What strange times they are. Corona virus has got us all in her grip. I must honestly say that I'm not bored by being inside. Since I'm a risk group, I leave as few people around me as possible. Or, actually, nobody. When my father spontaneously let the neighbor in and tried to hug me, I almost went crazy. Okay, it was two weeks ago, but even then I didn't want it. All appointments are by phone and the oncologist has decided to leave everything as it is. Then I don't have to go outside to poke blood. I need an injection by now, which I haven't put before myself. Monday the GP comes, at least I'm on the list. But then the assistant said she didn't know what time. If she's been to an infected person, she has to hoist herself in and out of her protective suit. Hmm, then, of course, I don't want her to come by. So I actually have today to give myself the injection so I can call her off. I give myself an injection 3 times a week, but I don't know this needle well. It's one of those that you put against your skin and then it jumps through your skin, as it were. Anyway, I have all day to get this done.

The last time I was at the oncologist, he said something I actually knew, but somehow it stuck a little bit. He said he met me in intensive care before. He was instructed to talk to me and saw my records and thought, “This is a farewell call. “ He's making a cross in the air for his chest. But when he saw me, he saw something else. He said you had something, and I see it every time you're here. Sometimes I have to defend you to other doctors about the M.O., but then I explain what I saw. A certain drive and curiosity. I'll say you're my favorite patient, but you really are. You got something special. I thank him for the kind words and say that if doctors bother him, I like to have a conversation with them, because I am happy with his approach. I'm not ready yet. I don't want to give up. That's not in my head at all. It'll take me back to hospital, when the doctor said we're not gonna resuscitate you. That makes no sense. So it really didn't make sense. It was really sideboard with me. Somewhere I don't fully realize that. I can't feel that. I hear it and I realize it, but I can't feel it. The next week, that stays in my head.

Should I still be here? I can't do much with that thought. It's too big in one way or another. And I'm trying to look at it from a different side. I'm still here. But why? Why am I still here? Is there anything I need to do, something I have yet to experience? In my story I tell, I'm going to look for my own happiness. What is that happiness, then what's it in? So in this period that you are on your own, this is the question that constantly concerns me. Why am I still here? What do I have to do? A while ago, I did a Journey. I got some answers to questions I had, so my gut says I have to do a Journey again. But yeah, that's a little tricky at the moment. This option is at the top of my list.
It's a big question I'm working on. I don't know what will come out, but I'm very curious.

I'm also working on deepening my own story. After Haarlem, I would stand in The Hague. I forwarded my story to a coach, and he showed this again to his wife who's a director. She asked her husband if she could go with him if he was going to coach me, because she saw something. She wanted to be there. I'm pretty curious about what it is that she sees. I know I can go even more in my story. The first time the story rolled out of my mouth like it was nothing, but that was also because I had a certain distance from the story. How's it gonna be if I make more connection to what I tell you? I wanted to use The Hague to find out what place my brothers and sisters take. I feel very much connected to them and wonder if there might be something more underneath them. I would love it especially if they came to listen to that story.

The question of why I'm still here will keep me busy for a while. Maybe good. I'm not afraid of the answer. But yes, if I have it... Am I still there?
#k *nker cancer

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