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A letter to my dear physiotherapist, whatever her name is

Lente in mijn tuin
Well-deserved flowers, for all the therapists who have worked with me during the last few years.

One lasting consequence of the stroke is that I can no longer store new faces in my memory. The faces I knew from before the stroke are still there, but I don’t have any of the people I’ve met since. Consequently new people are often difficult or impossible to recognize, which can lead to embarrassing situations and make it very difficult to associate names with people.

During my rehabilitation, however, nobody knew about it, including me…


UZ Gasthuisberg, March, 2017


Today I am leaving. to become rehabilitated. That’s an interesting word, by the way.

And I’m going to miss her, my dear physiotherapist. She has done much more for me than she will ever know. She made me laugh when I barely could. Day after day she showed me the difference with yesterday. I cried once in her arms like a little child, but I’m not ashamed of it. And I don’t think I’ll be the last.

I’ve heard that she gives practical lessons at the university.

I have probably known too many teachers in my life. But when I see her with the students, I think they are in good hands.
Yes, I’m going to miss her, my dear physiotherapist. But what bothers me most, and what I’m quietly ashamed of, is that I can’t even tell you her name, she who has done and meant so much to me.

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Published inCVI - Cerebral Visual ImpairmentFrom GasthuisbergNTBI - Non-traumatic brain injuryWritings from rehab

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