I moved to Bulgaria to find peace and quiet, aiming to pen down the myriad stories clamoring for attention in my mind. After months of diligent research, I found a little place by the sea that didn't look great, but it had a partial sea view from the balcony. It desperately needed the transformative touch of white painting, the soft embrace of curtains, and the warm, inviting influence of a woman's discerning taste. But it was isolated, I fell in love.
However, I deliberately ignored the downsides of this accommodation: it's too high on a hill with a difficult road for cars. Stairs, upon stairs, and more stairs. Very difficult access for both vehicles and people. If you have problems with your legs and are not in great shape, you cannot get up here.
.jpg "Cristina Gherghel: From Broken Bones to Broken Dreams")
The view from my balcony and the proximity to the sea made it perfect for me. This was, maybe not exactly, what I wished for, but it was far from civilization—at least in winter time. I didn't come here to party or relax; I didn't come to swim in the sea. I came to write. I came to earn a living doing what I love and dreamt of doing since I was 8.
.jpg "Cristina Gherghel: From Broken Bones to Broken Dreams")
.jpg "Cristina Gherghel: From Broken Bones to Broken Dreams")
So, what need did I have to go out every day and take all those stairs?
I thought I'd order food online. In the end, I do intermittent fasting. I only eat once a day. I didn't need much food—that's what I thought. Food was the last thing on my list; in fact, it wasn't even on ''my list.''
Little did I know that in this small, anonymous place, the few grocery stores don't offer home delivery. And even if they did, in general, my place is too difficult to reach. They would have charged me a fortune, and I am not a famous writer. Yet. Now, I don't earn enough to lead such a frivolous life.
As soon as I moved in, a cat of the color of tortoiseshell – which I named very originally – Kitty, made her way onto my balcony and demanded attention: food, cuddlings... Food was scarce, time for cuddling even less, but Kitty insisted and insisted. She used to stay all day long lying in the sun in front of my balcony door. She would look at me from the window and miau, miau, miau until I'd go out, give her the food that I was supposed to eat in the evening, and exchange some sort of conversation that neither of us understood, but I assumed it was something like this:
Kitty: ‘I need you to stop whatever you are doing and come out here right now; I am hungry and I want to play.’
I, Cristina Gherghel, would reply: ‘Kitty, go away, I don’t have time for you.’
Kitty: ‘Right this instant, I said! I brought you a gift; here, come and see.’
Her gift, clearly, would be a lifeless creature that was unlucky enough to have been born as a mouse.
I: ‘I don’t need your gift. Eat it. Don’t play with your food! I am not your mother, neither your slave. You are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. You’re a very good hunter.’
Kitty: ‘I don’t care; come here or let me inside. I won’t go away until you give in.’
Of course, I’d give in; what choice did I have? But she never got inside, and at night, she would go to the green area in front of the building and sleep on a pillow that I strategically placed under a tree for her.
Some people would take this daily occurrence like a positive side, some others – mostly, creators (writers to be precise), who have been trying to dedicate their entire time to creating for the last 40 years – would think ‘What a bore this Kitty. Get a life.’
Our relationship was not consensual. That is what I am saying.
I postponed decorating the place to try to make it remotely nice because I finally could focus on writing. I was writing and writing and writing. In fact, I published four new books. Although I forgot to tell you, I am perimenopausal. But you already know that since three of the books I mentioned are on, surprise-surprise, menopause (pre and peri).
I asked myself how I survived. How did my heart keep beating?
You think that maybe I didn’t have anaesthesia?
I was in tremendous pain all the time, and I couldn't use my arm at all. Cooking proved to be a difficult task, but I did attempt to cut legumes and vegetables. I mostly ate fruits and bread, but that didn't matter. Insomnia.
During August and September, I exercised my right arm in the Black Sea. I fear water and I can't swim properly, therefore I never planned to engage in these activities.
In the water, I realized there was something wrong with my right shoulder; I had somehow injured it, although I couldn't pinpoint exactly when or how. Despite the immense discomfort, I chose to ignore it and focused on my exercises. I did my best to stay positive when the swoleness in my arm didn’t go away and the exercise seemed to make no difference.
During this time I bought homeopathic pills, creams, therapeutic mud, an infrared device. I massaged my right arm, kept it wrapped in mineral healing water. Twice a day until October.
On a Sunday, at midday, I received a call from Romania. My family and friends stay in touch through vocal messages and chat. I usually video chat with my mother weekly, but not that Sunday—I was away.
Initially, I thought my sister-in-law had called me by mistake. However, she hadn't. The words she said made no sense. It took me a minute to realize what she was saying, and it felt like years: my beloved mother was gone. I couldn't believe it. She seemed fine when I left at the beginning of August, after spending July with her and one of my sisters who was in charge of caring for her at that time.
I fell on my knees, lay down, and started howling. Nothing can be compared with the pain of losing someone you love.
I... I went home, of course.
After the funerals, I cleaned and painted the house—a house built just for her in 2019.
I locked it and came back to Bulgaria. I was numb, but my arm was doing better. I forced it during all these operations. It started to feel... mine and not a piece of wood.
It is now November, and I still have tasks to complete in the studio. Despite my aphantasia, I had a great vision for it. However, without a professional, many mistakes were made, and money was wasted. Energy and positivity were consumed in vain.
.jpg)
Little did I know that in this small, anonymous place, the few grocery stores don't offer home delivery. And even if they did, in general, my place is too difficult to reach. They would have charged me a fortune, and I am not a famous writer. Yet. Now, I don't earn enough to lead such a frivolous life.
As soon as I moved in, a cat of the color of tortoiseshell – which I named very originally – Kitty, made her way onto my balcony and demanded attention: food, cuddlings... Food was scarce, time for cuddling even less, but Kitty insisted and insisted. She used to stay all day long lying in the sun in front of my balcony door. She would look at me from the window and miau, miau, miau until I'd go out, give her the food that I was supposed to eat in the evening, and exchange some sort of conversation that neither of us understood, but I assumed it was something like this:
Kitty: ‘I need you to stop whatever you are doing and come out here right now; I am hungry and I want to play.’
I, Cristina Gherghel, would reply: ‘Kitty, go away, I don’t have time for you.’
Kitty: ‘Right this instant, I said! I brought you a gift; here, come and see.’
Her gift, clearly, would be a lifeless creature that was unlucky enough to have been born as a mouse.
I: ‘I don’t need your gift. Eat it. Don’t play with your food! I am not your mother, neither your slave. You are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. You’re a very good hunter.’
Kitty: ‘I don’t care; come here or let me inside. I won’t go away until you give in.’
Of course, I’d give in; what choice did I have? But she never got inside, and at night, she would go to the green area in front of the building and sleep on a pillow that I strategically placed under a tree for her.
Some people would take this daily occurrence like a positive side, some others – mostly, creators (writers to be precise), who have been trying to dedicate their entire time to creating for the last 40 years – would think ‘What a bore this Kitty. Get a life.’
Our relationship was not consensual. That is what I am saying.
I postponed decorating the place to try to make it remotely nice because I finally could focus on writing. I was writing and writing and writing. In fact, I published four new books. Although I forgot to tell you, I am perimenopausal. But you already know that since three of the books I mentioned are on, surprise-surprise, menopause (pre and peri).
You know this because I made so many mistakes with the first one, which I advertised and spent a certain amount of money on. I wrote about it in some of my blogs and shared it on social networks.
Here, for example (click).
In July, I realized that I have friends coming over and the studio looked... Well, I don’t even know how to say it looked. The walls were yellow and green. I love bright colours, green is my favourite one but not on walls. It’s a modest small place. In my mind, only white could have made it look decent. Liveable.
So, I bought all the necessary items online and started making room, taking things out of the way, and preparing for decorating.
One fateful day, as I jumped out of bed with a laser level containing a measuring tape in my right hand to go measure something, I stumbled upon some cables, and bang! on the floor.
I don’t know how many times you have fallen; I have a few times when I was younger, and every single time I had time to think I was falling. Not this time.
I hit the floor very hard with my arms, elbows, knees… but the worst was the right hand wrist and arm. I knew right then I broke it; I could see my bones in places they didn’t belong, I just couldn’t imagine how badly. I denied the thought with all my might: "It’s not broken; it’s only dislocated." I lied to myself. I got up on my knees, leaned against the bed before a veil of darkness fell over my eyes. When the darkness dissipated, I looked at my arm and knew I had to go to the doctor. Believe it or not, I felt no physical pain.
I won’t go into details of how and where I went, but I will tell you that twice some young Bulgarian doctors attempted to put my bones back in place. Unsuccessful. It was then when I felt an immeasurable pain – a pain that made me contort like the girl from ‘’The Exorcist’’ – a movie I have never watched, but somehow I know. I had to travel to Romania where I had my bones pulled and pushed by some other young doctors and male nurses. Three of them were involved in this operation. One held me from my shoulder in a desperate attempt to immobilize me, one pulled my hand, and another pushed my bones where they belonged.
The pain?
In July, I realized that I have friends coming over and the studio looked... Well, I don’t even know how to say it looked. The walls were yellow and green. I love bright colours, green is my favourite one but not on walls. It’s a modest small place. In my mind, only white could have made it look decent. Liveable.
So, I bought all the necessary items online and started making room, taking things out of the way, and preparing for decorating.
One fateful day, as I jumped out of bed with a laser level containing a measuring tape in my right hand to go measure something, I stumbled upon some cables, and bang! on the floor.
I don’t know how many times you have fallen; I have a few times when I was younger, and every single time I had time to think I was falling. Not this time.
I hit the floor very hard with my arms, elbows, knees… but the worst was the right hand wrist and arm. I knew right then I broke it; I could see my bones in places they didn’t belong, I just couldn’t imagine how badly. I denied the thought with all my might: "It’s not broken; it’s only dislocated." I lied to myself. I got up on my knees, leaned against the bed before a veil of darkness fell over my eyes. When the darkness dissipated, I looked at my arm and knew I had to go to the doctor. Believe it or not, I felt no physical pain.
I won’t go into details of how and where I went, but I will tell you that twice some young Bulgarian doctors attempted to put my bones back in place. Unsuccessful. It was then when I felt an immeasurable pain – a pain that made me contort like the girl from ‘’The Exorcist’’ – a movie I have never watched, but somehow I know. I had to travel to Romania where I had my bones pulled and pushed by some other young doctors and male nurses. Three of them were involved in this operation. One held me from my shoulder in a desperate attempt to immobilize me, one pulled my hand, and another pushed my bones where they belonged.
The pain?
Something I never thought a human being could feel. In fact, for the first time in my life, I screamed in disbelief. I never screamed from pain before.
It reminded me of those movies with spies and terrorists being tortured by the enemy.
I asked myself how I survived. How did my heart keep beating?
You think that maybe I didn’t have anaesthesia?
I did. Locally. That is why I didn’t expect to feel what I felt.
What would I have felt without that injection?
For a person suffering from trypanophobia (me), which encompasses a terror of needles, medical environments and doctors, something like that can be particularly… challenging. To say the least.
Anyway, the Romanian doctors did a great job and put my arm in a cast (for the third time). It appears that I had between 7 and 9 fractures. I still don’t know exactly how many, not that I want to. It was a complex fracture. I wrote about it, of course.
For a person suffering from trypanophobia (me), which encompasses a terror of needles, medical environments and doctors, something like that can be particularly… challenging. To say the least.
Anyway, the Romanian doctors did a great job and put my arm in a cast (for the third time). It appears that I had between 7 and 9 fractures. I still don’t know exactly how many, not that I want to. It was a complex fracture. I wrote about it, of course.
Here and here - click if interested. The last one will take you to another blog of mine in Romanian.
I hired someone to paint my studio. They promised many things but delivered very few. I came back to Bulgaria after 4 weeks in Romania, and what I found was shocking.
I hired someone to paint my studio. They promised many things but delivered very few. I came back to Bulgaria after 4 weeks in Romania, and what I found was shocking.
Since I couldn’t live in that mess and couldn’t even move around, I had to paint with one arm—the left. Being right-handed, you can imagine the challenge. I moved things with one arm and painted doors, walls, and furniture regardless. It was good exercise, I think.
After I removed the cast on my own, my muscles, cartilages, and nerves felt as if they were broken and fused together. Despite diligently following the daily exercises recommended by the doctors while my arm was immobilized, I couldn't move my fingers. However, the worst part was the inability to turn my palm up—no supination. I didn't expect that. In fact, I didn't expect any of the challenges I encountered.
After I removed the cast on my own, my muscles, cartilages, and nerves felt as if they were broken and fused together. Despite diligently following the daily exercises recommended by the doctors while my arm was immobilized, I couldn't move my fingers. However, the worst part was the inability to turn my palm up—no supination. I didn't expect that. In fact, I didn't expect any of the challenges I encountered.
I never imagined that a wrist fracture, though complex (involving other bones in the arm), would have such drastic consequences.People break their bones all the time. Does that mean that all of them end up with such a high degree of disability? As a writer, I faced a significant hurdle—I couldn't type.
I was in tremendous pain all the time, and I couldn't use my arm at all. Cooking proved to be a difficult task, but I did attempt to cut legumes and vegetables. I mostly ate fruits and bread, but that didn't matter. Insomnia.
During August and September, I exercised my right arm in the Black Sea. I fear water and I can't swim properly, therefore I never planned to engage in these activities.
In the water, I realized there was something wrong with my right shoulder; I had somehow injured it, although I couldn't pinpoint exactly when or how. Despite the immense discomfort, I chose to ignore it and focused on my exercises. I did my best to stay positive when the swoleness in my arm didn’t go away and the exercise seemed to make no difference.
During this time I bought homeopathic pills, creams, therapeutic mud, an infrared device. I massaged my right arm, kept it wrapped in mineral healing water. Twice a day until October.
On a Sunday, at midday, I received a call from Romania. My family and friends stay in touch through vocal messages and chat. I usually video chat with my mother weekly, but not that Sunday—I was away.
Initially, I thought my sister-in-law had called me by mistake. However, she hadn't. The words she said made no sense. It took me a minute to realize what she was saying, and it felt like years: my beloved mother was gone. I couldn't believe it. She seemed fine when I left at the beginning of August, after spending July with her and one of my sisters who was in charge of caring for her at that time.
I fell on my knees, lay down, and started howling. Nothing can be compared with the pain of losing someone you love.
I... I went home, of course.
Romania and Bulgaria are neighbors, but public transport between them is nonexistent out of season. And I don't have a car.
After the funerals, I cleaned and painted the house—a house built just for her in 2019.
I locked it and came back to Bulgaria. I was numb, but my arm was doing better. I forced it during all these operations. It started to feel... mine and not a piece of wood.
It is now November, and I still have tasks to complete in the studio. Despite my aphantasia, I had a great vision for it. However, without a professional, many mistakes were made, and money was wasted. Energy and positivity were consumed in vain.
Have a look. From afar it looks awesome, people say, but from up-close...
.jpg)
I am not happy, but it is what it is. I have other things that eat me up. I can't allow this renovation that went amiss to bury me alive.
There are some or many other negative things that have happened during this time, from June to November, but the most ludicrous is yet to be told in a future post here and on other blogs.
I have to document it since it seems to be in the realm of the preposterous.
Instead of writing books to make a living, I write endless emails to companies, engaging in discussions in a language I am yet to understand. The worst thing is that nobody listens, and they have no interest in helping me solve a mysterious exorbitant bill issued in my name from water meter readings that don't exist.
Why, Bulgaria, why?
What have I ever done to you?
What a slap in the face.
To be continued.
Thank you so much for taking the time to dive into my words. It's been an absolute privilege to entertain your curious mind.
Now, if you've got an insatiable appetite for reading books books for free and review them for fun, I've got an offer that will make your literary taste buds tingle!
Check my Amazon author profile by clicking here to see my books signed with Cristina G. or here to find my books signed with Cristina Gherghel.
Select a book of your choice, and all you have to do is reach out to me using the contact form.
I'll gladly send you an electronic version of the book that captures your interest.
Feel free to request as many books as you'd like.
I'll gladly send you an electronic version of the book that captures your interest.
Feel free to request as many books as you'd like.
Here are my Goodreads author profiles where you can explore and discover my work. Since I used a pen name in the past (apparently), I have two names to add a touch of complexity to my life.
- https://www.goodreads.com/cristina_gherghel
- https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16277613.Cristina_G_
Remember, your reviews are like the sprinkles on top of my writing sundae, so I eagerly await your witty thoughts and captivating feedback. Let's spread the joy of reading together!
P.S. Don't forget to bring your sense of humor along for the ride.
Gear up for an exciting and humor-laden excursion!Credit video, audio and pictures: most are mine, some are from Pixabay, some other are from PNGtree.