Off Track
I wrote the piece below a week ago. Little did I know then that this was merely the calm before the storm...
Once again, I am completely off track. Or rather, my body is acting strange. After a perfectly fine week, it suddenly decided to go into full rebellion. Zero energy, flu-like symptoms, a headache, aching all over.
My Garmin watch confirms this: body battery almost empty, take some rest! What do you think I’ve been doing for the past 48 hours?! I’ve been flat on my back almost continuously.
The watch also points out that my sleep is 'non-restorative.' So, that battery isn't recharging at night. It also shows me that my heart rate, which normally stays peacefully below 50 bpm, hits around 100 bpm while I sleep. Not exactly restful, apparently.
I felt so miserable again last night that my big blue friend made a brief reappearance. And once again, it brought me peace.
This isn't the first time this has happened. But what it means and what triggers it remains a mystery to me. I can only hope that the bacteria constantly lurking in my airways won't take advantage of this physical weakness.
Could it be a manifestation of Graft-Versus-Host Disease? The rejection symptoms I was gifted alongside my transplant?
Or is it secretly some virus after all, that managed to wriggle its way inside?
I don’t know. I just have to live with it.
I’m currently working intensively through my own book for the English translation. And this week, I read the section about the rollercoaster. How you sit inside your body as a passenger, and how resisting it is completely pointless. The rollercoaster is most enjoyable when you just lean into the curves.
Right now, I’m in a hairpin turn, or a loop-the-loop. The best I can do is just look around me and view the pain as part of the attraction.
I am writing this from my wet office*. I feel like a total washed-out rag. But the sun is shining, the pine trees stand majestically against the horizon, the olive trees are full of life, and in the distance lies the hazy coastline.
Patience.
—
That’s what I wrote last Monday. But despite all the patience in the world, the rollercoaster started taking sharper and weirder turns. At intervals, I had a fever and was delirious. "Just be quiet, save your energy," Lydia said. But I couldn't help it. I couldn't get a single bite down, lay shivering in the heat, sweating in the shade, plagued by fever dreams as the world seemed to fade away.
By Thursday evening, I had hit a wall. I was completely spent. Lydia and our loyal friend Freddie conferred and decided to call an ambulance. An hour later, I was lying in the pronto soccorso—the emergency room. I watched this unfold with great suspicion. Last year, I ended up there as well, that time with a stomach flu. It was August, the month when everyone is on holiday. It was an absolute madhouse. I had to stay the night, but didn't get a bed until 3 a.m., and no blanket either. Eventually, they sent me home, even more broken than when I had entered, without any form of treatment.
This time was better. The ambulance arrival had certainly contributed to that. I was given an IV to hydrate me and was moved to a relatively quiet corner. There, I experienced a bizarre night surrounded by desperately screaming patients calling out for their mothers or fathers, or shouting abuse at the nursing staff. Scenes I had never witnessed before in the Netherlands or Cape Town.
They took blood samples, and I received antibiotics through the IV. I was told they wanted to keep me overnight and that a private room up in the hospital might become available.
By the following evening, they managed to pull it off. I was assigned a beautiful, spacious room in this recently built hospital. More luxury than I’ve ever had. A peaceful ward—compared to downstairs—with friendly staff.
The rollercoaster began to run in calmer circles.
But I still couldn't do a thing. Looking back, I was truly out of it during those days. I missed half of what was happening. Sweated through my bed so heavily that I didn't know how to get dry again.
Measurements were taken, and scans were made. The conclusion: double pneumonia!
This explained everything, but where on earth did it come from? Normally, I get a cold first, which then develops into pneumonia with lots of green mucus. This time, no cold, no green mucus, and so far, no coughing or feelings of breathlessness. It frightened me. How can I protect myself against this anymore?
I was given three types of antibiotics, endless IV bags draining into my body. It was total déjà vu. Just like back then, they even inserted a PICC line: a professional supplier's entrance directly into my blood.
Gradually, the fever subsided, but the breathlessness increased. The bugs in my lungs were multiplying. I was put on oxygen; sometimes I couldn't sleep because of the maddening, itchy sensation in my lungs.
But day by day, things are improving. I’m not there yet, but I’ve just been told I might be allowed to go home the day after tomorrow. The treatment will continue there for a while, supported by pills.
My homecoming coincides with our planned move to our new house. Most of it is packed and ready, so I think it’s doable—moving next week.
I can really look forward to that.
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