The past two weeks have been a blur – medically, mentally, and occasionally, very strangely.
It started with blood work on Tuesday (April 22). Now, let me tell you – this is never a simple thing for me. I’m that person whose veins disappear the moment a needle comes near. Every time. And yet I always try to be helpful by saying, “There’s a big vein in my right arm, it’s deep, but it works – promise.” Still, I’ve had more than a few run-ins with the “Don’t tell me how to do my job” types. You know the ones – polite on the outside, but internally thinking, challenge accepted.
One hospital experience a few years ago still lives in my personal trauma file. I was there for blood work related to a knee injury (yes, I’m injury-prone, it’s fine). Multiple nurses came in. One after another. I lost count somewhere around attempt number ten – both arms, both hands, different spots, same result: nothing. At some point, it honestly felt like I was being used for vein-finding practice. My arms were bruised, punctured, and sore for days after – they looked like they’d survived a bar fight with a sewing machine.
Eventually, a doctor came in. I explained – again – about the deep vein. He listened. One try. Blood flowed. I could’ve cried.
So yes, going into this blood work, I was already anxious.
But to my complete shock – and gratitude – it went smoothly. One try. One vein. One tiny moment of victory. I nearly high-fived the lab technician on the way out.
A few hours later, I got the results. All clear for the MRI.
So, MRI Day arrived – Friday, April 25. Early morning. My husband dropped me off at the hospital before heading back home to work. I gave them all my paperwork and also mentioned a previous allergic reaction I’d had to contrast dye during a CT scan a few years ago (that one was for chest pain, which turned out to be pneumonia – classic me). Thankfully, they said they’d try the MRI without the dye first.
This was my second MRI – the first one was during my knee injury years ago, but back then, I hadn’t yet discovered mindfulness, body awareness, or the subtle panic of being told don’t move a muscle. This time, I was fully aware. Present. Listening. I think I counted five different sounds? (Correct me if I’m wrong, but MRI machines sound like a DJ learning how to beat-match on construction equipment.)
Anyway – 20 minutes. I didn’t move. I prayed the images would turn out clear. They didn’t need to use the dye after all. Huge relief.
After the MRI, I called my son to meet me. I hadn’t eaten anything since the night before, and he had just woken up and announced he was starving – classic teen timing. Since it was just the two of us, he suggested sushi, which felt like a rare win. Since I also miss it!
So we had a quiet sushi brunch before heading off to shop for his clothes. Normally, I just pick things for him, but this time he actually chose what he wanted. Before that, though, we picked up gyros to bring home for my husband, who, of course, wouldn’t have joined in even if he were there. His stance on seafood is solid: “Fish are friends, not food” – a line he stole straight from Finding Nemo and lives by proudly. I still don’t understand how someone can reject sushi so passionately, but hey, marriage is about compromise.
While we were shopping, I mostly sat on a bench near the dressing rooms – back hurting, energy low, playing my usual role of moral support. He picked out his clothes, I nodded from the side, and that was that. Once we were done, we headed straight home to rest. My body had checked out.
The following Monday (April 28), I had a follow-up with my doctor to review the MRI results. Good news: my back is healing. There’s still some swelling, which could explain the numbness, pain, and general “my body’s still not quite right” feeling. But overall, it’s improving. So… my sick leave was extended for another three weeks, and he gave me a referral for physiotherapy.
Oh no. Not because I’m against it – but because it’s going to be a challenge with my current limitations. I’m honestly a bit nervous about how it’ll go, but I know it’s part of the healing. And I guess… it’s time.
So now… another three weeks of what to do?!
I mean yes, rest. But also, I can’t just lie around all day. So I’ve been continuing with my German – both my B2 classes (which are serious and structured) and my personal battle with Duolingo, which, let me tell you, has become a full-on event.
I finally made it into the Diamond League – the top and final league – and let me tell you, the league right before it nearly broke me. Only the top 4 can move up, and every time I fell out of that top 4, I had to fight my way back up… without the daily XP boost, which only appears once a day and never when you need it. Trying to catch up without it? A full workout. I was squeezing in lessons between chores, stretching my back, and basically trying to outplay people who seemed to be online 24/7.
But I did it – I got in! Just barely, in 4th place. And now that I’m here in Diamond league, it’s even more competitive. Everyone’s hustling to stay in the top 15. I’m currently aiming to just survive and stay somewhere in the top 10 – that’s my new goal. Not too ambitious, not too lazy. Just steady Duolingo determination.
Outside of my language battles, we also had a more important mission that week – my son’s upcoming 18th birthday. My husband and I decided to walk to a nearby media store to get him a new phone as a birthday gift. The store was a bit farther than I remembered, and while walking is technically good for me now and then, my legs started to go numb and my back was already complaining – so we gave in and took the bus instead.
Now, here’s the twist: my son doesn’t want an iPhone. He thinks it’s just for showing off. We tried to explain it’s not about status – it’s about usability, longevity, and being able to FaceTime his mom easily (okay, that part’s for me). We finally found one that looked a little less “obviously iPhone,” with great specs and battery life. Win.
But… on our way home, we missed the bus. So we walked.
We were walking slowly with pauses along a quiet sidewalk – when I suddenly spotted two bluish pieces of paper on the ground. I paused and squinted. “Wait… are those 20 euro bills?”
My husband didn’t believe me at first. But as we walked past, we picked them up – one each. And sure enough: two €20 notes, just there on the pavement, lightly separated and slightly fluttering in the breeze.
We looked around. Checked behind us. Waited a bit in case someone came running after them – but no one did. No footsteps, no “excuse me,” nothing. Just… silence.
So we kept walking, now €40 heavier and very confused.
I told my husband a story (not the first time he heard this, to be honest) – how, years ago, when money was tight, I used to walk everywhere because I couldn’t always afford bus fare. And sometimes I’d dream of finding a few coins or a bill on the ground. Not out of greed – just out of need. Enough for a ride. A snack. Something.
And now here we were – walking not because we had to, but because we missed a bus… and stumbled into a tiny reminder of how far we’ve come.
Not rich. But okay. Okay enough not to panic when prices go up. Okay enough to sit down and choose sushi for lunch without checking the price column first. That kind of okay.
So maybe that €40 wasn’t just luck. Maybe it was a little reminder: remember where you were, and be grateful for where you are.
Anyway – that’s it for now. Too much to cover in just one post!
Next week, I’ll share more about my extended sick leave… and of course, what happened on my son’s 18th birthday.