Recovery days are funny. They’re quieter, slower, yet filled with little stories that feel like puzzle pieces. Each one reminding me that healing isn’t just about medicine, but about the rhythm of everyday life.
This morning started with food, because of course it did. My mom has been on a mission to keep me well-fed. And by “well-fed” I mean plates of home-cooked meals that would make even Michelin-star chefs nod in approval. Sometimes I wonder if she’s secretly competing with the hospital catering team, except she’s already won, hands down. Honestly, food made by someone who loves you is the best medicine.
Somewhere between brunch, my friend in Canada replied my WhatsApp status. I proudly sent him this photo of the sunrise from my bedroom: misty, soft, a little mystical. His reply came with a chuckle: “Widih burem. Polusi ya? Lol.” And then, he sent me his backyard view: wide skies, rolling hills, golden sunlight. I had to laugh, but also… I’ll admit it, I envied him a little. His backyard looked like a desktop wallpaper, while mine looked like someone forgot to clean the camera lens. 😅
Speaking of necessary, today my Cleansheet ranger finally returned after a two-week hiatus while I was in the hospital. Imagine: my rooms, toilet, and kitchen all sparkling again! Clean home makes me feel lighter. Maybe it’s the INFJ in me, but I can’t think clearly in chaos. Fresh matt, scrubbed tiles, and a spotless sink feel like a gentle whisper saying, “All is well.”
Later, I had a long phone call with my mother-in-law. We updated each other on everything from how I’m recovering to the small family plans ahead. On the last minute, my eldest jumped into the conversation while her sleepy eyes still closed, just to say hi to her grandma. How sweet. The comfort of that conversation reminded me that healing isn’t just physical, it’s relational. Love passed between generations has a way of strengthening your bones in ways calcium never could.
And finally, back to my regular evening activity: Netflix with hubby. Okay, confession: he fell asleep about 30 minutes in. I debated whether to wake him up or just keep watching alone while drafting this blog. But then I remembered: sometimes healing means enjoying the quiet presence of the person next to you, even if he’s snoring softly instead of following the plot. While he was sleeping, I ordered snakehead fish soup. It’s a traditional recovery dish packed with nutrients. Apparently, healing really does have its own menu.
Returning favor, I connected my dear friend Eva (queen of corsets) with Mas Yusuf (hospital angel), hoping her maternity corsets could make their way into the hospital system. If they do, I’m pretty sure future patients will thank her with all their hearts (and their bellies). I also left good review on Google Maps for Bethsaida Hospital. After all the care I received, it felt like the least I could do. Their motto, “Serve with heart,” wasn’t just a tagline. They lived it out in every nurse’s patience, every doctor’s clarity, every orderly’s smile. Gratitude, when spoken out loud, is never wasted.
Reflecting on today, I realize recovery isn’t about grand milestones. It’s in the little things: a homemade food, a witty catch up, a clean toilet, a phone call with family, the quiet company of someone you love. As Henri Nouwen once wrote, “Healing begins with gratitude.” And maybe that’s why, even in the slow pace of today, my spirit feels lighter.
Take a moment today to name one of those joys. Write it down, whisper it, share it. Because when you do, you’ll realize: you’re already healing, one small joy at a time.
Love,
Nuniek Tirta
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