• The lady of the Mayan ‘Cenote’: Healing simplicity

    THAT SUNNY DAY OF LAST AUGUST WE WERE FINALLY GOING TO FULFIL A DREAM THAT HAD KEPT US GOING DURING THE TIME I RECEIVED CHEMO: VISITING THE CENOTES OF YUCATÁN. WE HAD PLANNED A ROUTE THROUGH SEVERAL LARGE, OPEN, AND BEAUTIFUL CENOTES OF CHICXULUB’S ‘RING OF CENOTES’, EACH ONE MORE IMPRESSIVE THAN THE LAST. HOWEVER, THE DAY LED US DOWN A DIFFERENT PATH TO BEGIN OUR JOURNEY. AFTER PASSING THROUGH SEVERAL MAYAN VILLAGES AND VENTURING ALONG DUSTY TRACKS, WE ACCIDENTALLY STUMBLED UPON A DIFFERENT CENOTE, HIDDEN UNDERGROUND, SMALL AND SIMPLE.

    There, I met “La Doña del Cenote” and her husband. The humble guardians of that place, which you could tell they regarded as sacred. Both were tiny and seemed a bit fragile, their skin weathered by the sun, with the characteristic features of the Mayan people. They greeted us with warm smiles, as if we were friends in everyday life. Everything, from the cenote to their presence, seemed modest. I admit, I was a bit disenchanted at that moment. I had no idea that this woman was about to give me an unforgettable experience.

    In the heart of the cenote

    Before allowing us to enter, La Doña asked us to shower, to safeguard and respect the purity of the cenote’s waters. Then, with an unexpected agility for her age, she led us through a small opening into the heart of the cenote. What happened next was even more unexpected for me.

    La Doña looked at me directly, with a confidence that felt like she knew me. As if she knew everything about me, as if she even had known I would arrive on that very day. She spoke to me in a voice reminiscent of a healer, and said:

    Child, enter the water, let it embrace you. This is Mother Earth. Here, you are in her womb, as if you’ve returned to your mother’s belly. Stay here in peace. God brought you to this place, guided your path. This is where you are supposed to be now, stay as long as you need.”

    As those words echoed within me, she left me alone, immersed in the peace of the cenote. It was then that I felt something break inside me—but not in a bad way. It was as if a barrier had dissolved, and suddenly, the tears began to flow. Tears that I hadn’t expected, but that released a trapped energy. Like a waterfall breaking through a dam. My sobs mingled with the tranquility of the water. And so I felt invaded by a deep sense of peace. It was as if the cenote, and La Doña through it, had facilitated a healing I didn’t even know I needed.

    At the heart of the cenote

    Healing simplicity, natural energy, vital force

    When I emerged, she and her husband were quietly relaxing in their hammock, observing the surrounding nature. They had set up a small table and chairs for us to enjoy our lunch. They smiled at us humbly, as if nothing extraordinary had just happened.

    Yet, for me, La Doña had been much more than a simple guardian of the cenote. She had given me a profoundly healing experience. It may sound incredible, I know that. But I don’t care for an explanation; I’m not here to dissect everything with the scalpel of logic. All I know is that she handles life’s vital energy with a masterful simplicity. Connected to nature, she was able to connect my own energy to the vital force of that hidden place. Her simple, unpretentious wisdom reminded me that life force can be found in the most modest corners and in the humblest of people. That tiny old woman proved that the simplest in life can sometimes be the most extraordinary.

    Have you ever experienced something you can’t explain?
    Share your thoughts in the comments.


    Do you not recognize this Life Force in your own story, or do you feel like you have lost yours?

    Tell me. I am a message away.


    Life Force Stories | Part 4

    Credits: Pictures from my own files | Illustration ‘La Doña del Cenote’ generated with AI, based on my own pictures.

  • Is cancer making me antisocial?!

    A FEW DAYS BEFORE MY OPERATION, I CALL SOME FRIENDS WHO WANT TO SEE ME BEFORE THE PROCEDURE. PERFECT, I WANTED TO HAVE A FEW DRINKS WITH MY HUSBAND ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON ANYWAY, SO THEY CAN JOIN US. BUT THE TIME DOESN’T SUIT MY FRIEND AMALIA, SO SHE WILL COME ANOTHER TIME. I FEEL A BIT ANNOYED… BUT ALSO RELIEVED. AND I RECOGNISE THAT THIS HAPPENS TO ME MORE OFTEN IN MY SOCIAL CONTACTS SINCE I GOT CANCER. WHY? AM I BECOMING UNAPPROACHABLE? | ARTICLE ORIGINALLY WRITTEN FOR THE DUTCH PLATFORM “SHIT OR SHINE”

    Unapproachable, or not?

    It’s three o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon. I just got a call from the hospital to inform me that my operation is scheduled for next Monday morning. Finally! I have been waiting for this. I’m not nervous, but I do want to reserve an afternoon to spend with my husband before the rollercoaster begins. A Friday afternoon with snacks and wine. My friends Sarah and Amalia want to join, so they said. But Amalia has an appointment with her personal trainer that she can’t re-schedule or skip. She asks if she can come later in the evening. For me, that would be a bit late, and I tell her so. Then she wants to come over the weekend, but I want to reserve those days for my family. I feel a hint of irritation. So, feeling somewhat apologetic and somewhat irritated, I tell her: “Don’t feel obligated, there will be another time.” In part, I also feel relieved. I notice that I feel more and more distanced from her. Why is that?

    Since I got cancer, I more frequently recognise these feelings in my social interactions. Not only with friends but also with casual acquaintances. For example, someone sent me a message a week after my first chemotherapy, inviting me to go for a walk. This is someone from town who normally just waves at me when we bump into each other. I didn’t even know this person had my phone number; let alone how they got it. In this case too, I felt uncomfortable and somewhat apologetic, but honestly, I had no desire to go at all.

    In moments like these, I think: “Is cancer making me unapproachable?” Why?

    But it’s not always like this. Take this example: I went to the hospital for a CT scan, a few weeks after my mastectomy. The radiologist says to me: “Take off your bra.” I smile and look at her, and I say: “I’m not wearing a bra.” We look into each other’s eyes, and I continue: “I don’t have breasts.” I see the shock in her eyes as she realises, but we hold each other’s gaze and… burst out laughing. Then she asks me a few questions: she wants to know how I’m doing and how I find the whole process. The CT scan proceeds, and the interaction lasts no more than 10 minutes from start to finish, but I leave with a huge smile.

    So, what’s going on? Why do I let some people get closer and not others?

    There is always a good intention behind it

    Let’s start with these principles: people act with good intentions. And I know it’s difficult for those around me to know what’s right. They are walking on eggshells.

    So, if I know this, why do I still find ‘noise’ in some of my interactions? Have I always been like this? … There was a time of parties, reunions until the early hours, dancing until our feet hurt. That’s true. What is also true is that I have always preferred deep bonds, even if that means fewer friendships. At the same time, I’ve always enjoyed striking up a conversation with a stranger on the street, that’s also true. But not with everyone.

    Dancing till the feet hurt

    Connections in ‘high contrast’

    This is because I have always had the need to truly connect with the people around me. That’s how I engage, and I kind of expect the same coming from my contacts. Since I got cancer, it seems like I see everything through a high-contrast filter. Specifically: I have become more sensitive to the absence of connection. At the same time, I need this true connection even more. Authenticity has become more important to me.

    This applies to my friendships as well as to contact with acquaintances, and also with people on the street. The most important thing is that it feels authentic, sincere. Not all friends want to drop or change their things to accommodate my schedule. And really that’s fine, as long as the contact is sincere and not pretentious. Personally, I prefer a greeting with a broad smile from someone who sees me passing by on the street, rather than forcibly trying to ‘do something big and noble’, which our relationship was never based on. It doesn’t fit, it feels forced and uncomfortable. Despite the undoubtedly good intention. It seems less authentic to me.

    What to do? Some tips

    So, for me, less is more. I have become a tad more selective. Is this the perfect solution? No, there is a clear downside: this could lead me to isolation, of course. Even so, it is a conscious choice. I feel this is best for me. Does this apply to all people with cancer? Of course not, everyone has their own way and their own needs regarding their social contacts. And what works for me may not work for someone else. However, there are some tips I’d like to give:

    For the environment, those walking on eggshells

    1. Ask the person (find a suitable time and manner) what they need and what’s comfortable. Do it sincerely; they can feel that and is more likely to get you an equally sincere response and less awkwardness.
    2. Listen. Really listen, respect wishes and boundaries. It’s not about satisfying your own need to ‘do good’, but about what the person needs, can, and wants to receive from you.
    3. Be consistent. If you want to stay close to the person, stay close. If, on the contrary, your priorities honestly don’t allow you to maintain contact, that’s also fine, but don’t expect or force closeness.
    4. Offer practical help, such as cooking or doing some groceries. Here too applies, what is appropriate and sincere. For example, if the person is a mum of another child at school, offer to pick up the children after school.

    For those going through something similar to my experience

    1. Keep in mind that people act with good intentions. They do so with goodwill, and it’s very difficult for them to estimate what’s right for you.
    2. Be honest, especially with yourself. Answer sincerely and be clear about your needs, wishes, and boundaries.
    3. Be mild. With yourself and with others, perfection doesn’t exist.

    Ultimately, it’s about supporting each other in ways that really help. And that can be achieved by truly connecting with each other. Acknowledging the space availabe, without forcing things. A small and sincere gesture can be the seed of a great friendship.

  • Appearance

    YOU ARE IN THE PRIME OF LIFE AS A WOMAN, MOTHER, PERSON. BUT THEN YOU’RE CONFRONTED WITH YOUR OWN DEATH SENTENCE. ALL MATERIAL THINGS BECOME OF SECONDARY IMPORTANCE, OR COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT. AND IF YOU GET THE CHANCE FOR (LONGER) LIFE WITH QUALITY, YOU GRAB THAT CHANCE WITH BOTH HANDS. YOU ENTER A NEW PHASE. YOU COME OUT CHANGED, BOTH INSIDE AND OUT. SO NOW, IS APPEARANCE STILL IMPORTANT? HOW IMPORTANT? YOU NOTICE THAT THERE ARE TWO ANSWERS, SOMETIMES CONTRADICTORY, YET EXISTING SIDE BY SIDE. THIS IS HOW MY APPEARANCE HAS CHANGED DUE TO CANCER, AND WHAT IT DOES TO ME.

    LEES HIER DE NL VERSIE

    Magic mirror on the wall…

    Six rounds of chemo, a major abdominal surgery (debulking and HIPEC), targeted therapy to deactivate the remaining dormant cancer cells, both breasts amputated. I am still here.

    I stand in front of the mirror; I look at myself with eyes wide open. And this is what I see, hear, think…

    My hand looks like a glove! No ring fitsWow! I can still thread a needle and draw in detail at 48
    Gee, what stupid curls, I can’t do anything with them 🤯Curls are fun with a headband! New summer hairstyle 🌞
    My hair grows so slooooowly.Nice to have plenty of hair back.
    Pfff, what wrinkles, it’s happening so fast with menopauseI love my tanned skin, looking summery all year round
    Crooked chemo toenails 😟I put on a pair of nice heels, and off I go! I can dance again 💃
    I’ve got hobbit feet!!!Lovely long walks through the countryside.
    Flat chest and short hair, I look like a man!A flat chest actually suits me, I have a sleeker silhouette in my fitted tops.
    Dents and scars instead of breastsA new beginning, I’m curious how my new breasts will turn out
    Gosh, no breasts is really flatNice to wear a strapless top, it fits!!
    My front looks like a battlefield!Well, it’s cancer-free.
    A scar from my chest to my lower abdomen, and it’s crooked too…A perfect place for a Tree of Life tattoo, as a symbol
    Big scars and disfigurementLooks tough… I’m a badass! 😎
    Pff, I look like an old womanWhat a badass woman
    Goodness, how will I ever feel sexy again???Hmmm, who knows how it’ll be with new breasts and cool tattoos… 👯‍♀️

    See? Two thoughts at the same time, two answers at the same time. A bit hysterical perhaps, and all true. No side is heavier, both are very real to me.

    Is appearance important or a superficial matter?

    So, let me put it this way: If you were to give me a contract now guaranteeing that the cancer is gone and stays away; but on the condition that I remain bald, flat, and deeply scarred for the rest of my life, I’d sign immediately. Without a doubt. So yes, how important is appearance?

    Well, not more important than my life, and yet more important than I initially thought. Cancer, living with cancer, living after cancer is a metamorphosis. Appearance is part of my identity, of my self-perception. That has changed and will continue to change.

    I watch with curiosity. Sometimes I feel a tear streaming down my face, and sometimes I am surprised by something cute that I discover. I think it’s part of the process of acceptance and rebuilding. At least, it is for me.

    I remain curious, but above all filled with marveling for my body, its strength, its capacity to transform. As if the universe resides within it.

    Deze afbeelding heeft een leeg alt-attribuut; de bestandsnaam is Erfelijkheid-bewustwording.jpeg
  • The metamorphosis of the body

    MASTECTOMY: TODAY, I WANT TO TALK ABOUT THE TRANSFORMATION OF THE BODY, BUT IN A DIFFERENT, ALMOST METAPHORICAL WAY. THE WORDS ORIGINALLY FLOWED IN MY NATIVE LANGUAGE, PERHAPS BECAUSE IT IS SO INTIMATE. I MADE THIS VERSION IN ENGLISH TO SHARE WITH MORE PEOPLE THAT MIGHT BE GOING THROUGH A SIMILAR EXPERIENCE.

    Lee la version original en español

    Origin – the internal explosion

    The change began within, with an explosion of some restless cells, scared to death by who knows what cruel stress – and the inherited predisposition towards acceleration. Chaotic growth unleashed within me. Speed. Cells in panic.

    I talked to them to calm them down. My friends’ thoughts arrived from every corner of the world. Medications and therapies arrived. Precise scalpels. The cancer was removed. Prognoses consider its possible return, either in the long or short term. I face it. I hope it doesn’t come back. May my body remain vigilant, yes, but strong and clean, following its natural rhythm, free from alarms.

    Evolution – the external transformation

    My body has evolved: first from within – with the removal of my uterus and ovaries – leaving behind a scar from my heart to my belly as a witness. Now, the mountains of my breasts have been flattened, leaving traces of the scalpel and a void on each side of my chest. Still fresh.

    “It takes guts to witness my own transformation with eyes wide open.”

    The definition of the body

    My shapes have changed. My body is imprecise, not fully defined yet. And, I confess, it takes guts to witness my own transformation with eyes wide open. And love for this body; to continue finding the pretty stuff, the good stuff, the strong stuff.

    So it may find its new shapes: with feet firmly planted in life. A light heart. And a head full of the universe.

    This was the third post in a series on the impact of my mastectomy on me, from body to mind. I write one post every week while recovering from the procedure.

    Read the second post here

  • Attention: The difference between suffering and thriving

    IN THIS UPDATE, I WANT TO DELVE INTO THE IMPACT OF ATTENTION IN MEDICAL CARE ON MY HOW I EXPERIENCED THE SURGERY | ON 25TH MARCH, I UNDERWENT A PREVENTATIVE MASTECTOMY. BECAUSE THIS PROCEDURE HAS A COMPLEX IMPACT ON BOTH THE MIND AND THE BODY, I WANT TO WRITE ABOUT THE VARIOUS ASPECTS OF IT IN MY BLOG THIS MONTH.

    LEES HIER DE NL VERSIE

    The personal experience

    We often hear that attention and connection in medical care can be invaluable, but it remains abstract. Now, I’ve personally experienced this. And it wasn’t a small matter, as I was going to have my breasts removed.

    Completely my own choice, yes. So off I went to the hospital. With complete conviction… though I still felt a slight tension. Because, well, it’s still your breasts that you’re having removed…

    Hospital or spa?

    Hospital, or not?

    Upon arrival, I didn’t think for a moment about being in a hospital. I swear, I’m not advertising. But honestly, it felt more like a spa or hotel. Everything contributed to the experience: the wooded surroundings, the beautifully decorated interior, soothing. Everywhere there were light and cozy sitting areas, small details specially made by volunteers for fellow patients. On my bed lay a welcome package with lovely items, alongside a warm bathrobe. The interaction with the staff was genuinely friendly. I believe they were consciously trained and selected to provide good attention and pleasant interaction. People took their time. They even took time for a chat and didn’t seem rushed. They truly looked at me.

    Surgery and post-surgery

    Sunbeams

    The surgery itself was 100% fine with me. From preparation to waking up, everything went smoothly. I felt safe. After the surgery, I woke up feeling fine. Still a bit groggy from the anesthesia, but happy. I chatted and joked with the nursing staff, who thankfully also laughed with me (hopefully not just at me, haha).

    Once back in my room, I felt I had space, not only to recover but even to enjoy. From the tranquility, the relief, the view, and the sunbeams shining through my window. And boy, was I hungry! But they took care of that too.

    Making a difference

    Nurse took this pic of me in the recovery, so the kids could see how “I was kicking ass” as she said

    This experience is certainly very special. But why? What makes it special? Every hospital wants to heal, care for, or alleviate your suffering. Every hospital has the knowledge and the desire to help the patient. What’s the difference? I even asked if it was a private clinic. It wasn’t, it was “just” a small hospital. So, what is the difference then?

    The answer is abstract: it’s the attention. From environment, to interaction, to care. There was thought put into making it pleasant, comfortable. They took their time. So, what is the value of attention in medical care? FUNDAMENTAL. Though not scientifically measurable, the effect on my body and experience is very concrete, tangible, and visible. It’s not just helpful, but decisive. It makes the difference between suffering and thriving.

    This was the second post in a series on the impact of my mastectomy on me, from body to mind. I write one post every week while recovering from the procedure.

    READ THE FIRST POST HERE

  • Mastectomy: My inheritance, my choices

    FROM MY MATERNAL LINE, I’VE INHERITED MANY POSITIVE TRAITS SUCH AS INTUITION AND STRENGTH, BUT A GENETIC PREDISPOSITION TO CANCER ISN’T ONE OF THE POSITIVES. SINCE LEARNING THIS, I’VE MADE MY DECISION: AFTER THE REMOVAL OF MY OVARIES AND UTERUS LAST YEAR, I OPTED FOR A PREVENTATIVE MASTECTOMY. IT’S DONE NOW: MY BREASTS HAVE BEEN REMOVED.

    LEES hier de NL versie

    Maternal line

    We have a strong maternal lineage in my family, almost akin to a matriarchy. I was raised by formidable women, imbued with strength, sensitivity, intuition, and autonomy. It’s ingrained in my blood, in my DNA, and I carry it with pride. However, I’m also a carrier of the BRCA2 mutation, which elevates my risk for gynaecological cancers. That, too, is part of my genetic inheritance. I lost my mother to the ravages of advanced breast cancer. Her final weeks were a trial, and I bore witness to it.

    From Ovaries to Breasts

    The genetic predisposition first struck my ovaries like a hammer blow last year. But it could also affect my breasts, with an increased risk of 80%. Hence, a plan was formulated: initially focusing on my ovaries, uterus, and abdominal metastases, treated with chemotherapy, debulking, and HIPEC. The second phase targeted my breasts: a preventative mastectomy. It might sound like a straightforward plan, but the experience was naturally different.

    Making choices

    It’s a time of significant decisions, not always straightforward to make. For they are impactful decisions, not just for me but also for my husband, children, and family. From its effect on my self-image to my sex life, potential traumas for my children, employability, and my long-term survival perspective. It affects my quality of life.

    On my way to the hospital for a second consultation with the plastic surgeon | Jan 2024

    So, for me, the initial step was a no-brainer: a double mastectomy. But then came the questions. With each question, there was a sounding board, but it started with myself: did I want reconstruction or not? Then with the doctors (oncologist, surgeon): when was the best time for my body? Then the (plastic) surgeon, but also online, via specialized platforms and organisations: which reconstruction method was suitable? For me, the decision aid website from patient+ was valuable in preparing for discussions with the doctors because it enabled me to obtain more targeted information and ask questions. That made my choice much easier. Ultimately, I opted for lipofilling. A prolonged, impactful journey, but personally the best choice for me. This choice varies for everyone.

    On my way to another hospital for the mastectomy – 25 Maart 2024

    Impact

    As I write these lines, I sit on the couch, recovering from the operation. My breasts are no more. Thus far, no sorrow or pain. I’ve inspected the wounds and hollows, it was a bit shocking, I won’t lie. Yes, my breasts are gone, but so is the risk of cancer developing there. I can focus on the “ovarian front.” That provides relief, literally and figuratively.

    Though the decision for a mastectomy was straightforward for me, the impact of the mastectomy and its reconstruction journey is complex. Especially with recovery and reconstruction ahead. What does it do to the mind, energy, body, and surroundings? Therefore, this month, I’ll write about the impact of my mastectomy, from body to mind.

  • Work and Purpose II: A New Mindset

    Written in early 2024, as I found myself confronted with sick leave.

    klik hier voor de NL versie

    IT’S A RAINY RUSH HOUR EVENING IN OCTOBER 2023. I’M DRIVING BACK FROM THE OFFICE IN EINDHOVEN, FACING A TWO-HOUR COMMUTE HOME. THE TREATMENTS ARE BEHIND ME, ONCOLOGISTS HAVE DECLARED ME ‘CLEAN’. FOR NOW. EVERY DAY, I SWALLOW MEDICATION TO INCREASE MY CHANCES OF SURVIVAL. I GLANCE AT MY FELLOW COMMUTERS AND THINK, “TODAY, I MANAGED A FULL DAY OF WORK, I’M BACK IN THE GAME,” AND THEN I REALIZE I HAD CLOSED MY EYES FOR A FEW SECONDS. BEHIND THE WHEEL.

    on my way to work | Amsterdam 2023

    Update 2024 – Employability now

    Meanwhile, I am no longer working. The impact of treatment and side effects on my immunity, capacity, and body is even greater now than during treatment. Difficult, but I accept it. Although having a disease like cancer is never easy and working during illness is not always possible, working can be very valuable. For both employee and employer. It can help focus on what really matters in life. In the Netherlands, about a third of people with cancer work during their treatment. Research by TNO and the Arbo Unie shows the challenges and benefits of working during treatment:

    Employee

    • Faster recovery during and after treatment.
    • Prevention against negative mental effects during and after treatment, such as reduced risk of depression and social isolation.

    Employer

    • Reduced risk of absenteeism.
    • Increased productivity.
    • Faster reintegration process of the employee.

    Second stop on my journey: a new mindset

    The experience of working during my illness has brought me a lot. I have experienced that, when possible, meaningful work actively contributes to my well-being. Meaningful work, for me, is about connection and making a contribution to society. That’s why I now volunteer for the Olijf Foundation. Also through this blog. I want to offer fellow sufferers and their loved ones a helping hand, a place to shelter.

    There is still much to do and much we don’t know yet. This can cause unrest. But this mindset gives me confidence. It allows me to think in terms of possibilities, rather than being knocked down. And this is possible within my new reality.

    This is the second of two pieces about my experience of working during cancer treatment in the period of my first diagnose.

    READ THE FIRST ONE HERE

  • Work and purpose I: “I have cancer and just started a new job”

    Written in early 2023, shortly after receiving my diagnosis

    klik hier voor de NL versie

    SUDDENLY IN A NEW REALITY. THAT WAS ME ON THE MORNING I FOUND OUT I HAD CANCER. EVERYTHING TOOK ON A DIFFERENT DIMENSION, A DIFFERENT PACE: MOTHERHOOD, PARTNERSHIP, LEISURE TIME, FINANCES, WORK… I WAS DETERMINED TO MAKE MY TIME AS MEANINGFUL AS POSSIBLE, AND MEANINGFUL WORK WAS PART OF THAT. BUT I HAD JUST SIGNED MY CONTRACT… HOW DO YOU TELL SOMETHING LIKE THIS? “COMPLETE TRANSPARENCY, WHAT ELSE CAN I DO?” I THOUGHT… SO, I PICKED UP THE PHONE TO CALL MY MANAGER.

    First stop on my journey: a new reality

    In early March, I signed my contract to start as a communication advisor at an organization. I had searched for people-centered work and was excited to begin. Then, that morning, I found out I had cancer. Big boom, mind-blowing. Eventually, I got an idea of how I wanted to approach this new reality. It was clear that work was an important part of it, meaningful work. It was of added value to the otherwise cancer-dominated scenery.

    Working: wanting and being able to

    It was clear to me what I wanted, but what was actually possible within my condition: What can I expect? What can I do and what am I allowed to do? What is realistic?Creating a clear and realistic picture of my medical situation was very important. It turned out that there was enough space for me to be valuable at work. It also became clear that a bit of unpredictability was part of this process, so flexibility would be key to be able to work in this new reality. Both from me and from my new work environment.

    Sharing the news

    It was one of the hardest phone calls I’ve ever had to make. I was new and definitely felt like I was letting my work down. I also didn’t yet know what to expect, but I did know that the only way forward was to engage in dialogue.

    So, I called my direct supervisor. A bombshell for her as well, of course. Just like me when I heard the news, it was now her turn to let this new reality sink in. And that couldn’t happen in just one phone call. What did happen almost immediately was crucial: it was clear that the mutual willing to collaborate was there. And that we needed transparency and flexibility to achieve meaningful work within this new situation. How? By looking at what’s possible, what could be, and always working based on a medically realistic scenario.

    at work with colleagues | Heerlen, October 2023

    Meaningful work and connection with colleagues

    All in all, I was pleasantly surprised by the reactions. My supervisor was very understanding. This made it easier for me in the effort of integrating my treatment and work. I continue to engage in dialogue with all my colleagues. This is how we build connection, which we need to achieve meaningful work together. It’s in the little things, like flexible working hours. On my turn, I am open to working at alternative times outside the regular hours, of working from the hospital when necessary. Which I have done more than once. This gives the confidence to move forward.

    – NB for the nerdish among us: TNO has research about the importance of dialogue for working during treatment or chronic disease.-

    At the end of 2023, my work perspective looks different. I’ll write about that in the sequel: Work and Purpose II: A New Mindset.