Life goes on, for now

Bones keep a healing. Body keeping a mending. And I stay here, in the middle of my own getting better, not knowing if I am getting much better. Mentally still strong, physically… I could get a bit better.

I’m sure this happens to a lot of people when they have a big accident. Doubting themselves abd thinking if it’s all worth it… I have been thinking and thinking… not worrying but just debating with myself to see if I’m ready.

I have had so many friends, explaining to me that this might be the time, that now surely I should realize that family comes first. Of course I realize that. I always put them first, but you have to also remember who or what I am. I have never before realized.

I am nuclear.

Maybe this is why. Why I am a great believer in nuclear power, because of what I am… In normal speed nothing makes sense to me, in my pace all is clear. I think horses help nucleares like me think and reason. Us nucleares are always switched on and if I ever breech this security blanket or ball I am in the world have to watch out. Lucky for the world I keep busy doing my things.

Now my things out of the saddle is… helping horses and animals heal, helping people heal, setting up our Pop up event that we are hosting this weekend! It will be a blast but one has to buy tickets to it to get in!

To limit our numbers to a manageable level
Tickets need to be bought in advance
5€pp (over 16yrs only & no 4 legged friends!) – includes a glass of Rosado

Please spread the word

Hope to see you soon!!!

Keep smiling 🙂 this world surprises us on a daily basis ❤️

And life goes on… as another one

The after 9 weeks x rays have been taken and analyzed by my trauma doctor. There still is not a lot of healing going on in the bones.

If I dare to look at my ribs, they are healing all over the place, just not back together again. There seams to be sharp splinters just raving to go and find one of my lungs to puncture or one of my veins. The edges of the breaks looks as sharp as it was done yesterday.

Trauma doctor in Mallorca has allowed me to start back easy training ie walking or sitting on a stationary bike. She has asked me to allow another 3 weeks before I start riding horses again.

Riding horses? Are you mad? (Do you know me?) I’m not sure I will ever get back to Showjumping ever again. I am still wondering what the deal is with the higher spiritual beings of the world, to finally allow me to build paradise on earth and simultaneously not allowing me to use it?

Think about your family! they say. And I am, all the time. I am thinking of the being of me in a future self, hopefully not broken any more. That me, without a daily dose of purpose and physical outlet becomes a nuclear issue.

I have now still managed to keep my bubble around me. I’m pushing out any external inputs, both real and virtual. It’s much more manageable to be on my own in my own seclusion. Not being tempted by others ideas of FOMO.

With my bubble tight around me I still feel safe, content and without any worries about now or then, future or past.

When said bubble will come off I know for a fact there is a whole different being in here. Let lose to her own demises she will demand her daily usual thrills. If one takes away the energy given to me through horse riding, in combination with the leveling that spending energy around and on top of equines, the constant light I have within my being fed by the interaction might go out. I still have all the energy, circling around me drawing me towards anything that can give me my next thrill/hit/fix. I am not an alcoholic or drug addict, but I have a very addictive personality. The way I see it, horses as my addiction saves me from myself.

I talked very briefly to my new grief counselor yesterday. I told her I had lost my biggest fan and supporter when said fan told me I should stop riding horses. As my counselor is very newly examined, as well as also being my former biggest fan… the two roles colliding in our first session, she said she will get back to me. I think I heard it will be a written response… still waiting…

On the other hand, she also had shown my x rays to one of the most prominent orthopedic surgeons in Sweden. His take on the pictures were that the fractures were healed, and running and falling would not increase possibility of punctured lung. I took it that it was A ok to start riding! She said NO riding! Well there we are, we can agree to disagree. I think I want to be the best of who I can be. I feel that that’s easier when I’m surrounded and drenched or concealed with horses on a daily basis. I will be a calmer version of me.

Keep smiling 🙂 be you

Taking it easy… not easy…

Wondering how I’m doing? Well thanks for wondering, it’s pretty damn boring… no healing happening… but what’s the worst that could happen? Don’t ask!

Being back to see the traumatologist this week. I had another X-ray of the shoulder and collar bone. After taking it super easy, dead pace, no exercise, no nothing, I would assume I had started my healing journey. Not so much…

After my 10 different fractures only 2 seamed to have even started healing… 8 seamed to not care about being broken. The crunchy sound I make whilst turning over in bed now makes some sense… quickly one gets out the Google doctor search and finds answers to why bones are slow at healing.

I do take extra vitamin D3, K2, C and iron, calcium… my bones should have happily knitted themselves back to stronger than before mode… even dr Google don’t have my answers. Instead I started my Physio Theraphy.

Nerea is the healer of shortened muscles. The unused and un cared for physical wellness of my bad ass bones and limbs. With some loose stretching and the use of some rubbery bands my shoulder and back gets a little bit back in action this week… my morphine patches are down to only 12 micrograms and pain only really interferes when I sit up, change direction or lie down. Truth be told I was hoping to be able to cheer you up with my getting better but at least I’m not getting any worse!

Keep smiling 🙂 summer is on its way!

Borrowed bed from chosen friend

Look at your friends to see who you really are. Well luckily for me I have silly friends with similar interests to me. Hence when coming back home after 11 days in hospital our bedroom has been equipped with an electric bed. The one with a raisable back as well as leg raiser! With this bed I can get out of bed by myself! I only feel 1/2 as handicapped as I otherwise would!

The bed borrowed by my lovely bread making (yes gluten free!) friend Katja. She also suffered a similar accident with a few broken ribs and realized that she wouldn’t be able to be independent without one of these beds.

She came by the house to see me and her bed. (Maybe more to see me in the bed) and how almost pain free I could get myself out of the bed. She realized our house was a much better place for this extra bed to fit as it almost looks designed to fit an extra bed in our bedroom. I knew a 40 square meter bedroom made sense finally!

Today was my first day up and about. I was properly out in the stable for my first cup of Colombian coffee as well as checking out some of our working students that we have here over mid term. My outside stint felt very adventurous as it has been properly cold here the last couple of days, and today it’s full on snowing in our Tramuntana mountains. Here it tried to snow but as soon as it hit the ground it melted.

Now the wind is horrendous! We shall be lucky if any of our trees will be standing tomorrow!

Keep smiling 🙂 your friends are the true looking glass to meet yourself

Time how wondrous a concept

I have now been in hospital for over eight days. Eight days of not being able to get dressed, to have a shower by oneself, to make my cup of tea when I like, basically locked in this 3 x 4 m cell that- thank you Palma planes- has at least got a very big window.

8 days when whatever could happen in the world, and I’m none the wiser as I have switched off my alert button.

8 days and nights pondering over this new life of me. I have been told

What to do

What not to do

What to expect

Not to expect anthing

And the time keeps ticking… don’t worry they removed my watch so I don’t keep a record. It’s apparently healthier not to.

8 days… it makes me wonder… for all you godly ones out there, didn’t god create earth in seven days? Well I have not managed to heal myself, my ribs or change the world ever so slightly…. I have managed to get my oxygen level up to a steady 93…. As long as it’s above 92 I should be ok…

People ask me if I’m ok? How can I be ok locked inside a small cell? There is a lot of pushing and shoving, telling me what I should think, how I should feel. Luckily for me and for all of you out there I have managed to yet again kick start my own bubble of ignorance! My protective bubble that just allows me to feel about 15-20% or my emotional damage. (The actual physical “pain feeling” not so much dampened, it’s still up there with the All time high!)

The bubble makes this whole hospital business a survival possibility. I bet you I could stay another 8 days and I would not go crazy. My bubble won’t allow it. My bubble keeps me calm, even when I see and feel to a certain point how my very close family are losing their bearings, my bubble holds me down, and slows my breathing. I wish I could copy my bubble and hand it out to those who’s coping mechanism is being trialed to their upmost edges. Ever so sorry, bubble is a one off… I don’t know where she came from but she is doing a great job so far!

I know this blog has mostly been about me, and ways of getting over certain trauma. The spotlight goes wherever the weakest point of my life is. To see how one can balance and stay above water during hardships. Finding the small positive that will make one stronger to bounce back 100%, often faster than anyone and hopefully stronger than ever before. That’s when the spotlight is only on me. For some months now, our spotlight has been following another member of our family. Due to some very severe and rare autoimmune diseases we have to go back and forward to London for weekly treatments. This is where I wish I could copy the bubble. The rest of the world does not slow down to allow us all to catch up. I’m more or less ok in my bubble, in my small cell, but my worry is for those allowed in the outside world without protection. They don’t need to have hundreds of more questions asked about them, about me or any other reassurances that you are there for them. In a sense the caring messages of well meaning can be so over bearing for them. Let them breathe! We all expect you to be there for us. Simple as!

There are some philosophers thinking and evaluating time in a súper intelectual and fascinating manner… not me. I’ve been here 8 days and I think it feels like a few hours. I will not lie here and poke about in my feelings of time and how fast it has been going as I full well know, without my protective bubble this blog would sound a lot different to this!

Keep smiling 🙂 and be there for people, you don’t have to announce it!

Sunrise from my cell

Planning for the year- or so I thought…

Welcome dear 2023! I started writing this blog post some weeks ago when my husband had met up with his Uncle Derek in England. Derek is one of our blog followers! And I think he is our only follower in his 90’s! There had been a request of me writing the blog again, as I hadn’t had any accidents or illnesses for a while, nothing had really been updated on the blog recently.

At the time I was thinking about what I could write about, but when I sat down to write it, my app had disowned me and I couldn’t log on to my blog. Hence now 3 weeks later I write this blog… as a mixture, of the old hardworking me to the newly broken me.

We begin January 2023. We have left Corona virus behind us, the war in Ukraine seams to have lost some of its intensity. It almost seamed easier to breathe there for a second or two… but then came the biggest earthquake to ever shake Turkey and Syria. I thought we would be past the drama and the turmoil of bad energy. In our little bubble life of wines and horses we were getting ready for our first year of bottling over 20.000 bottles of wine!!!

For us this was going to be a big year. We have 3 new wines coming out. Ses Rotes 16 hands range! We will have a red Syrah, a white Sauvignon Blanc that has been in a ceramic tank and a rose 100% Pinot Noir.

The horses have all started the year in a perfect manner. All as a warmup for this years first international show in April in Oliva Nova, Denia, Spanish mainland. We were also looking forward to go to St Anton for a week skiing…

How can I ever start this blog again? Now that the app finally has let me in again… I’ll tell you how. 10 broken bones and a dislocated shoulder should do it for me. Welcome to your newly/again/never ending story broken life Emelie. Oh and the fun you had planned, because one of your lungs is compressed you can forget about that as well…

It was last Sunday. I was competing at the La Gubia riding club in Mallorca. It was a beautiful sunny day (perfect for walking in the mountains) I had jumped the first horse Damion Star, and was already in 4th place on him. My regular horse Unreal that I normally win or get well placed with jumped the 2 first fences awesome, then turning back to the third fence, I can still not understand what spooked him, but halfway over the fence he decides that he shouldn’t jump it.

In mid air, my heart already thrown over the oxer, my body follows my heart and it falls hard onto the arena floor. The intensity of the pain shooting through me was something I have not really experienced before, and as I kind of know pain, I knew this was no laughing matter. There are so many people standing there around me. Taking off my helmet, asking if I’m ok, seeing if they can remove my sunglasses and I can really only hear me.

It’s not a super loud howling, it’s more like a densely compacted hiss of pain, but it’s constant. I cannot talk. I cannot make people understand me. They lift me onto a steel tray carrier, that then is lifted onto the trolley of the ambulance. After many pursuits to fold out said trolleys wheels they somehow manage to get me into ambulance number 1. I am there with 2 female people (I’m not sure if they are nurses or just people helping out at the show), a driver, or a person that don’t drive very legal/a lot/ever driven a manual ambulance, gets behind the wheel, and off we go!

The driver must have been nervous about the time it had taken to remove the remains of me from the arena to his vehicle. That or he was super excited about Formula 1 starting in a couple of weeks. Away we went. I was now strapped onto my trolley on top of the now super uncomfortable steal trap tray that they had lifted me onto said trolley. It was cutting into my previously not so sore bits. The 2 ladies had yet to sit down, and as the driver took off in Formula style and then managed to crash into something just outside the arena. I was strapped in so I didn’t really move but the two ladies went flying, one landing on top of me but did everything to get off me as soon as possible. After a whole lot of shouting and cursing it was decided I should get in a second ambulance as there was something not quite right with the one I was in.

There was some more shifting and lifting of the steel tray I was on and I was strapped onto a new trolley. Still very uncomfortable. Here one of the ladies decides to pull off my jacket. A doctor dressed in all black appears from out of nowhere. He speaks perfect English and he says he thinks my shoulder is dislocated. I can only agree as I have no power in the arm at all. He says it might be the only pain factor for me so should be try and pull it back in?

I can still hardly breathe and there is so much pain around me, so I agree to have the shoulder relocated! I’ve had some other joints dislocated before and the relocation has always been a very easy pulley motion, for sure with pain but still the release of all the pain since popped back in was immediate. The dark doctor grabbed hold of my arm, in a janky pulling motion he tried to get the shoulder back into its socket. He was pulling it sideways, upwards, downwards, up again. And when I thought he had given up he pulled it up to the left, gave it a tug and it popped back into its socket. Some of the pain stilled just a little. But it was still hard to breathe. We drove off in ambulance number 2. The 250 meter cross country road down from the parking to the actual road nearly was the end of me. Massive holes in the road that somehow got even bigger when strapped onto a tray, strapped onto a trolley, in an ambulance.

We were taken to a new hospital to me… well it’s the hospital that we are insured with with our riding licenses , Palma Planes. Here I almost came to my third death of the day. I was in the ambulance, coming onto the hospital area. There are some evil speed bumps from hell. I’m not sure who ever ordered or designed them, but clearly someone with a pure sadistic vision. Imagine a 15cm high, 10 cm wide bump with a small heightened nipple to really shake the bottom of every car. I hadn’t had a concussion until the ambulance drove into the hospital area! Now I’m not so sure…

Once inside they managed to put me in a wheelchair to go down to have bits x-rayed. As I still couldn’t really breathe they decided to do a CT scan of the whole tórax area. I had now been given some more painkillers so they thought I should be able to lie down and sit up whilst they took the pictures they where after. After lots of torture in the wheelchair, poking down plates behind me to reach and x-ray the depth of my mangled body. The decision was that I was very broken, and I was brought into a little closed cell room awaiting where they could put someone as broken as me.

A doctor came in and they had seen I had a few broken ribs as well as a broken collarbone but their biggest worry was the damage and compression over my left lung. I was sent to a nicer room and I had oxygen in my nose.

This is where I still am, it’s now Thursday. I have 9 broken ribs, 2 in front and 7 at the back. I have 1 broken collarbone but as it looks now it should be able to heal without any surgery. I have my dislocated shoulder that now is back in its place and I have this compressed lung, that one just have to be gentle with. As long as I keep the oxygen on I’m fine, as soon as I try and stand up or sit without the oxygen I feel terrible and like I cannot breathe. Hopefully it’s got nothing to do with my broken ribs…

So now one has to see what one can do. The six weeks that broken bones normally needs to heal takes me into April. As the show we are going to doesn’t start until mid April for me, it could be ok. The reason for the show was more a way of showcasing the horses we have for sale. So it might be better to do the show later on.

The skiing trip will be the next thing to think over. The doctors are keeping their eyes on my lung as the only thing preventing me flying. I’m more afraid of walking on slippery surfaces… I don’t know if I’m up to pausing my life again, it’s gone beyond a joke. And I cannot laugh, it really hurts!

Keep smiling 🙂 but stay away from laughing, coughing or hiccups!!!

This was the last win before the fall

3 of October 2012

10 years ago today. My life, and the lives of everyone around me changed forever.

I spent a month mostly referred to in third sense. How else does one talk to a person refusing to wake up? I never know if the people allowed to see me, ever talked to me, or mostly at me?

As I have never been a visitor to someone in coma, only being in one myself, these are things I hope never having to experience in first hand.

I’m not going to bore you with a lengthy retelling of what happened on that faithful, beautiful October morning. There are already pages written about that earlier in the blog. I will instead focus on how it has changed me. To who I have become.

Many might think the stubborn survivalist was always there, but I was super surprised even to ever hit 30 years. Nah, I was completely, 100 percent convinced that I would never turn 30. Not in a wishing to die or pretending to be someone famous kind of way, for me it was the truth. Where I picked that up from and who or what had convinced me of my short life, I have no idea, but somehow every day after turning 30 has been a bonus and in a way a blessing.

I don’t think I have told you about what I experienced when I was under. It’s a strange thing to recall, but during 2012 they are my strongest memories. They are still so crispy clear I can smell the salty-ness of the ocean air, feel the wind, look up at the gloomy skies. During my time in hospital, in a coma, I managed to see my father. He had by then been dead for over 5 years. My soul managed to find her way to see him. To keep me strong.

The details of our conversations are too personal to share here, but he gave his insight on a lot of matters that were concerning me at the time. I also met other spirits briefly, my grandmother being busy all the time going places, and others taking their time to gently say hello.

Could it all have been a figure of my imagination? Probably most of you will say. I only know what I experienced and to me, the hardest thing I had to go through waking up from the coma, was not that I had no sensation on my left side, nor that I had lost my voice, it was losing my father for a second time.

Being given a second chance to live again is not a small gift. You have to earn it, by living your life. That’s where I get my energy from, the stubborn will to live. Come illness or disease, come paralyzation or breast cancer, come broken ribs, fingers, knees, elbows and sternums, come severed stomach muscles, drainages, hospital visits or stays, come bakers cysts, I am still here. With a will to continue. Hopefully with a little grace. A thankfulness to all around me.

Keep smiling 🙂 we are still here, some of us only in spirit. Live your life whilst you can

Autumn again… well almost

It’s not really autumn here yet, even though you might think so seeing all shop windows full of coats and knitted sweaters… Now we are back down to a more agreeable 31 degrees, but still not really autumn..

There was a summer… on paper at least there was one. I didn’t participate much in it. Although on paper it looks awesome!

I had my first ever cover of a magazine. A 10 pages article, written about me, some horses and some wine. Did lean a little bit towards my survival skills and only slightly about the cancer and coma…

I sang on stage in front of 20.000 people together with legend Jakob Hellman! Malmöfestivalen rocked!!!!

Me and Dan were in a book called Hip Wines Mallorca! An amazing book about the place we love (Mallorca) and our super hobby (wine)!

I saw Coldplay live in Glasgow! Incredible, was also lucky enough to see both Nina Nesbitt and London Grammar as the opening acts!

We managed to do a whole little Sweden tour visiting friends both on the west coast (Särö and Smögen) and have a crayfish party at Joibo together with my sister and her wonderful animals!

I spent a good 17 days behind bars (or on a different wards) because of the nasty accident in June. A lot of people have told me I should write a book. I think a book I could write is a guide book of hospitals around the world… the worst vs the best… treatments, doctors, nurses and more importantly the beds and the food!

Now I find myself, still clad in my stomach brace as the hematoma won’t go away, at an A&E in Palma, for the umpteenth time..

So what’s happening now one might ask oneself? I have on top of my triage friendly outings developed a Baker’s cyst. What is that? You might ask yourself as I did… it’s a cyst connected to the meniscus filled with fluid. It sits proudly behind my right knee. It could be pain free. Unfortunately for me it’s not.

I noticed a lump at the back of my right knee. I was worried it had something to do with the reconstruction of my cruciate ligament, but I had it looked at by my Osteopat who told me it was a Baker’s cyst. It has nothing to do with baked goods, rather a doctor who’s surname was Baker.

It started being a little uncomfortable straightening the leg. A little more pain as I walked on it. After starting back giving a few lessons and walking around more it was more noticeable after I sat down or was still for too long. Today the pain increased to a level where I cannot walk downstairs. Walking up is not a problem, nor is getting on a horse, and low and behold, nor is riding!!! I have zero pain riding! There is a little less power in that leg, but otherwise A OK!

Anyway, as luck has it I took 2 of my kids to cross fit and as was sat drinking a protein shake whilst dreaming about lifting weights or swinging myself from the rings pulling up into a straight T, the knee made itself really known. I just turned it a little bit and I nearly fainted.

So here I am. Waiting to see a doctor. The will hopefully give me something for the pain. There isn’t much one can do about the cyst if one is to trust dr Google. Hopefully there is something we can do so we can start celebrating our wine that will be blessed by the priests on Thursday, and Dan who is having a birthday and we will start to celebrate him for a week!

There are so many bad things happening in the world so we have to celebrate even the smallest wins!

Keep smiling 🙂 soon autumn actually will be here and wearing a stomach brace will feel like an accessory!

To be or not to be

We made it! After spending almost 5 days in Italy, 4 of them in hospital, I came to the sensible decision not to continue said “holiday” but instead flying in a helping hand from Mallorca. It was my sister in law Bitte that kindly offered to fly out to help! I don’t know if maybe Bitte first thought she might be able to relax in Riva del Garda as the visiting hours in the hospital were so few and far in-between? I really don’t expect her to have signed up for the real killing me softly saga…

Dan and Bitte had been talking on the phone, discussing different options, every different possibility of me staying in hospital in Italy or going further with Dan and the girls. Bitte had booked a flight that would get her to Lasize (the new hotel where the girls and Dan now stayed at) for about 4pm on Saturday afternoon. The doctors had already cleared me to fly on the Sunday, they just didn’t know where I would be flying.

In my head I had already researched hospitals close to where we were going to stay, for me it was more important I would continue the journey, as I was bedridden and not allowed to do anything I thought I might just do that close to my family. It wasn’t until Dan on the Friday night visit at the hospital in Arco pointed out that we didn’t know where we were going, had no idea about closeness to bathroom and comfort of beds… all true. It’s just my “get on and do it” persona that takes over and silences all the other voices in my head.

That was Friday evening, the doctors had said I would be free to leave Saturday by 4pm. That coincided with Bitte’s arrival at the hotel so Dan was planning to pick me up a little before 6pm just to get the whole day to run smoothly. The doctors also had said the plastic tube would be removed from my stomach… they had also promised me a “fit to fly” certificate. I had by now started to realize what an upmost numpty I was sounding like when I tried to make excuses for continuing this holiday of hell and pain. We had starting researching new flights home, back to Mallorca, and as I knew then already and even more now, things often go really skewed quickly after one is released from hospital. There were not so many options but there was a morning flight that would get us back to Palma for 11:15. The only drawback was a 5am transfer from the hotel to the airport.

Come Saturday morning the doctors came to check my drainage tube. I had before then not really thought about the drainage or how liquid was being drained from my stomach. I shall tell you now. A big clear plastic tube has been inserted through a slice of my stomach skin, then attached in place through 3 to 5 black stitches… I don’t know how far in she goes (the tube, clearly feminine) but she is sticking out a good 3cm on the front… and I guess her girth is well maybe 2cm… what on earth are they trying to drain from my stomach??? The doctor removed layers of bloody compresses, the heavy sighs made me understand that tube would not come out that day. We had already purchased the return tickets to Mallorca, but by now I said “no problem I can stay here until you safely can remove the drain”, then the doctor said “no no no, no problem”, as long as I made my first stop at a hospital I’m Mallorca when I landed they could take the drainage out.

Fit to fly handwritten consent paper in Italian- check! Tube still sticking out of tummy but covered in great layers of compresses-check!

My last night in Italy was spent at a lovely new hotel with magical view over Lake Garda, we managed to get there just for the most spectacular sun set. I was in my wheelchair enjoying my gluten free and lactose free 7 plates tasting menu… most dishes had to be changed and some disappeared leaving me with a gluten-free bread followed by 3 strange but still nice tasting dishes… as I couldn’t enjoy the local wines by taste I allowed myself to sniff the wines that Dan and Bitte were trying! As one of them actually was better on the nose than in the mouth I was basically the evenings winner… (At least let me think that)

Bitte and I left for the airport at 5am, Dan helped us to roll me down to reception and into waiting transfer. The best thing of traveling so early and also on a Sunday is the lack of traffic. The strange speed limits in Italy that no one seems to follow always make excuses for extravagant accidents. We arrived full on time for Bitte to stroll into terminal and finding the Special assistance crew of Milan! This time we got the 2-for-1-deal! We got the trainee assistance guy with his blonde manager assistance gal, him with a kind and nerdy voice and her with the brightest bluest eyes of any Italian I have ever seen. Bitte got to be part of the whole assistance experience deal, she got to play the very valid part in my minus-valid game. She got to walk through with us through security, walked passed any shopping possibilities and then left at a canteen/coffee shop. We were told not to go anywhere but as they removed my wheelchair when they left I wouldn’t be able to get very far. Bitte then got the behind the scene experience of elevator-bus going back and behind of any gate queueing and ending up at the front of the plane, on the other side, at the door that normally is always shut. Very special! We bid our goodbyes to our special assistances. The young nerd clearly heading towards special assistance guru-dom!

We arrived on time! Not a cloud in the sky. Lovely house sitter picking me up and driving me immediately to Juaneda hospital. It was Sunday, I had called the day before and asked, they had told me, just get in to a&e when you get here and we shall see you straight away!

We got to A&E we were seen but then I was questioned on why I had come in on a Sunday? Why had I flown that morning? Why had I flown to Italy? What was I thinking about bringing them a drain that had been put in me in a different country? Couldn’t I go back there and have it removed? Why had they left it in there? Why why why? Then after the 100 questions they decided to remove the bandage that to me didn’t look too bad today, they then decided to bandage me back up again and send me on my way. Go home take it easy come back tomorrow and see a doctor. Easy words of advice to live by. House sitter (and by now also Emelie-sitter) drove me to pharmacy to get the drugs I needed and then home. Bed be there, pup be there, stay cool.

I managed to get to the bathroom, then I started smelling rather than feeling a trickling of earthy iron smell, looking down on the floor around me there was blood everywhere. It was gushing from under my green PJ shorts that I had managed to wear incognito for the whole Italy to Spain re-coming home journey. It was flowing in ridges, thickly down my right leg. At the same time Mike and Maggie made their exciting discovery of my homecoming! I didn’t want them slipping in my blood or dare I say eat it, I was so shocked about the amount of blood that was flowing from under my compassed and bandaged belly, I could hardly stand up, I was crying trying to get the attention of someone. Bitte and the lovely house sitter came to my rescue. They managed to get me to my bed, cover it with towels and the hospital plastic cover that we had got with us from Italy.

Now begun The Bitte 2.0, the upgrade.

Bitte was born to do it! She was helping me removing soggy bloody bandages, wiping off whatever stuff that was being drained from me all over me. My head was spinning, I was starting to feel cold, we managed to clean me up quite alright. I thought if I only could lie down here for a white it might work out. The spinning of the head didn’t settle. Half conversations with my mum, my sister and Dan, I realized it was best to go back to hospital, but I couldn’t sit up. Time to call the ambulance…

As I was lying in the ambulance a strange thought went through me, think that I know what these look like from the inside pretty good! But I haven’t been inside an ambulance for quite a long time… it totally escaped me that I had had a full hour in an ambulance less than 3 days ago! There was no scent or trail of remembrance when I was there in the Mallorcan ambulance, my Italian crew fading away before my very eyes.

Again the questions. Beating down on me. The why? The how on earth? Followed by some more why’s and how’s? Finally I get it. I’m not special. I’m not gifted. I’m not here fighting for anything that means anything for anyone other than maybe for me? How can I be so immature, selfish and careless? Such an imbecile.

They took me back to where this story stared 2 weeks ago. A lifetime ago from today yet so close I can still hear every drop of water being pushed through the sprinkler system as the machinery started it’s nightly doings. Well not exactly where this nightmare begun but they took me back to the first hospital, Son Espases.

It was easier arriving in an ambulance and not trying to explain everything whilst you are in such high pain, not perfect grammatically, trying to talk through pain to explain the happenings of the faithful night. Fine I had had my third talking to of the day regarding the sanity of my lifestyle and life choices. As I was transferred over to a hospital bed from the ambulance stretcher I was rolled into a waiting bay, there was one other lady waiting in the medium size room. This was kind of like a half way house for people arriving to A&E with either police or ambulances. I got to see a doctor young enough to soon be dating one of my daughters! He seamed to be really switched on and as he was fluent in Italian it also helped with my Italian papers. He couldn’t for the life of him understand why the first drainage had been put in and he also couldn’t understand why the Italians also felt the need of draining my massive hematoma. I guess he saw the risks of intervening more than a solution for problems.

In my waiting bay more people arrived. A lady with acute Chrone’s disease, where her pain screams pulsated vividly through us. A man quietly waiting for his turn in a strange wheelchair, a lady that needed some bloods taken and Fransisco. Fransisco was on a first name basis with all the staff, well they all knew his name… he was totally up and over drunk. So inebriated he hardly could speak. I have no idea of other than drunk, what was wrong with him? He started shouting. Asking about his bed and where it was. I was hidden behind a small textile movable wall. Fransisco was doing something to the chair he was sitting in, trying to throw it over, I couldn’t see behind my cover but all of a sudden he jumped up! Fiercely fast for an old drunkard, not gracefully but he threw himself on to another person’s chair to claim it for himself.

As I was on the only bed in the room I started to get worried. I envisioned him trying to take over my bed and for us to have a struggle. In my mind I karate chopped his nasty arse straight back to whatever back street he had climbed out of, but in reality I could see him managing to get hold of my hospital bed and claiming it to be his. Luckily it never had to go that far. On 3 separate occasions he got up and loudly was either looking for a bed, someone to take him in a chair to his bed or, as a desperate half measure, looking for a loo.

I was taken away from the bay of misery just in time to hear him being told off from another set of nurses. I was taken to a mixed ward of endless illness. There doesn’t seem to be any right or reason to anyone that is here. I think we are all just considered as ill. I was rolled into a small umbilical cord like zone. In here there are 4 beds. I’m in one. The other 3 are occupied by male species.

I’m sorry. Gender equality has never talked to me. In a hospital environment even less so. I don’t believe in sharing loos. I don’t believe in telling your doctor your problems with the ease of everyone listening into. A shared problem is not a solved problem, it’s just a problem…

For example when it started leaking again. There was I on my bed not really thinking anything was going to happen as they had seemed a bit noncommittal to let me stay over night for the drain pipe. I was sitting in bed, only slightly half sitting as you do on hospital beds in general when eating the not so fully delicious hospital meals from Son Espases. I only went to lie down again when I noticed something. It was all tacky and a little wet. My entire bed, the drain had drained itself onto the bed, the sheets, my new hospital PJ, the color of the summer is pink but I Definitely prefer another color to work with. There are plenty of fluid leaving my body. I wish they wouldn’t! Now for my last treat of the day the doctor brought me a corset. It’s great to keep those leaking nasty tubes in check. Let’s hope for a dry night!

Small and big wishes. That’s what we all bring with us. If my getting bad last time coincided with my sisters birthday, that only made me more determined not to die, not on her day. That would be so selfish! I remarked that Shakespeare knew what he was doing all those years ago, he took his birthday also to coincide with his death day. I don’t think it was planned, more like a poetry in motion. To be or not to be? That is the question

For me it’s of course to be! Or normally to be more! This means excess of love and laughter. But as balance is poetic, in my life fully lived the excess of tears and pain will have its days too.

Keep smiling 🙂 Force of July

My parallel universe

Firstly I made it! Out of hospital Juaneda. It was a warm Monday evening. 8 days after my accident. The bleeding in the stomach had stopped. I had received my “fit to fly” certificate and as my family had already left for our holidays in Italy, I was ready to follow suit and go as quickly, but steady, all special assistance-ced from beginning of airport in Palma to be delivered to a driver in Milan. No bag should be lifted by me. Nothing more than 3kg

It all started off quite well. Our amazing house dog and cat sitter’s drove me to the airport, they even fetched me a wheelchair that the members of the check in desk thought was my own and tried to give me a special tag for it. I declined even though it was a quite racy model. (I wonder if he by chance had managed to swipe someone else’s racing wheel chair?)

After hours queueing and slowly being dragged through security I was put in a much lesser chair and again to wait. It’s funny, I have never else been used as a thing for people that I don’t know to “lean on”, “balance from” and almost hanging their bags on! I mean how rude! As I was traveling alone I couldn’t have the people behind me huffing and puffing and pretending to be a part of my crew. My solo crew.

After asking them please to release me as they were traveling back to their other island, that’s no longer part of the EU, I spoke only Spanish to everyone else so they clearly understood I had nothing to do with the “Huffers”. They only queued up to Special Assistance to take kids and grandkids with them. It wasn’t pretty, but I think it did work.

At very last minute a very lean young Spanish boy (kart racer) turned up in his electric (racer kart). Me and another wheelchair lady returning to her home in Münster, Germany. As her flight was boarding 5 minutes before mine, the racer decided to take us to her gate first. As far away in terminal C that you could ever go to. Amazingly racer boy actually got me to my gate exactly on the spot second of my gate opening for minus-valid people like me! Even more amazingly he didn’t kill a single person on his way there! Amen

On to the plane. The very nice people at the gate had managed to change my seat so I got a whole row to sit in. As I had only been waiting and queueing at airport except for the formula electric race (they are so quiet! No wonder we nearly killed so many!) I haven’t had time to buy anything eatable. On top of that, due to some allergic reactions I had got from the contrast dye of the CAT scans, I have been put on the harshest of diets ever known to mankind…

I cannot have






Things from cans



Citrus fruits


And I am starting my holiday to Italy, land famous for wine, pizza and pasta…. Well thankfully on the airplane they had olives. So a bag of olives, a black coffee and a sparkling water and I was good to fly!

As the plane was traveling to Italy most stuff said by the crew was in Italian, or Spanish, sometimes English. But as I was watching a movie I didn’t react at all for the feisty weather around us. As the plane dived and I got the biggest tickle in my stomach and I had to really stop myself laughing, as I started seeing the anxious people around me. I controlled one of my favorite pastimes of roller coaster flying! Oh come on! You might think you are going to die, but more probably not, and then it’s like a free roller coaster!

Anyway due to the disastrous weather the plane was circulating Milan for 30 minutes but they had to refuel so they decided to redirect plane to Verona. I had looked at flying to Verona first as it was closer to our hotel but the flight from Mallorca was full that day. My biggest worry was that there would be a 2 hours bus journey back to Milan where I had a further 2 hours back with my driver from the hotel. Man of my dreams and hero of the day was once again Dan! Managing to call from a freezing waterfall to redirect my driver from Milan to Verona!

I was brought off the plane last of all. They had to use the escalator bus to take me to the terminal. As I was sat on front seat, loads of passengers passed me with their full bags of puke to deposit of. That’s what one gets when one does not get sick on planes… one gets to enjoy other people suffer…. And then it was time for me to try out the Verona airport “special assistance”.

Well Special Assistance is one word for it…. The guys that picked me up from the plane in their elevator bus were awesome! One of them from Venezuela so spoke perfect Spanish! They only took me to the terminal and that’s when it started to get “super special” I was the only one in a wheelchair in the medium crowded terminal where the bags come in on the bands. I was told to stay in my chair and await my “roller”… after about 7-10 minutes my Neón orange clad dude came to roll me. Hopefully to where my bag was coming in from… he didn’t do that, he passed 2 bands with rolling bags on… not reading said signs over on televisions advertising where bags came from. Then he parked me. About 15 meters from a standing still band. And there he left me. This time for a full 15 minutes.

The empty band where I was parked had no luggage on it. It was strangely enough the only band in the whole hall that was at a stand still. Roller dude was a goner, probably smoking something to make his life more “special”. My mobile did not seem to like Italian mobile network and there was no WiFi. I managed to get a few messages away to Dan to inform him about my lack of luggage and possibility of lack of driver, as he couldn’t contact me with a phone call. Then I started filming my predicament, a video I was going to send to my mum. From my back side roller guy came flying almost crashing me into the “help desk” then roughly pushing me to another band that was also running with bags on it… a flight from Palma, but with another airline… I tried to tell him to go back to the help desk that we had almost crashed into before, to see if my bag had gone with the bus of people traveling back to Milan.

The help desk was a window that you couldn’t really make yourself seen from whilst sitting. Roller guy wasn’t in a very helpful mode. I eventually got eye contact with a lady behind the glass and she immediately came out. I told her I was missing a bag from my flight. She took me up to the first band that roller guy had ignored and there upside down on the floor was my bag! Yay! I was so happy! This was going to turn out ok! At the same time my driver managed to get a phone call through saying he was outside waiting for me! Roller guy had not done his part yet!

The lady from the help desk double checked my boarding card and the number and name on the bag tag! But Roller guy didn’t want to take that bag. The kind lady picked it up from the floor and as it is a big soft bag with only 2 wheels that you have to drag after unless you decide to carry it. The kind helper lady even extended the arm that makes said bag, easy to roll. Roller guy had had enough. He half tried to roll it for a short distance but as he didn’t roll it with its wheels down he was instead dragging the bag (weighing 22.1kg!) whist pushing me sideways forwards. After another 30 meters he gave up and started carrying the bag instead. Through the nothing to declare and by now rushing through the outside full of people that were carrying signs. At such pace there was no possibility to read anything. I thought I saw my name at a sign and was pointing like a wild woman. Roller guy threw me to the right and as he was now carrying my heavy bag he managed to trip someone over. Luckily it was my name on the board. Saved by the driver! He very kindly took over the mangled bag and showed with his hand to roller boy that the car was parked outside hence I should also be wheeled outside to get to said car.

Roller boy now knew exactly what to do. He rushed me outside on to the pavement, pushing the wheelchair so hard in front of him and also in front of the nice driver, the nice driver that also knew where the car was… I was being pushed over a Tokyo sized zebra crossing away from the terminal, away from the driver…. Towards????

Then I heard a loud voice behind us, shouting something to Roller boy. It was the nice driver that had parked his car just outside the exit of the terminal and roller boy had to swallow hard and in front of all the people turn the pink haired lady in a wheelchair around and go back past some sniggering people. Eventually I was in the back seat of my own nice driver car. There was a small tetra pack of water, easy listening music and the trip was only going to be a little over 1 hour, turns out you can drive pretty fast in Italy. We made it to the hotel in 49 minutes straight. Luckily I’m not that faced by speed, or close meetings with death.

As I arrived “early” I had to wait a few minutes until my whole family arrived! But there they were and also half the management of the hotel! They all knew of my horrible landing in Verona, they all knew I couldn’t walk far, so they got me a wheelchair of my own. That I could use for the duration of my stay!

Being wheeled around can be quite fun, especially when your 3 children are arguing over who should push you! We were staying in an awesome little bungalow. 2 bedrooms and a sofa bed in the living room. As I had only had a bag of olives I staid inside resting for a few hours when the rest of the family went out cycling. In the early evening we had booked a table at a fabulous restaurant less than 100 meters rolling from the bungalow! I decided it was all worth it, even though life sometimes throws you lemons, just make lemonade. We finished dinner and the girls wheeled me down to the waterfront. So beautiful there at the top of Lake Garda. It started to rain again and I was wheeled home by Millie.

3 o’clock in the morning I woke up. The pain was taking over. I didn’t have enough pillows to half sit when I was sleeping. I managed to go to the bathroom and there in the mirror I managed to see my squashed stomach. It was very red. And the third breast had grown back. I got some folded robes and another blanket from Dan that also helped me getting some ice from the reception. I took another painkiller and managed to get another hour of sleep.

When we wheeled up to breakfast both me and Dan had come to the conclusion that I had to see a doctor and possibly a hospital as soon as possible. We were recommended the local hospital only 11 minutes away.

That’s if you find it straight away. It can also take a little longer trying out scenic routes. We had managed to take the hotel wheelchair with us, no one could stop us! Well except possibly the Italian language… how can it be so hard? And how come it is so far away from Spanish? They were doing some summer revamping of the hospital. There really was only one entrance you could use to go inside, but it was called first aid and not accidents and emergency. Trying to talk to the lady in reception only got us knowing she spoke no English, but along some verbal guttural noises we headed up to a different door and pushed a button. No answer from the door we were waiting by… after a few minutes another door opened and we were wheeled in to state my problem.

I lost track of time, we got in there around 11, I didn’t see a doctor until 16:00, I sent Dan home to eat and look after the girls. They booked me in for X-ray and another scan. I told them that I got an allergic reaction from the contrast dye in the CAT scan. We had all sorts of hero’s helping us getting my European health card updated as it had stopped working in February this year… All the small things in life…

At 18:00 ish I got to see the main surgeon of the Arco hospital. He wasn’t happy with the eco results so he himself did another more complete ecógrafo scan. He said the whole muscle wall was broken and there looked to be leaking blood inside the hematoma. They were discussing in hard Italian the pros and cons of another CAT scan. The pros are you will be able to see exactly where and if there is a bleed. The cons are my newfound allergy to the contrast dye they inject you with to see all things 3D.

They decided to go for a special CAT scan but at another bigger hospital where surgeons were on call 24 hours if they needed to do an emergency incision. I got transported up with my very own ambulance. Giuseppe the ultra fast driver and Lisa his side kick as well as my own nurse Julia that stayed with me all the time! The other hospital that was supposed to be 33 minutes away only turned out to be 25! I love how they drive here! Probably good that I’m banned from driving until I can lift things again…

The CAT scan didn’t show us anything new. The hematoma was where it used to be and they didn’t see a broken blood vessel to explain the swelling or the pain. Back to the hospital in Arco in my own private ambulance. My bloods were getting worse, they took a third blood test and they concluded the red blood cells count was getting on the low side. They suggested I’d stay the night. Dan came back bearing food. A delicious poke bowl, that I was asked not to eat… I was put in a massive ward with an array of ill people around me.

Waking up in the morning, better sleep, still very swollen still lots of pain. More blood tests, hemoglobin low, we discuss. They think I have a leak of blood somewhere but they cannot seem to find it. They want to keep me in but in a special surgical ward. We have to sign papers that give our consent to blood transfusion. They don’t want to worry us. After all papers are signed we realize the ward I will be in is not one we’re guests (Dan and the girls) were allowed in. They can visit 1 hour at 19:00 Monday to Friday and 2 hours during weekends. It’s all still to do with covid.

I got to my room and I’m sharing with a seriously small Italian woman. I would put her as late 80’s maybe 90’s. She speaks nothing apart from Italian. She is normally so quiet I often think she has passed on. But now it turns out she is a little snorer! One of those blowy snorers… I might go up and do the deed myself if she doesn’t stop soon!

Keep smiling 🙂 the lessons one learns from going the crooked way! And I win! My mum told me! Nobody has as many diverse accidents as I do! Winner winner chicken dinner… as long as it’s gluten free