Back in my familiar surroundings. You’d think it would be more relaxed now. But honestly: not really.
Everything is suddenly exhausting. Where I’d normally hang up my laundry in 10 minutes, with crutches I first need 10 minutes just to even get the clothes out of the washing machine. Every meter feels like a kilometer.
Then comes my personal side quest: the thrombosis injection.
Of course I thought ahead again: backup organized, Yvonne would have done the jab in my belly.
But then the thought: “Man, we’re not amateurs.”
I’ve got an Achilles tendon rupture, not an amputation. I have to manage this myself somehow.
At first I thought: okay, this will be an evening challenge. Psych myself up, watch a YouTube tutorial, maybe meditate. In the end? It took exactly one minute.
Prepare the syringe. Pinch the belly fold. Eyes closed. Bam.
I thought: If the junkie in the red-light district can do it – and even hits the vein AND is high, then I can nail this no problem.
Especially me – as a conservative white cis man. If you’re going to do it, do it properly.