This week didn’t ask — it demanded.

Three night shifts. Long, relentless, breathless. The kind of nights where the clock fades and all that exists is the patient in front of you, the referral phone ringing again, the silent prayer before answering the call, “Please let this be not FAST POSITIVE.”

I gave thrombolysis back-to-back — two lives, two stories caught in the in-between.
Stroke after stroke. Admission after admission. My hands moved with practiced calm, but inside, I was holding so much. And still, somewhere in the chaos, life gave back. Quietly. Generously. Unexpectedly.

What I’m Grateful For

I’m grateful that even the busiest weeks make room for small joys.

Like mowing the lawn with Thea on a crisp afternoon — blades humming, arms aching, but hearts light. Then walking Calvin, her dog, under a sky finally clear. That short walk felt like a ceremony of return to ordinary life, and I didn’t know how much I missed it until I was in it.

I’m grateful for laughter in the living room — playing video games with Jan and Thea, escaping into another world where the only urgency was pixelated and playful.

For Rodoes, our comfort-place. Where Jan took me after a week that emptied me, just to fill me again — with food, with love, with that quiet way he always says, “I see you.”

And I’m grateful for the new clothes — not because of how they look, but because I chose them. I’ve gained weight. And for the first time, I didn’t punish myself for it. I walked into H&M and said: What fits me now, belongs to me now. That’s growth I’m proud of.

What I’m Hoping For

Next week, I hope for space.
Not the kind marked on calendars — the kind inside my chest. The kind that lets me breathe fully.

I hope to carry this new rhythm with me — not slow, but intentional. Not passive, but present.

I hope to remember that my value doesn’t live in my output. That doing well at work doesn’t have to mean losing myself in it. That rest is a worthy counterpart to excellence.

And maybe most of all — I hope to stay kind to my changing body, my healing mind, my ever-evolving sense of self.

What Stayed With Me

That moment after the second thrombolysis — hands still steady, heart still soft. I looked at the patient and quietly whispered, “We’re doing all we can.” And I meant it.

Later, it was the grass clippings on my shoes, the laughter over takeout, the sound of Calvin’s paws on the pavement, the way Thea said, “You look lighter today.”

It stayed with me. Because even in a week that pulled so much from me, life still found a way to pour back in.

What Softened or Stretched Me

This week stretched my body and sharpened my mind — but it softened something else too.

The interview with the Communications staff was a success. They saw my story, my book, my quiet strength. It felt like being recognized not just for what I do, but for who I am. And that matters.

My OSCE tutorial also ended with good feedback. All those quiet hours of studying, of second-guessing myself, of asking “Is this enough?” — they paid off.

I’ve always carried self-doubt like a shadow. But this week, I let a little sunlight in. And I saw that maybe I’m not just surviving. Maybe I’m growing, too.

This Week’s Companion Song

“Bloom” by The Paper Kites
Because despite the pressure, despite the fatigue — I bloomed. Quietly. Imperfectly. But still.

A Quote That Held Me

“And here you are living, despite it all.”
— Rupi Kaur

Closing Reflection

This week reminded me that I am many things all at once. A nurse holding lives in her hands. A woman learning to live in her own skin. A writer offering pieces of her heart to the world. A soul learning how to rest, how to receive, how to rise.

I am not perfect — but I am present.
I am not always strong — but I always return.
And that, I think, is what healing looks like.

Until next Sunday,
— ANJ