Reflections on a stormy autumn-evening.

My dear,

Let’s take a deep breath in through the nose, and out through the mouth. Ahh.. Where are you today? What do you hear, what do you smell, what surrounds you?

I am sitting on a comfy sofa, surrounded by both familiar things and new sights. I moved into the static caravan today. A lovely new place to make my own, plus the comforts of the things that I brought with me. I can hear the rain storming and the wind blowing as autumn has properly settled in this evening. I can smell my cinnamon-apple tea and feel the warmth of Buster against my leg. Inside, a deep sadness.

The waves, the waves

I meant to write you sooner, I truly intended, even planned for that. But so much has happened. Not just the ‘starting a new career in a different country’ – thing, although that in itself would have been plenty a reason to postpone writing. The day after I wrote my last blogpost, my grandmother (or in Dutch: oma) got a big brain hemorrhage. She died peacefully the next day, surrounded by my family, who all got to say their goodbyes when she was awake. For that, I am grateful. I am also incredibly grateful for the meaningful goodbye Oma and I had together, on the day I left for Wales. My last memory of her is a warm and wonderful one, filled with love.

Due to problems with my BRP, I could not make it to the funeral. I somehow found a way to balance work and my grief. The most painful part for me was not being able to be with my family physically in such a hard time. I wanted to be there. I wanted to hug them, hold them, cry with them. However, I was connected. There were a lot of phone calls. I found the most gorgeous little church on the north coast of the island and lit a candle there for her, together with a lot of Oma’s German (and Dutch) family. I wrote a eulogy for her and send it as a voice message to my sister, who played in on the funeral. Her boyfriend video-called me the whole time, so I could see everything. I felt such a strong connection between me and my family. I went back to that little church on the cliffs for the funeral. It was the most glorious morning, wild dolphins played in the bay during the ceremonie and left when they carried oma to her last resting place. It was a healing, almost magical, experience, even though it hurt.

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The third week of being a New Grad vet in Wales

It seems insane to me that I have been here for three weeks. It feels like nothing and an eternity at once. Emotionally it has been a rollercoaster, a challenge to say the least. But it also has been such a steep learning curve at work. I went from only having seen a cat spey to doing one (luckily with a sterile hand to hold). Most of the time, I still struggle with placing catheters (and this frustrates me endlessly). I have done the first vaccinations and consults even, on my own. Everyday I learn something new. Heck, every 5 minutes I learn something new. And it definitely doesn’t all stick, no matter how hard I try. I have to admit that I am looking forward to the day that not everything is so new. But the job gives me a sense of fulfillment and I cannot stress enough how lovely and supportive my colleagues are.

Yet the waves keep coming

It is just so much. I still working on opening a bank account (I’m pretty sure they’re just taking a piss and I am running out of patience), I don’t have my own car yet, I’d like to establish a workout routine. Every time I think I have to some room to breath, to focus on the practical things only, another wave hits. Today, my sadness is caused by a phone call I received from my parents. There is nothing the doctors can do for my Opa (grandfather) anymore. They said weeks to months. Tears fill my eyes, my heart breaks, once again. The waves keep coming.

So here we are, one step at a time. What else can you do? I try to stay present in the moment, to be extra kind to myself during the evenings. (I’d like to say during the day as well, but that has proven to be hard. When I’m tired/stressed, my default setting is being a little too strict for myself, too much of a perfectionist. Working on that one.) I’m trying to be mindful about the little things, to enjoy the amazing views here, the transition into autumn. Give myself some room to breathe every day.

Take a deep breath in through the nose, out through the mouth. How does it feel?

Liefs,

Karen+Buster