One year later...

You know those big temporal jumps in movies, where the subtitle marks that one week, month or years passed for the characters, and we get to witness the change (or lack thereof) in their lives.

One year can change a lot.

One year ago, I was in a hospital bed, having removed several myomas from my womb and with the doubtful promise that one day I might be able to get pregnant, if only by a miracle.

At least, my doctor had confirmed I did not have cancer, despite my family history and the absurd speed of the growth in my guts its before removal.

I left my old job, lost contact with old work colleagues, saw dear old friends leave Frankfurt to their home countries or next destinations with a hug and a goodbye, saw friends dating, getting married, having children, getting busy and never reaching out again.

And suddenly I saw myself alone, lying in bed at the hospital and wondering if that was the end.

My life always suddenly changes in cycles of seven years.

Once the catheter was removed, and I was sent home to bed for four weeks, haunting the distance between my sofa and my bed, I slowly healed and slept.

But at the end of that period, I had to sort out the next step in my life.

New work, new people in my life, maybe new friends.

Slowly I got a new circle of friends, and crawled out of the isolation cocoon I had weaved during the pandemic years.

I started visiting new friends’ houses, daring to call those new people… friends.

Until I saw myself on a Friday night one year later, sitting in a circle of people in a bar close to the river in Konstablewache and watching the slow swirling of snowflakes falling from the sky close to midnight, and I took stock of the changes that one year can bring to someone’s life. In this case, mine.

I went to surgery thinking my life (and existence) might be pretty much over.

And instead I started unveiling a new moment in my life that I was not expecting, and in a way, is surprisingly full of people and laughter.

One year makes a lot of difference.