Jennifer in Luxembourg

 I'm sitting at my kitchen table, built with literal blood and sweat (no tears, because it's in the house). It's 1:19AM, but as tired as I am, I'm feeling very reflective and my fingers are twitching to write. So here we are.  One year ago, I landed in Luxembourg for this grand new adventure. In the pouring rain, and so jetlagged I forgot my instructions to open the doors to my temporary apartment. I remember settling in, and walking across the street to the gas station grocery for a few things for dinner, then YouTubing to figure out how to turn on the induction stove. It's been a long and hard and rewarding and exciting 366 days since then.  This morning I bravely faced my first blood draw and lab here in Luxembourg, and navigate those accompanying challenges. I got my insulin supplies the day before, and hopefully my new pump next week. I also met a friend for coffee. She came slightly before me, and in some of our darker days, we decided that we would celebrate ...

When I moved to Luxembourg, I made the personal rule for myself not to cry in my house. And I have managed to keep that pretty well. But this morning I remembered one of my darkest days, ironically on a really nice weather day. I had gathered all the supposedly needed documents for exchanging my driver's license, including early morning trips for pictures and other papers, only to be told I was missing some. I vividly recall exiting the building, in the bustling town center, and just standing there sobbing. Full on ugly crying as I felt at my darkest. In that moment, I felt so very alone, and so very, very tired.  Since then, the loneliness has subsided as I've found my place in community. But the exhaustion has not. The weight of responsibility is heavy. This week, I’m dealing with cleaning up and repairs from a break-in, round 2 of mold growing in the house despite all my preventive efforts, insurance claims on both accounts, the driver's license with a deadline to submit...

* written Q4, 2024, after I worked an industry event without eating for three days due to a chronic flare-up, then flew internationally in a supremely stupid move. My mother called me "death warmed over"* My dad asked me how it felt to be sick. No one has ever asked me that before, and I had a lot of resting time to think of an answer.  It feels helpless. Knowing there is nothing I can do to stop the infernal coughing. Or the inflammation I know is ravaging my body. Or knowing that I could eat identical meals, and sometimes one of them will tear up my stomach, and another time I will be totally fine.  It's painful. I lay on my parents’ couch and needed to move. I wanted to go to the table to eat. I have to will each limb to move where I want it too, conscious of the searing pain to make it do what I want. It took me a good 15 minutes to convince my body to move from the couch to the table. I set goals for myself- I refuse to eat on a couch, as I know I have to move, and w...

Thirty minutes from my train connection, where I have unexpectedly been invited to join colleagues in a car for the rest of the way home.  Not enough time to open my laptop again, but enough to reflect.  Mostly on yesterday. The kind hugs and bright faces. The many photo bombs in an eager attempt to get a picture with Jen. The invitations to dance and to sit at dinner with. The texts about grabbing a drink. And the night ending with a warm and comforting hug that somehow eased all the burdens of a long week.  This was my first time in the major spotlight of Europe, and I had all of 6 minutes in that light. I had to present on the two biggest projects that take up 90% of my time, to all of our Paris Operations, which includes Switzerland, Spain, Italy and of course France. This was the first time some of the higher-ups would ever hear me speak either. I was sharing the segment with two directors of research areas, and I wasn’t sure if they were thrilled to share the stage ...