I decided to call my gynaecologist. And GP.
  2. Second change (pretty good): I had an apppointment planned with my gynaecologist for January 2nd. When I called and explained my issues to her assistant, she told me my doctor really can’t see me until next year. What the heck? Instead of giving up, though, I decided to try something different: I kept nagging and pleading and talking and arguing until she relented and suddenly *found* an opening on November 20th. Hah! Thought this was good? Wait ’til you read what nagging brought me next:
  3. Third change (super good!): This Friday, I called my GP. On purpose, because I know she’s out on Fridays and I like her substitute better. But, unfortunately for me it appeared as if I was never going to make it past the firewall of assistents. The one who picked up the phone listened to my problems for a short while only to proceed by repeating to me: “We cannot help you with this. No, there’s nothing we can do.”
    Again, normally I would have given up, but this time I was relentless and kept going at her until she agreed to have the GP call me back later. My doctor did so and after explaining the whole story again to her, she said (directly translated quote): “You should have come in to see me, I could have run a few tests on you already.”I can’t describe how good it felt to tell her: “I tried, but your assistent wouldn’t let me. She said you couldn’t do anything for me.”Sometimes being a b*tch feels so great! 🙂

    Anyway, my doctor’s scheduled for tons of blood tests (“Basically just everything, plus the usual”). So I’ll have my blood taken on Monday and then meet my regular GP on (irony:) Wednesday to talk it all over.

Conclusion: my health is definitely not good. It comes and goes in waves, but every week it gets drastically worse for a day or two. Or three. And then picks up and starts all over.

I know people don’t believe me because it sounds like a bad joke: every Wednesday she gets sick? Yeah, right! The sad truth is that even I feel like it’s all in my head sometimes, until it happens again. On a Wednesday 😐 And by then I am crying from feeling helpless.

So right now, my main priority is getting better. I have “WP” written in my diary to remind me to post on WordPress, read all of your posts and, basically, appear alive altogether. But honestly, I am not up for it.

Still, I am happier than I’ve been these past five weeks! 🙂 Because I took a stand (or two) and am finally sticking up for myself. And I’m not done nagging to the right people, not until I am all well again.

I am sorry if I’m letting anyone down or dissapoint someone. I’m going to take an official break from WordPress, but hope to be back sooner than anyone can imagine 🙂

Miss you all ❤

Heart to Post

HEART TO POST – From A Secret Admirer To Her Secret Cellist: A Lyrical Letter

“One good thing about music: when it hits you, you feel no pain”Bob Marley

Dear secret cellist hiding in my street: you need to practice more.

Your notes sound off-tune and you cannot play a recognisable song decently. The force behind your strokes is unbalanced and they often sound weak, as if you miss the willpower to show your musical instrument who’s in charge. The melodies you play are too light and easily hide behind the Summer winds or go astray in the Autumn skies, fleeing upwards, eager to escape their earthbound destiny.

And their destiny, I am sure, is to make my heart beat with happiness.

Hearing you play makes me want to close my eyes in silent rejoice, letting your music fill my soul with an instant happiness and a gratefulness for being under your spell.

The colours of your music find their way into my head and heart, pushing out every bad memory of the day, week or even the year. For when I hear you practice, I lose track of my burdens and my only desire is to enjoy!

To me, it doesn’t matter you restart countless times in order to get it right. It doesn’t bother me that the music notes coming my way are muffled through numerous walls or are impurified by traffic noise in the background. The sweet sound of your cello makes up for everything. Even if it’s merely a hint, a glimmer I catch of it, it leaves me longing for more.

The first time I heard you practice was on a lovely Summer day and I can’t descrive how delighted I was when I first recognised the deep, warm sounds of your cello. You made my day perfect and I was quick enough to discard my book, lean back and close my eyes, thinking only how lucky I was for having someone who would undoubtedly play my favourite instrument often and make my heart sing equally frequently.

However, the second time I heard you practice was only a few days ago. Through my bathroom wall the faint remainders of the notes you must have been playing a few doors down waltzed in. I don’t even remember what I was doing, because the moment my ears picked up on your exercise, that’s all that mattered. Pure joy.

It’s the simplest things in life that cause the most happiness and you working to grow your talent is one of my happy flaws, I am ready to admit.

So yes, your notes are unbalanced and your strokes sound weak. Your melodies easily escape into thin air, but they are never quick enough to escape my ears. And even if you have a long, long road ahead of you of becoming better and better still, I like what I hear. I like how you make me feel.

Unknowingly, you make me a happier person. And there is always room for more happiness in my life. Therefore, I appeal to you:

Dear secret cellist hiding in my street: you need to practice more.

Heart to Post

Heart to Post – About Dracula, Pyjama Pants And Simply Being Irresistible

This post is a bit long, but you’ll enjoy it nonetheless. I promise!

Well, whaddaya know, turns out I am irresistible! Go figure.

Fun fact: recently I’ve decided to take up battle with my hormones. If you don’t know me well enough: my hormones have a history of making me physically sick and their evil influence increased over time. To shut them down I went on hormone-regulated medicine, which worked fine for years, but started to show signs of weakness not too long ago.

I decided to tackle this problem once and for all. Step one was to stay off my medication and let my hormones think they run the show again, so I could knock ’em down for good.

As it turns out, though, after years of being suppressed, my hormones are quite slow on taking over. Meanwhile, I am experiencing some inconveniences of hormonal shifts in my body, such as being bloated.

Mainly being bloated.

And at that point, I’d like to start off my irresistible I-went-on-a-trip-to-Romania-story: a very bloated (and equally unhappy) me with my eldest sister W embarking on a foreign adventure.

Whether it were my hormones or the influences of the scorching sun melting everyone’s minds I do not know. What I do know is that during that seven day trip through Romania, I could have picked at least three guys to come home with me.

Now, if you didn’t know about my Battles Of The Hormones, you’ll probably also not know about my commitment issues. And by issues, I mean phobia. Anyone coming too close too fast to my likings, is met with an icy cold wall of ignorance, a silent treatment so quiet it’ll make you think I went deaf overnight, and me strapping on my running shoes quicker than you could mouth “I like you”, to run as far away from you as inhumanly possible.

Feel free to laugh about commitment-phobic me and three interestees. But save some for later when it truly becomes hysterical.

The love bite, it is the beginning. You will be irresistible - Bela Lugosi

Guy one was the lone traveller of our group. If you’ve ever went on a group travel, then you know there’s always at least one person in that group travelling alone. Just them. And the group.

Our lovely loner was a quiet, decent man who soon gave me the idea of being *yikes* into me. Luckily I had W, who disagreed wholly with that theory. So I did something quite unnatural: I stopped panicking.

Then one talkative night, the loner’s reaction to finding out I am single was a little too excited to my likings. But instead of hopping into my comfortable runners, I simply told him I am not looking for a relationship and left it at that. Result: no panic and no wooing. In that order.

Guy two was a bartender/waiter at a Romanian restaurant. W and me went there for a drink one night and we got chatting as I asked him after traditional Romanian food. He showed us the full menu and wouldn’t stop talking. At one point I mentioned W nearly breaking her neck due to the poor street work, after which W vows she heard him say to me: “Luckily it wasn’t you.”

And when me, W, the loner and a young couple went to dine at his restaurant on our last night in Romania, I kept receiving my food and drinks first and he kept growing more nervous every time he visited our table. But even after the woman of the couple jokingly mentioned: “Now I know why you wanted to come back here!” I managed not to freak out.

The worst one, though, was guy three: our final day consisted of a few hours in Bucharest and then flying back to Amsterdam. The weather had been too hot to wear my PJ’s, and I had slept in my underwear the whole week. Anticipating another uncomfortable flight (I swear my legs are too long!), I had put on my pyjama bottoms already. They are old sweatpants and nothing else I own is more comfortable.

So there I was, roaming Bucharest with twenty-three others, wearing my pyjama bottoms and being bloated still. The sun was out and I was slowly melting, so all in all I can honestly say I don’t think I’ve ever looked less appealing on a holiday.

“Like a moth getting trapped in the light by fixation, truly free, love it, baby”from: Irresistible by Fall Out Boy

Our guide, showing us around the capital city, suddenly spotted some policemen. He made his way over and our guide asked: “Who wants a picture with the police?”

Many of the ladies from our group, me included (still bloated, in pyjama bottoms and sweaty) eagerly posed next to the officers.

I mean… men in uniforms… I may have commitment issues, but I am not fully immune, thank you.

Afterwards, one of the officers rushed over to me (still bloated, in pyjama bottoms and sweaty) and asked to see the picture and if I could send it to him (NOOOO), so I said “Sure!” and he gave me his name to look him up on Facebook.

Now, even though I have no intention of ever reaching out to him (I thought he was quite creepy, despite his uniform), I still said yes because I was afraid of what he might do if I turned him down.

But that’s not the point. The real point is, I am irresistible (and still bloated and sweaty. It’s too hot for pyjama bottoms though).

No matter how sh*t I think I look, somehow, some people disagree. And no matter how lost I feel as a love cause, somehow, some people disagree.

I don’t get it either, but what I do get is that something has changed. Besides my hormones.

My perception of love, my panic attacks, my scares… Perhaps it was the magic of Romania, but I believe something inside me is no longer the same. Maybe it is time to let go of those old, comfortable running shoes, that silent treatment I carry around in case I need it, and my icy cold wall of ignorance. I honestly think I’ve outgrown them.

Maybe there’s hope for me yet 🙂

Oh, and about Dracula: he’s never really lived in Dracula’s Castle. Go figure.

Heart to Post

Heart to Post – How I Got To 61 In One Afternoon (An Insight Into My Thoughts)

 


Is this a quick peep into the future? Or is life merely playing tricks with my mind?

This I wonder as I sit outside, on a cloudy yet heavenly Summer day, picking up an old hobby in an attempt to create something new: knitting.

…19, 20, 21, 22…

I count the stitches in my head, all the way up to 61, to ensure I don’t make a mistake. Another mistake, I might add. The first five minutes of my knitting bonanza my mum had to come rush to my aid at least four times. Just goes to show what a knitting wonder I am.

Not.

…34, 35, 36, 37…

Tommy sits at my feet, is meowing for attention. The irony of me knitting away with a feline friend on my side does not escape me. Hence my question: is this what my future will look like? Me, desperately trying to not mess up my knitting while a cat lies at my feet, purring away my blues? Am I an old woman hidden in the body of a 32-year-old!?

Nah, impossible. I’ve already decided to become a crazy gerbil lady instead of a regular spinster. I think I’m good.

…54, 55, 56 – getting close now!

Wait, aren’t cats supposed to be obsessed with yarn? I make Tommy sniff my yarn ball and nothing happens. He just purrs and rubs his nose against it. Hmm… Maybe I should throw it away and he’ll go after it.

Nope. Better get up and fetch it myself, then.

 

This weekend’s forecast is mostly knitting with a chance of wineThe Art Of Knitting

 

…57, 58…

I’m never going to find my soulmate. Apart from all the ugly photos taken of me last Sunday (I’ve got such a weird face!), who’s ever going to accept my hobby? Knitting has got to be the least sexy thing on Earth, surely?

Ah well. At the rate I’m going, I’ll never get this scarf finished before mid-2025. At least.

Oh, nearly there!

…59, 60…

I suck at knitting. How come my mum can do this with whatever hand she chooses, two fingers up her nose and her eyes closed? Figuratively speaking, of course. And how is it that she’s so good at fixing my mistakes, while I have a hard time spotting them in the first place? I feel so blind… And stupid.

The only way I can knit something good, is by not making a single mistake. And for that, I have to keep counting. Which is just so…. monotonous. And boring.

…61!

Okay, pay attention here. You cannot let your thoughts stray, you need to do this stitch just right, as it’s literally forming the centrepiece of your scarf.

Wait! Have I just thought all this while counting?

Was I actually multitasking? I can think and count at the same time?

Maybe there’s hope for me yet, as a knitter. Who knows, perhaps one day I’ll manage to knit without counting!

But for now, that’s 61 more stitches to finish this row.

1, 2, 3, 4…

There is always more to us than we think there is ❤

 

Status Update

Pandabear With Me Again – Or Still

A small insight into my past couple of weeks:

  • My mother had dark urine and, needless to say, that immediately put everyone in my family right back on their toes: what if she’s got cancer again?  She went to our GP who sent her straight to the hospital for a series of check-ups. You know, just in case.
  • As the anxiety levels were rising in our family, I remembered I also had an appointment in hospital myself. Remember my hormone-issues? Well, let’s just say I sort of chose to provoke them before they had a chance to pester me again unexpectedly. Result: tests and check-ups to see where my issues are stemming from.
  • After several different (and futile) tests, my mother’s blood-in-urine-issues increased, also making her back and belly ache. Giant alarm clocks started ringing and I made her call her specialist, who immediately changed her final test and appointment from August 5th to July 1st. Why such a rush, my mind kept asking itself. What if she’s got cancer again?
  • Monday came and went, and after a long day of stress, the question on everyone’s mind was negatively answered: no, it’s not cancer! ❤ My mother appeared to have a tiny kidney stone, and since no one had anything better to do, she was scheduled in to have it pulverised the next day.
  • Tuesday came and went, but a little slower than Monday. If my mother seemed happy and vibrant even after the pulverisation of her kidney stone, she was the complete opposite after her painkillers wore off. I have NEVER in my life seen anyone in that much pain!! D: All the stories I ever heard of people with kidney stones dying of pure agony are true!
    Turns out the pulverisation worked wonders, but the kidney stone parts coming loose were a little less magical. Worst part: nobody gave my mother strong painkillers to take home! Imagine my level of pissed-off-ness as I phoned the hospital while my mother kept busy with throwing out her dinner and being completely miserable.
    After over an hour of phoning, being redirected and nearly threatening people, I managed to get some heavier painkillers for my mum than freaking paracetamole. Poor her. And yay me. I didn’t know I had it in me, but as it turns out I do have a bitch-switch. So be warned. I am not easy!
  • After what’s probably the worst night in the history of my mother (luckily when I’m asleep I am ASLEEP) in which she spent more than one moment in the bathroom being sick and in agony again (with my dad comforting her), I had to go to hospital myself. The last time I was there, they did an internal ultrasound on my uterus, which I hadn’t been quite prepared for at the time, and after not finding anything due to my meds, they promised to redo the examination 3 months later. Which was now. Fully prepared, and with a huge feeling of reluctance hanging over me, I went back. After spending 20 minutes in the waiting area the doctor called me in. For a chat. I was back out again 5 minutes later, nothing done.
    Strangely, this all gave me a familiar feeling of not being taken seriously and everyone just trying to get me on something hormonal again to stop my misery, but only temporarily. I felt upset. And I refuse to let this thing run that course again. So, I am going to do what my doctor told me to do, which is map out my complaints when they start again. And then I am going to moan and complain and bitch until she helps me decently. Remember that bitch-switch? I am happy I found I have it. Watch me bite your head off next time you try to help me by not helping me *growl*

And now my stress is leaving my body. I’ve been building it up inside for a while and now I can “relax”, I feel I am exhausted again, can’t find any sort of motivation to do anything, not even the fun things, and all I want to do is watch TV and eat chocolate.

Oh, by the way, I also apparently overstretched my groin by taking on a “daily 7 minute work-out challenge” as my monthly goal. Ouch! It’s not too bad, but raising my right leg up does make my groin sting, so I am advised to not work out and take my rest.

I blame the hormones. I bet they know what I’m up to and they’re gearing up for battle…

Anyway, that’s what’s been keeping me busy lately. This week, so far, I’ve done nothing productive! Due to holidays and vacations, I’ve only worked 2 days and the rest was just me, TV and chocolate. But I need it.

I need my time to build strength. Just now I did an eye-opening visualisation exercise and it did make some things extremely clear. And reading and binge-watching anything that moves on my dad’s new TV screen (it’s huge, but he needed it to “be able to read the subtitles”. Don’t ask.) has helped me clear my mind as to what I want with Heart to Follow. Do I want to stop blogging? Nope. Do I want to continue the way I am blogging now? Nope.

So changes are afoot. Again. But I think everything is going to be good and positive.

I hope you’re all doing wonderful and thank you for being patient with me, for so many times, for so long already. ❤ ❤