I woke up from a strange long vivid dream this morning. The kind of dream that felt so real I had to blink twice to make sure I was actually back in my room. My brain apparently runs its own cinema franchise at night. I rushed to open my laptop before the scenes slipped away, and yes, I also asked ChatGPT what it could possibly mean. When I copy-pasted it to hubby's whatsapp, his comment: "Your dream is like Korean drama series, long and detailed. How come you could memorize it all?" LOL
The day started pretty well. I had scheduled ShopeeFood from last night: twelve kinds of veggies and proteins from the nearest warteg. I opened the fridge and it looked like I was ready to survive an apocalypse. Or at least a busy week without cooking. My oldest daughter took charge of Monday’s cooking shift anyway, frying calamari without all-purpose flour. Breadcrumbs did the job just fine, and honestly, it tasted like restaurant food. Good job!
Later I munched on roasted almonds, still in their skins, which felt like an unpaid internship: lots of work, little reward. Since we didn’t have a proper mortar, my husband casually suggested using crab tongs to crack them. It worked! He really is a master of “alternative engineering.” In between, I opened a new package: an outer made of ceruty fabric. I already had the short-sleeved one, but now with the long sleeves, I realized I could just throw it on over any old home clothes and look instantly presentable. Almost like my Uniqlo dress, but this one is under 100k instead of the usual 500k at Uniqlo. (Does it mean I could have four more in different colors with the same budget I used for Uniqlo? :))
Oh, and plants. So many plants arrived today: jasmine, lavender, cherry tomatoes, celery, rosemary. Since I didn’t have enough pots, I used folding buckets with wheels. Weirdly practical, because now I can roll them around the house like toddlers in strollers. I also bought 20 stalks of tuberose, so the house smells like a fresh little spa. By evening, I rewarded myself with batagor for just 14k. Generous portion, endless soup. Simple joys.
And then, just when the day felt normal and a little too cozy, I noticed a small red stain after going to the bathroom. On a white towel, no less. Of course my heart jumped. Exactly one month after surgery, I thought I was safe from surprises. Panic whispered in, but instead of spiraling, I texted my obgyn and consulted my loyal AI sidekick.
The answers matched: this spotting was still within normal recovery. My body was still healing. Overexertion, like walking too much at the mall yesterday, or crouching and shifting plates in the kitchen today, was probably enough to irritate small blood vessels inside. My doctor asked me to take Kalnex, a tranexamic acid 3x500gr for 5 days and told me to ease off on active movements.
I keep thinking of Bessel van der Kolk’s line in The Body Keeps the Score: “Our bodies are programmed to heal as long as we take care of ourselves.” The “taking care” is the part that trips me up. I’m better at pushing myself than at resting. Many of us are. We glorify productivity, even post-surgery, as if rest was a character flaw.
But science is annoyingly clear about this. The American College of Surgeons says full recovery after abdominal surgery takes 6–8 weeks. Sure, stitches on the outside may look fine after two weeks, but inside? The tissues are still sewing themselves back together quietly. A study in BMJ Open (2018) even showed that patients who jumped back into intense activity too soon were 30% more likely to develop complications. Meanwhile, those who respected their limits healed more smoothly. Rest, apparently, isn’t wasted time. Instead, it’s the shortcut.
And yet there I was, rearranging kitchen racks like some post-op Marie Kondo, only to end up with spotting. Lesson learned: don’t KonMari your house before your stitches are done knitting themselves.
Sometimes I imagine healing as a spiritual practice. Like a seed underground; you can water it, give it sunlight, and protect it, but you can’t grab it by the stem and demand, “Grow faster!” Our job is to make space, to create the right conditions, and then step back.
It’s funny, too, how we treat our gadgets with more patience than our bodies. When my phone battery dips to 10%, I rush to charge it. But when my own energy dips, I scold myself for being “lazy” and force myself to keep going. This whole recovery is teaching me a kind of wisdom: that slowness isn’t weakness, that rest is part of growth, that scars are reminders of resilience.
So here I am, writing these reminders for myself, but maybe you need them too:
Healing is still progress, even when nothing “productive” gets done.
Rest is not indulgence. It’s maintenance.
Every “no” to extra activity now is a “yes” to being fully healthy later.
Rumi said, “Try to accept the changing seasons of your soul, even if they come with chills and winds.” Right now, I’m in winter. A season of enforced slowness. But winter is never wasted! It’s where the roots deepen.
So tonight, I’m reminding myself again: chill to heal. Don’t rush. Don’t compare. Don’t push harder than my body can handle. Healing is happening quietly, cell by cell, no matter how restless I feel.
And if you’re also in a season of recovery, I hope you take the nap, let the dishes wait, and hand someone else the heavy bags. Your body, your mind, your soul; they’ll thank you later.
Chill to heal,
Nuniek Tirta
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