This is quite a storm of events — a sudden, overwhelming acceleration of life.
I had surgery. It happened in China, in Shanghai, exactly a week ago. There was fear — not sharp, but diffused, impossible to grasp. Everything unfolded beyond analysis, beyond logic. I felt like a leaf falling from a great oak, caught mid-air by a current of wind, carried through unknown spaces, along invisible paths, with no way of understanding where I was being taken.
And yet — I survived.
There were some minor complications, but nothing severe. Shanghai, in its own way, felt like a force that held me together, made me stronger, braver. The city breathes health and momentum. Even in the dressing queues, I saw something remarkable: fragile, elderly men gathering strength to move forward faster, determined to be treated, to heal. Beside them, elegant women — already at 7 in the morning — with light makeup, carefully arranged hair, composed, dignified. And there I was among them, adjusting my slipping bandage, straightening my back, becoming part of this quiet choreography of resilience.
For a week, every morning began with dressings. And after — we walked in the parks. Movement became both a necessity and a lesson. Accepting that things will not be the same anymore was difficult. But I am learning. Quickly, it seems.
Grisha and Liza are there, holding the rhythm of life, not allowing it to collapse into heaviness. Life insists on continuing.
Today was the last dressing.
And now — we are flying home.