WAR OUTSIDE PEACE INSIDE

II: A New Beginning and a Diagnosis—2024 In January, we received good news: the tenants were vacating our new flat earlier than expected. I immediately got busy measuring up, and together with Miri, who was studying interior design at the time, we went to buy basic furniture so we could move in. It felt good to make a new start—with new furniture and new energies. The country style of our old house wasn’t suited to this modern, compact flat, so we chose furniture accordingly: clean, modern, and space-saving. What had really clinched the deal when we first saw the flat was the large balcony facing a wooded hill. Even though we were in town, we still had a view. We joined the local country club, I enrolled in a painting class, and I felt happier and more settled than I had in a long while. It felt as if we’d been contestants in some kind of survival competition, and we had finally reached the finish line and won the prize. But this was real life, and in real life the game never ends. Not long after we moved in, there was another twist of fate: I was diagnosed for the second time with breast cancer—this time in the right breast. From the beginning, I didn’t want to go the chemotherapy route. But after going from hospital to hospital and doctor to doctor, I understood that there was a protocol, and only two options were available: take it or leave it. For a while, I chose not to decide. I did Joe Dispenza’s meditations morning and night, repeated the Ho’oponopo prayer, and continued my daily qigong practice, waiting for inspiration. There was a three-day Joe Dispenza event in Barcelona that I managed to sign up for—no small feat, as these events sell out quickly. My eldest daughter, Karin, said she would join me, and I looked forward to this mother-daughter trip and to participating in one of Dr Joe’s live events. In the meantime, the medical tests I was undergoing were not looking optimistic, and I began to prepare myself for the “dreaded” chemo treatment once I returned from Barcelona. About a week before the trip, I received a phone call from one of the hospital doctors. They told me that my case had been reviewed and that it had been decided I needed to start treatment immediately. They strongly advised me not to travel at that time. As I write these words months later, the memory of that scary call still triggers my fight-or-flight response. Suffice it to say, I cancelled the trip, apologised to my daughter—who went on her own in the end—and, with strong feelings of FOMO, went to the hospital for my first treatment.