Sweden- An Eduction

As it is fast approaching four months since leaving home, I thought it was due time for me to write greetings with some news of life here in Sweden- and photos too.

The last time I wrote, I recounted the events surrounding the removal of my appendix. For those who may be wondering, I am fully recovered now and am getting on with the busy pace of life in Stockholm.

So, welcome to Sweden...

Trains, Buses, Mushrooms and Flowers

Coming from the laid back pace of Marg. River, it has taken quite some adjusting to public transport. For the most part in Stockholm, people don't own cars and therefore rely heavily on public transport. There is a lot of walking to be done also- between bus stops and train stations. Often you find you are running down escalators to catch trains that have come early from a bus you were on which arrived late. You need to allow room for delays and for the fact that, try as you may, you will miss buses from time to time.

Perhaps it would be cruel to pin it on Swedes alone, but the fast pace means that often you may be pushed or bumped into by a person who is making their way to a train in a hurry. It happens often, there's nothing you can do about it (I think a simple 'Sorry' would not go astray, but it seems most are too busy for that. Unless of course they also are foreign- then you might get an apology).

On the flip side, there's some really pretty scenery around Stockholm. Trains drive over tall bridges that tower over glassy lakes. There are green birch and pine trees, velvety moss and large granite rocks.

Walking to bus stops also allows you to enjoy the vegetation. Maybe it's coming from a small town and noticing the little things, but I love my walks to and from the bus stop close to my home. There are plenty of different mushrooms that grow near the footpaths, pretty flowers, wild berries and interesting snails. I know that you're thinking 'a snail is a snail' but these ones are different... they have dark swirls on their backs and some of them are GIANT!

A lot of the berries are edible as are the mushrooms- and apple trees grow like weeds here. If they grow in park land or on empty blocks, anyone is free to pick them... it's quite nice to see people out picking apples. A lot make their own jams and cakes etc... and many freeze the apples, mushrooms etc... for the winter months (when it is literally impossible to grow any fresh produce).

Get a haircut and get a real job.

Not long after arriving here I was interviewed for a nannying position. I was successful in securing the job soon after arriving (although it did not begin right away).

So after leaving hospital from having my appendix removed, I moved from the small apartment I shared with a young Swedish sister, to where I am now- a nice suburb 20mins north of the city centre.

I am working for a Swedish couple, Andreas and Maria (both in early to mid 30's) who are hardworking business persons. They have one small boy, Hector (about 16months old) who I am employed to take care of. My position is a live-in one, so I live down stairs and have my own bedroom, kitchen, bathroom etc... It's a nice arrangement we have. I have my own entrance downstairs also so that I can come and go when I am not working.

Hector (like most Swedish children) attends day care Mon- Fri so my job is basically to get him ready for Daycare each morning (breakfast etc...) drop him off early, and then collect him in the afternoons around 4:00pm. The time in between is for me to do as I please which has allowed me to take up reg. aux. pioneering (but more about that later). In the arvo's Hector and I often walk along the waterfront nearby home and feed the swans and ducks that hang out there.

Occasionally go to a nearby park also. Hector has his own sand pit and swing set at home though so we play there a fair bit also.

Recently I converted a large cardboard box into a cubby house complete with newspaper curtains, and as the weather is beginning to cool down here we've been spending a fair bit of time indoors with that also.

Once either Andreas or Maria arrive home of an eveing (whoever is first) and Hector is ready for bed, I am free to go downstairs and do as I please.

The job is going well. I like my bosses- they look after me well, and Hector is a pretty cool little guy.

He's at a great age where he's learning a new word every day it seems and many of them in English. My Swedish is slowly developing too- mostly thanks to Hector (No! Be careful! Gentle Hector! Don't Touch- Hot! etc...) All in Swedish obviously- but don't ask me to spell them- pronouncing them is difficult enough. I've been singing him loads of songs I liked when I watched Playschool (in the late 80's early 90's, ah what a fossil eh?) and have also introduced him to the Wiggles. In particular he likes 'Wags the Dog.'

(Next I think I'll have to teach him the West Coast Eagles team song in preparation for the 2012 season when we bring home the flag!)

You've got a friend in me.

I've managed to make myself some really wonderful friends here. I feel so privelleged that I've come into contact with some great spiritually focused brothers and sisters who are all working hard in their service to Jehovah. Many are pioneers, but those who aren't give their best and make the most of their time off work to get out witnessing and spend time with the brothers and sisters.

Everyone's english is very impressive though none will admit to it- they are not overly confident but I am blown away how well we are able to communicate (their english compared to my Swedish is 1, 000, 000 to 1)! I'm in a very privelleged position in that I serve in the English speaking congregation which is made up of people from (literally) all over the world. Never did I think I would move to Sweden and have such a wonderful variety of friends of all ages and from all backgrounds.

Congregation and Preaching
I belong to the Stockholm English congregation- there is just one english cong in Stockholm. The congregation has approx. 120 publishers from quite literally all over Scandinavia and the rest of the world- USA, UK, Africa, Asia, Europe... there's even a small hand full of Aussies here. I cannot express to you enough how grateful I am to have landed here in the is congregation. It's a completely aglow with the pioneer spirit and the quality of the meetings is just incredible. There's such a nice warm & fuzzy feeling each time you walk into the Kingdom Hall.

You really have to keep up with your personal/ pre-study to keep up with the meetings. There are so many willing and eager hands ready to comment and with brothers and sisters from all backgrounds you hear many points from the material you may not have considered yourself. I feel like I am constantly challenged to improve myself here and for this I am very grateful. There are approx 20 reg. pioneers, two special pioneers and several Gilead Graduates. You can just imagine the quality of each part delivered- so much time and effort put into preparing the parts with perfect execution. I was completely nervous delivering my first talk here and English is my first language- imagine how these brothers feel here delivering talks in their second language. But oh how well they deliver them.
Here is a photograph taken attending the convention in Oslo, Norway shortly after I arrived here. It was a wonderful three days- felt like a mini international convention. The countries represented in the photo (below) include (L-R) Australia, Sweden, Scotland, Italy, Russia and Denmark.

The ministry is unlike anything I ever did in both Esperance and Margaret River. Much of the territory is carried out in high rise apartments which means patiently standing out the front for residents to leave or enter in order to get inside. Once inside, not every door is knocked on as we are specifically looking for English sounding names- either Smith or Brown type names, or African / Indian names.

There are many other foreign language groups here so it's important to leave Chinese, Ethiopian, German, Russian, Finnish, Arabic etc... sounding names for the other groups to call on.

Informal witnessing also is a big part of the ministry here. This includes preaching on trains and buses, walking around the central station and also standing out the front of (for example) the large immigration offices located just outside Stockholm. We are looking for typically African or Indian looking persons, plus your ears are always open to english speaking persons should they pass you by. 
Here is a photo of some young ones out preaching during summer (well, waiting for a train to get to their territory) it's so nice to see how eager all of the young brothers and sisters are to get out and give a witness.

Platform witnessing is also very effective. The idea is to stand with your hands full of literature at peak times on the train platforms and, (with your 'Kingdom Smile' in tact) wait as different ones approach you on their way to or from buses to take the (current) magazines. You can have several languages in your hand- English, Swedish, Spanish, French etc... it's incredible how many people can approach you to take the literature.

I began reg. aux. pioneering just last month and have already received so much support from everyone in the congregation. For the month of October, my days for service were all booked but three days before the month even began. It's been great working with different ones and getting to know about where they are from (many not Sweden) and how they came to be Witnesses. I hope to progress to Reg. Pioneer service after some time also.

Food for thought...

Swedes eat a lot of potato, a lot of fish, lots of bread (stale at that) and a lot of cheese. I have to admit that the fish is taking a bit of getting used to, but the bread and cheese I have taken to 'like a fish to water.'

Sweden is also famous for it's 'candy' (lollies). Mostly every supermarket, convenience store etc... has a large section of these clear boxes filled with different lollies (much like the loose fruit and nuts you can buy at home) but these are BIG and they are everywhere. You can pick and choose from any lolly- the price is fixed. You scoop them into these coloured paper bags which are... everywhere. I think it's probably something a little difficult to explain but it really is something typically Swedish and should you ever venture to these parts, you will understand. There are coloured paper bags littered about the city and you frequently see people walking along with their hand in a coloured bag eating 'candy.' I've tried these once or seven times by now but must admit they aren't exactly like lollies at home. One thing Scandinavians are mad for is salted licorice and I for my part loathe it. It really is an acquired taste and not a taste I look forward to becoming better acquainted with.

And finally...

I'm too sexy for my hat...

Swedish men are not afraid to wear red pants. It is not uncommon to see a Swedish man (of any age) wearing a blazer or cardigan with a bright red pair of pants. In fact, Swedish men aren't afraid to wear anything. They are very stylish, they like their hair to look nice, and I'm noticing a lot of bold block colour. It seems tight pants are in- even if you might be 'carrying a little more' than others too.

The bigger the frame, the thicker the rim of your glasses- the cooler you are. Or so the majority of Swedes seem to think. There are even different ones in my congregation who wear ridiculously large glasses. It's almost like an unwritten law that if you have giant glasses you are in a category above. Even television presenters are in on the act- you have to see it to believe it.

I have decided to set as a personal project over the coming months, photographing men wearing red pants and Swedes in general wearing large, ridiculous glasses. I will present my finding when I email next... Challenge accepted.

So that's been an education of my first four months here. I must admit to completely loving the place with no intention of returning any time soon. My current visa lasts only 8 more months but I am hoping to extend it if possible. There is a good chance I will need to leave the country in order to do so- possibly even return to Australia- but nothing has been finalised as yet. I find that I'm not homesick unless I Sykpe someone from home or talk to my family on the phone, so I'm trying to do it less often (as cruel as that may sound). I hope you are all in good health and enjoying beautiful spring time in Australia (or autumn if you are in the Northern Hemisphere). I hope you enjoy the photo/s attached and hope to hear a brief G'day or hello if you get the chance.

Sending smooches and squeezes and a swag full of love in your (numerous) directions...

Removal of Appendix- A Recount of Events

Oh if only you could see me now- shoulders arched over to support my lower abdomen which was... operated on just last week.

I can barely believe it myself...

I started out the week, incredible new nannying job  (which seemed to be going just swimmingly entering its second week) when what should occur Tuesday afternoon but intense pains to stomach like never before experienced.

Talking myself into believing it was merely 'something I ate' I continued going about duties of playing with (young Swedish baby) Hector and preparing him for bedtime.

Looking back, it was rather peculiar that I somewhat passed out whilst reading in bed Tuesday night. Initially, I put it down to exhaustion from the day's activities, yet in hindsight, nothing too strenuous of any nature was carried out.

So, walking Hector to daycare the following morning, I was somewhat scared when I found myself feeling rather dizzy, broken out in a cold sweat and unable to even speak to young Hector.

All I could mange was some deep breathing and a few steps between park benches (thankfully they are plentiful).

I got Hector to day-care, just. He had fallen asleep in the pram- perhaps it had taken so long for me to walk him that he simply tired of the exercise and drifted off, unaware his nanny was in desperate need of medical attention. I politely enquired to the staff at the day-care centre the whereabouts of the nearest doctor- I dare not lead on I was feeling tremendously ill- and made my way to the nearest bus stop.

*Is it not humorous, to a degree, that you simply DO NOT CARE what one thinks of you when you feel your ability to function expiring with every breath you take? It's not that I take great effort in normal situations to appeal to every passer-by yet there is always a certain... level of decorum one maintains when going about their daily activities.

Not on this day.

I remember the woman at the bus stop staring at me as I rocked myself back and forward thinking somehow this would relieve me of the pain I was in. I remember her glancing back to make a study of me as I made my way onto the bus after her, and I remember her every so often looking up at me from her newspaper, in disgust almost- as if I were a young citizen of today lost to the world of drugs, under the influence or just mentally insane- as I swayed in my seat, head in my hands, hands on my stomach...

I made my way to the doctors surgery on the fifth floor of a large shopping complex. Desperate, they took me in to ask me of my plight. I explained the severe pain I was experiencing, as if someone had inflated my stomach with so much air it was ready to burst and of my head so light I could see stars. They could not tend to me. I was a foreigner, with no passport on my person and they did not seem to want to help me despite sympathising with my apparent pain. The woman wrote on a piece of paper the name of the nearest hospital. 

I walked out confused as to what to do and decided I would make my way to Handen, a suburb 40minutes away by train where the sister I have been boarding with could assist me in seeking medical help. I got onto the train, phoned her and humbly explained I "may need to see a doctor" that afternoon. She was out in field service but said she could meet me later if I was still feeling unwell- clearly unaware of the scope of my predicament. The conversation ended. I decided then and there, I was not going to make it to Handen.

I made my way off the train, upstairs to the nearest taxi rank. To the first taxi I see: "Do you Speak English?"

"A little" was his reply. (They all say that here, but they all speak English perfectly, they just cant say Yes with confidence for fear of coming across too... self-confident. Its a nice trait to have, if you can call it humility, but I see it as something else, this 'playing it cool' thing the Swedes do where you can't be proud of your ability to say or do something- an observation of Swedish culture in my first month or so since arriving). 

"Can you take me here please?" (handing him the piece of paper)

"Yes but you can walk to this hospital from here, it is only..."

"I can't walk. Can you please take me?"

"Sure."

I can feel the driver puzzled at my choosing to take a taxi instead of walking on this fine summers day in Stockholm, (despite experiencing some really wonderful days above 25 degrees celsius since arriving, it seems a typical summers day in Sweden is one that is generally wet, not much sun light and likely not above 20 degrees celsius).

The distance, a credit to the taxi driver's judgement, was really not that far away, probably a five to seven minute walk, but by this stage it has been about one hour and a half since onset of ludicrous pain and the melting point of this rainbow coloured, organic beeswax candle (self-appointed description of oneself) was exceeded some time ago.

Really, it must have been a sight for that first woman at the emergency desk to see.

It would have taken not more than two or three minutes for me to be laying in a bed in the emergency department waiting for a doctor to come. Now that is service!

The doctor though, took a little longer- about eight minutes I think I counted on the clock, as I cried out loud, throwing my head backwards and forward, side to side, my hands up to my face to cover the light, down to my stomach to try and suppress the pain- from laying flat on my back all stretched out, to curled in a ball in the foetal position. At one point I remember pulling at my hair...

The doctor came, I remember her asking me to lie still. I really must have looked quite ridiculous, moving about like a half squished insect refusing to give up on life but so desperate for the pain of its squashed insides now on the outer to be over, all the while covered in sweat. I recall them walking me to another room, down the end of the hall- maybe to muffle the sounds of my cries of intense pain whilst I waited for a nurse to come with, what I now like to refer to as one of my closest friends in the world... morphine. Ah, that sweet, magical liquid, injected into the (needle-type thing now permanently lodged in my right arm which connects directly to the) vein that trickled its warm little way through my being so fast, I felt only small tugs and twitches and light headed nothingness.

It must have been about 10:00am at that point on Wednesday morning. From then on the day was a breeze. I was wheeled from the emergency ward to the gynaecology ward: blood tests, urine samples, ultrasounds, pressing my stomach on this side and that, questions fired regarding my "cycle", recounts of my last 24 hours requested by doctors and nurses a plenty. All the while, with every complaint of pain increasing, injected with more morphine.

It was at about 5:00pm that afternoon, after three separate ultrasounds in different departments and two urine samples, three blood tests, they ruled out any severe condition of my uterus, ovaries or appendix. They stripped me of my clothes, dressed me in a white nightgown bearing the hospital's logo, tagged me, admitted me and told me I would be monitored over night. 

The Doctor also said the needle device that was inserted into my arm when I first arrived in the morning, would not be removed- it would continue to 'feed me' as well as serve the purpose of place in which to inject pain killers. It was not very comfortable to say the least, but as long as pain relief was to be administered, I could tolerate it a little longer.

I was placed in a room with three other women- two elderly and the other middle-aged.

At three o'clock on Thursday morning the pain returned, I buzzed the nurse. She injected me once more with morphine and left me to sleep. I was woken by the doctor at about 9:00am with two nurses by his side watching his every movement, hanging on every word he spoke. "Your pain continues?" After some more pressing on my stomach he informs me: "You will have CT scan. You cannot eat." The doctor left, the two nurses trailing behind him. One of the nurses returned a little while later with a large jug of water marked with millimetre/ litre measurements and a sheet of paper. I was required to drink a certain amount of water every half hour for three hours until the scan.

It was at this point I decided to let someone back home- 20, 000 kilometres away, know I was in hospital. 

I thought maybe Anna. Surely she would understand if it turned out to be nothing, but would never the less appreciate my letting her know.

I was surprised that within one hour or so of my speaking with Anna- in Australia, laying in bed with tears in my eyes, upset at the sight of an older lady in the bed next to me being transfused with blood, that a brother from the Hospital Liason Committee (HLC) came to my bedside to visit me. Anna had told a friend, who had called a friend, who had made a call and then next thing you know there I am in hospital, in Stockholm, Sweden, with an older brother sitting by my side, ensuring I was okay. He stayed about half an hour I am guessing... the morphine was free flowing at this stage so my judgement of time at that point is somewhat cloudy. 

I had my CT scan, the results came back. Inflammation of the appendix- appendicitis. A nurse gave me clothes for surgery and showed me the way to the shower to wash my hair with special shampoo and wash my body with disinfectant. "You cannot eat or drink."

I could barely stand let alone shower but you just have to do what you need to do in these situations. Its not like my parents could come and help me to shower. At that point they didn't even know I was in hospital. I left that job to Anna- my head couldn't handle phoning home and letting the 15+ members of my immediate family know of the predicament I found myself in at that point.

My hair was so knotted, I didn't have anything with which to brush it out, it stayed matted and messy. I cannot tell you how bad I looked at this point, skin dehydrated, every blemish visible, dark bags under my eyes, wet, knotted hair.

My doctor came once more, he pulled down my bed covers, pulled up my night gown and found my stomach. "I will make mark on your stomach." He was to the point, there was no beating around the bush with this doctor. He pressed to the right of my stomach, I inhaled deeply, he drew one line with a thick, black marker, pulled back the covers, and left. 

I've got to say I felt pretty lonely in that hospital room waiting for my operation. No exact time was given me, I just needed to shower and be ready for when they came to collect me. There was no a lot of dialogue either- no 'this is what is going to happen, this is how long the procedure takes, this is why it happened, you should recover in this amount of time.'

I was so, so thirsty... my mouth was incredibly dry. If only I had put that red tube of paw paw cream in my bag the morning before...

The brother from the HLC who had visited earlier in the day, had informed a brother in my (new) congregation in Stockholm of my situation and by that afternoon I had visits from an elder, Styrbjörn, two sisters (Elaine& Susanna) who were out witnessing, a mother and daughter (Sissi & Lynn) and my housemate Malin. She is such a sweet girl, she stayed and waved at me as they wheeled me out that evening with her sweet smile on her face...

Brother Styrbjörn was really lovely too- he was so empathetic and considerate and apologetic. He said a really nice prayer with me before he left which left big tears rolling down my cheeks... I've met the guy all but once prior to this occasion but he acted as though it was his own family member going in for surgery. It was very touching.

I met so many medical personnel on the way to the operating theatre. I love that they all introduce themselves to you so politely all the while knowing that in literally under five minutes you will be out cold- with no recollection of their faces, names, positions in the medical world or the role they played in removing an organ from your body which is (apparently) not needed, yet exists.

The last thing I recall is a woman holding a mask over my face and telling me to think of a beautiful, relaxing location- a beach perhaps. My thoughts, automatically, turned to Wharton beach- I imagined myself swimming in the cold, crystal blue water. Diving down and swimming for as long as I could hold my breathe and then re-surfacing, the warm sun on my face- then diving back down to do it all over again...

I woke to an intense pain in my lower stomach. It was throbbing, there was so much pressure building.

My blurred vision is becoming clearer. I can see three nurses over there by the counter, they are all talking- the one behind the counter can probably see me but the other two- facing her, are obstructing her view.

Oh it hurts so, so much.

Whatever is up my noes is making me feel nauseous. Its air of some sort but there's this plastic, chemical-type smell to it and I feel faint.

Oh that pain is so bad, I have to say something but the words aren't coming out. I want to wave my hands in the air but I cant put them up. What to do... Aha! I can moan!

Breathe in, breathe out and moan. Breathe in, breathe out and moan.

No, they cant hear me. Oh the pain... I'll keep doing it until they can.

Breathe in, breathe out and Moan... Breathe in, breathe out and MOan. Breathe in, breathe out and MOAn.

Oh, one of them looked over!

Breathe in, breathe out and MOAN.

Excellent. She's walking over here. 

"Hello Amy. Are you in pain?"

Right here is where I'm going to spare you the details of the fact that I was informed I needed to relieve the intense pressure by urinating into a pan, yet I had absolutely no control over my bodily functions and, try as I may, I could not. They allowed me the decency of about ten minutes to try, all the while my body experiencing pain worse than when I initially entered the emergency ward two days before.

-Insert catheter here.-

Note: While the drugs still had a level of control over my ability to function, they did not mask the fact I could feel... everything. 

Yet once it was in...

Ah sweet relief. The pain, almost gone in an instant.

For those of you still with me, I am going to fast forward to now- Tuesday night, four nights since the operation (12.07.2011).

I am out of hospital- they don't have the beds to keep you in longer than you need to be, so I was shipped out on Friday afternoon with a prescription for some strong pain killers. (They indeed work, but are responsible for some incredibly awful, colourful dreams bordering on nightmares with lots of colours and psychedelic swirls but not the fun sort. To be honest I am scared to go to sleep each night).

The recovery though, is going well. I am settled at my (new) home, the one where I will be for the next eleven months nannying for Hector. Andreas and Maria have been just incredible. They are cooking for me and call me to eat, then send me straight back to bed.

I have spent three full days sleeping and doing not much else, some personal study and reading, though today I had a small batch of visitors. It was great to see them- Swedish brothers and sisters I've made friends with since arriving.

After attempting to reach for a new roll of toilet paper in a cupboard high above me on Sunday, I now appreciate the medical staff informing me of the importance of bed rest. I think I felt my insides trying to escape through my stitches as I stretched to reach it. Oh the regret choosing to carry out that (seemingly) insignificant task.

And of course, these past few days, I have constructed this recount of my experience. 

I am aware I am not the only person to have ever had her appendix removed, nor have I just given birth to a baby as my wonderful friend Chloe just has (and with circumstances that make my situation seem like a walk in the park) but I have two weeks bed rest ahead with a large imagination, a vocal ability which cannot be exercised as you are all mostly 20, 000 plus kilometres from me and really, being so far from home, it was quite the traumatic ordeal for me!

I insert photos to make the story a little more appealing- I realise many of you will have scrolled through them already.

Nicola phoned pre-surgery and encouraged me to document the occasion to which I surprisingly pulled off (despite level of pain experienced and amount of pain killers consumed). You will observe even one of me- unsure how the photo was taken looking back or even taking it at all, but it's there none the less.

Thanks for reading- I had intended my first Swedish update to be a little more "having a blast, wish you were here!" and I assure you, that is coming too. I just wanted to get this one out of the way first as it is... fresh in mind.

I'd like to give a brief nodd to Keturah who emailed me and said something to the effect of:

"Sweden will always have a piece of you now."

Indeed they will.

With love..xx