To look life in the face

My updates will be partly in Dutch and partly in English or German. Perhaps the odd one will even be in Frisian. In recent years, I have been receiving translation assignments to and from Frisian (Frysk) with some regularity.
Incidentally, the Dutch version of the campaign is automatically translated when the website’s language is changed.

My rock is called Ger Dijkstra. When I fell into a coma in January following the operation, nobody knew what was going on or whether I was even still alive.
He contacted the Dutch Embassy in Valletta and, after much back and forth, it turned out I was still alive – though don’t ask me how. I woke up from a long dream, the images of which I can still recall, but which I find impossible to explain to anyone in comprehensible language.

Ger set up a WhatsApp group with my inner circle of friends from Berlin, Spain, the Netherlands and London, and kept everyone updated on my condition. My good friend there, Hans de Booij – the singer-songwriter, yes – whom I’d named as my contact person in hospital, was travelling through Greece at the time and was temporarily out of reach.

Hans has been living on Gozo for a year and a half, having visited the island previously. As has been reported in the media, he has been suffering from Long Covid since the pandemic began and had been looking for some time (whilst still in the Netherlands) for a sunnier country abroad in which to settle. Under the Mediterranean sun, we spend a fair bit of time grumbling together about the Maltese and all the injustices in the Netherlands. Hans was also the one who came to visit me in hospital – quite a half-day’s journey from Gozo to Msida in Malta.

At the moment, I’m still undergoing chemotherapy every other weekend at the specialist oncology hospital – a total of four sessions – intended to bring the treatment to a close. There is absolutely no guarantee that the cancer won’t return, or in what form. However, I’m simply assuming that it will, because cancer does what it wants anyway – as I now know from experience – without, incidentally, sinking into acute depression. It is what it is, and as for how long I have left to live, only time will tell. I do, however, watch all sorts of TV series and programmes with a different mindset now; I used to feel quite engaged by them, but now I recognise so much of my own experience in them.

The recent passing of young Jada felt like an emotional blow. I have nothing but warm admiration for her and the way she has made her mark on our collective consciousness. And now the news about Lieke Marsman, such a gifted poet and a wonderful person. I myself will leave behind very little of lasting significance, and that does give me some cause for concern. There’s certainly a fair bit to say about my life so far, but anything lasting?

Even whilst I was in hospital in the early months of this year, I realised that – having come face to face with death and picked up the thread of life once more – I would first have to sort out countless problems, and that has proved all too true. Financial paralysis weighs on me like a blanket and holds me back in everything I want to tackle.

Although clients have been kept informed and have shown sympathy, this has certainly not yet resulted in a flood of translation jobs. However, a few jobs do trickle in now and then, and things will pick up again as I get back on my feet. Less than four weeks ago, I was still suffering from brain fog, which meant I was only able to reorganise my work to a limited extent. Fortunately, there are no signs of dementia yet. Hans is five years older and, in that respect, does live with such fears – namely things like forgetfulness and, of course, always being tired – existential fears. His state pension is barely enough to pay the rent.