the girl beyond the window
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Living with Cystic FibrosisTRANSCRIPT
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The Girl beyond the Window
How to Live with Cystic Fibrosis
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Translated by Silvia Pupato
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The Girl beyond the Window
How to live with Cystic Fibrosis
by GABRIELA ESPERANZA
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Pages from Gabriela Esperanza
An Example for Life
Gabriela adopted the pseudonym Gabriela Esperanza, Gabriela Hope, in his
writings, to express her readers the value of a life full of hope and desired to
be lived.
To be born with a disease like the Cystic Fibrosis -CF-, at that time unknown
in Argentina and scarcely known in the world, forced their parents to find
information about it and share it to make it known.
Attentive to developments and following them with hope, Gabriela became a
champion in a struggle against the unknown and began to jot down in books
and notes all her experiences, positive and negative, so as to find a humane
side and help others with her spiritual strength and her desire to live.
That is why, when we found her writings by chance, 28 years after her
death, we decided to make them widely known to fulfil her legacy and
honour her memory just as life itself is honoured.
IGNACIO AND CHELA
January 7, 2011
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A Book within a Book
The novel that created a reality
Some time ago one of my ideas was to write a book.
Maybe desires and frustrations took place as in a dream and as picky and
perfectionist as I am, I was disappointed for when I finished my work, it
barely reached the less subtle resources of a poorly managed serial.
Despite the poorness of its form, its content sublimely exceeded the true
meaning I wanted it to have.
Always unusual, the things that happen to me. So much so that I think
summarizing them in a few pages I could render them as well as I must.
This small story took place within a scenario well known to me: the hospital
where I worked. After living in a constant fight against a disease (a scapegoat
blamed for all the good and bad things that happened to me), my well-being,
physical as well as spiritual, cast doubts on the diagnosis.
This supposed riddance of the problem, far from relieving me, became a
confusing chaos where everything was misplaced and I came to understand
how the CF was a part of mine with which I had always lived. And due to the
disease, my destiny had placed a series of characteristics where the instinct
of survival and the love to life guided my life bestowing it with a deep and
genuine capacity to enjoy.
Facing the unusual question, I was subjected to an exhaustive medical study
that -after anxiously waiting for days intentionally filled with activities from
morning to midnight- turned everything back to its place because tests
showed nothing had changed in me, as a response to having reached an
optimal state.
Of course, it was my mind the one that had significantly changed. This
reflection forced me to think that sometimes things aren't as awful as
thoughts.
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And then, the male character of this novel also shared this period with me.
His final words restored my desire to live and above all, the desire to keep on
being myself.
I met you as you are. I love you as you are. And if you hadn’t had this
problem, you wouldn’t be as you are.
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The Girl behind the Window
Prologue
This sentence explained an illustration in a booklet that, luckily and
erroneously, seemed to mark my future.
I felt fantastically drawn to looking beyond the window, a world of illusions
awaken inside me. And that window, far from distancing me from the outside
world, let me enrich my inner universe and gave me strength to face with
optimism and joy the difficult road I had to travel.
However, that girl behind the window had a very different meaning for my
parents who, annoyed, rebuked my attitude, seemingly as enriching as
harmless to me.
Time, the revealer of big secrets, clarified at last that incomprehensible
mystery.
When my illness was diagnosed, life was apparently going to pass viewing
everything from afar, without participating. And even though my habit of
looking out the window did not even remotely approach the terrible
assumption of predictions, it generated a major family conflict.
Without knowing, reaching the goals I kept on proposing myself made that
first phrase -with such a dramatic character- became absurd and somewhat
false.
No one pities or condemns us more than ourselves. And ignoring the
meaning of some issues makes us feel them in a way totally different than
then are supposed to be.
I always immensely enjoyed looking through a glass as a way of knowing
things at the other side, and valued them as an immensity that was
repeatedly inviting me to enjoy it.
I am sincerely grateful for the many years that went by without learning the
meaning that brochure had unfortunately transmitted to my parents,
something so beautiful to me, and I admit with a hand on my heart that this
knowledge could have made me very unhappy and lose the charm to
discover and face -in everyday life- the real barriers imposing the limitations
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(as they occurred) which fortunately always were smaller than the theoretical
ones, because they emerged together with the necessary strength to
overcome or accept them.
That is why, with satisfaction, I can give this book this title: The Girl beyond
the Window.
July 5, 1982 (aged 26)
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Gaby’s Legacy
I heard some music with a nostalgic taste, I think, and remember me as a
caged animal recalling its days of freedom.
But I feel good. Perhaps it’s only the confinement that prevents me to ponder
and enjoy all that the passing time is snatching from my mind, along with
the inability to go out and seek experiences. These come spontaneously to
me and entangle me in the indescribable wheel that empowers me to look
back, smiling, and with the satisfaction of a mission accomplished (not
completed, ¡beware!) exploited every minute to the maximum. My 26 years
turned into a thousand, and now an unwrinkled real old lady, I recover once
again the beauty of the happy moments accompanied by well–timed melodies
and by many valuable persons around me. I conquered fear. I conquered
loneliness. I conquered the opening phrase -offensive and premonitory of
failure- that started this fight: the girl behind the window. And today I rejoice
in being able to recount what getting round imponderables meant and to
face life from the other side of the window.
Today I look through the crystal, a crystal that turns into a mirror and
blends amazement and excitement, and I am at ease. Learning to accept
everything as it is, makes me see this stage as the one of the harvest. It
doesn’t matter that I may be ahead of time. What is valuable is to have sown
and to see the blossoming and to populate the path I followed with fruits.
And without needing to close my eyes, without having to imagine it, I
reached the truth and knew what happened.
A small uproar, with the form of a mischievous blonde girl with blue eyes,
with a charming smile, and with one sentence: ‘You shall not grow to be
more than five’, serious illness, impossible to survive.
Who cares about that? INVINCIBLE WEAPON OMNIPOTENCE
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‘At some point in your life, maybe when you were very young, you decided to
live’. That was Dr C. Gianantonio welcome. That was what my family and my
friends understood.
I never had the time to stop and think about time (that’s the fastest way to
lose it).
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The Beginning
If I were to begin as usual, I would say....
Once upon a time there was a four year girl who, at the death of her elder
two year brother, was diagnosed with a disease that by that time was
unknown and its treatment ignored. Her parents, two exceptional fighters,
embarked into the defeat of all imponderables, brought to Argentina lots of
data, methods of diagnosis and treatment, and a specialist on the subject,
Dr Charles Macri, and created FIPAN together with two or three parents of
children who were also suffering from CF. Thus they accomplished that,
here, today, there could be surviving adults and that recently diagnosed kids
could be promptly treated to enjoy a full and fruitful life as it’s possible. But
I like beginnings to be rattling, unusual, as if a little mistaken, or as a
prompter who omits one detail.
I see myself sitting next to a patient, just about graduating in medicine, and
laughing out loud with my eyes full of tears. It’s something so ironic that
moves and disturbs me; it’s like having moved about life by escaping a fence,
and then discover that there were no fences; it’s understanding that today I
can only mock at that first message, the one saying ‘you shall live half of the
time, you won’t reach your goal’, since my premise was: ‘I shall live twice in
half the time’... Now I already know I don’t need to run so much, that there
are things that are worth for their quality and not for their quantity. But it
was like that for many years, and then, I didn’t buy everything just for
myself, and I want to share it, its beauty, and it’s worth to make it known, ‘I
could…’, ‘At some point in your life, maybe when you were very young, you
decided to live…’.
This was the way I was received by Dr Carlos A. Gianantonio and I believe
those words made me the owner of an omnipotence which was mostly an
unrivalled force to withstand everything and to understand that there’s
always a world of incredible experiences that I should be fighting for, and
that’s why now I read once more something I wrote two years ago and feel
that... no, feel it with me...
September 15, 1977 (aged 21)
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Original Pages
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Contents
Introduction – First, the Mirror of Time …………………………………..……… 14
Chapter 1 – From the Protective Guardians to the Street ……..……..……… 16
Chapter 2 – ‘Accidentally on Purpose’ ………………………………………….…. 20
Chapter 3 – Twenty Minutes and The Exceptional One …………………….… 23
Chapter 4 – Because of the Goblin: Two Again ……………………………….… 27
Chapter 5 – Sore Shoulder… ………………………………………………………... 30
Chapter 6 – Tug of War …………………………………………………………..….. 32
Chapter 7 – Structures Shake ………………………………………………………. 35
Chapter 8 - The attractiveness of the routine …….…………………………… 38
Chapter 9 - Human Misery = Human Condition ….……………………………. 46
Chapter 10 – The Alarm, the Operating Room, the Green …….……………. 53
Chapter 11 – Remembering (a luxury), an Unavoidable Whim ….………….. 56
Chapter 12 – Wednesday ………………………………………………….…………. 59
Gaby’s Writings …………………………………………………………. 63
Phrases
Memories
Hands
Grandmother
Adolescence
How
Lines
The Endless Whys
My First Day Taking Polls (Health Poll)
Perceptions
Baby
The Mirror of Time
Contradictions (Pocket Doubts)
Fear to Grow
To Come Back, I Have to Go
Saturday at the Hospital
Reborn, A Lab Returns! So many turns…!
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Chapter 13 – In a Short While …………………………………………………….... 85
Chapter 14 - Anxiety ………………………………………………………………….. 88
Chapter 15 – Naked …………………………………………………………………. 90
Chapter 16 – Conjectures (Home) …………………………………………………. 94
Chapter 17 – Though I Couldn’t… I Could …………………………………….. 97
Chapter 18 – I Met You as You Are and I Love You as You Are …………… 100
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Introduction – First, the Mirror of Time
And at some point in your life, maybe when you were very young,
probably without knowing it, you decided to live.
Dr C. A. Gianantonio
Those were the valued words that made me the owner of Omnipotence,
maybe ridiculous for being supposedly false for many, but absolutely and
eternally useful for me.
(I was diagnosed when the pain for the death of another child became fear,
and with discouraging forecasts that grew around me and pushed me down
a profound medical research.)
I do not know, but I'm convinced, I always was, that there was something
assuring me that I would have a great chance to succeed if I fought and
cajoled myself with that ‘I can’t go now, because I still have so many things
to do’ idea. I won days over Destiny and here I am with my 20 years
glistening their freshness and the true faith of knowing that every minute is
worth a lot, and that we must take advantage of it, and that probably my
future is no longer uncertain nor less likely than others’. All these flaws
managed to create a very effective compensation mechanism and due to all
the bad things I underwent, I managed to discover the good things, to
understand others, and something very important: I learnt to be happy, with
my own definition of happiness but fully, I became a person just as any
other or maybe a little different, for my optimism always overcame the
barriers of the humanely imaginable (that’s what others believe, I would only
say the usually imaginable).
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Chapter 1 – From the Protective Guardians to the Street
I cannot tell much of my life as a child because although I remember
enough, the essence is that I lived in a fairy tale where all places had the
look of a paradise and the people, of guardian angels.
Family atmosphere was charming, and I was surrounded by all the love in
the world and that’s why all the suffering was compensated, firstly because I
was sick, and then because they’re affectionate. The truth is that I always
rose as the favourite to my cousins, my uncles, my grandparents, my friends;
they always created a circle and placed me in the centre to entertain me, and
I recognize that it made me feel good at the time (although looking back
coldly, I don’t like it).
When I started high school –something so hard…-, my physical appearance
was that of a third grade little girl, and when my 13 years old school mates
(with their first feminine traits already blooming) saw me so small, they did
no other thing than torturing me and avoided I took part in their chats. This
contributed more and more to my closing into myself: I walked away from
the people of my age and, from time to time, grew nearer the elderly.
I also was pampered by my teachers at school, and learned to take
advantage of my way of loving others as a balancing means of reducing my
physical problem.
Once high school was finished, I practically lived in an island from which I
saw all my surroundings but where no one could penetrate. It was a way of
self-protection: I felt very strong but in reality I was more scared and
defenceless than a newly born bird.
And then the diving board and the great dive: I began college. I became a
number, just like my mates, and there were no more special considerations
or protective guardians.
And then, work. Yes, I started to work in a factory town, (a micro-world with
its own light) where I began to feel I was capable of giving, and my problems
sometimes mingled with others’: increased sometimes by the idea that I had
lost everything after losing childhood, and turned sometimes insignificant in
comparison with the magnitude of the dark realities that touched me and
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invaded me, even though I blinded myself and pressed my ears or intended
to turn around my face.
And thus was the beginning of this story in which confusion played with my
feelings and left me like this, somewhat without understanding anything but
with much expectation and a great power to accept destiny.
Having a chronic disease implies creating a special chronic system of life and
a chronic way of being different, and countless chronic motivations.
I mean that everything takes a different form and, probably due to the
observation of frustrations and limitations, you discover many other things
to be loyal elements, and that human being is the holder of a series of
possibilities that they only find when external circumstances require them to
do so, otherwise passing unnoticed and wasted.
So I thanked my injections when I realized they ended with my sleepiness,
for example, or thanked my diabetes for I could give support to a diabetic
boy and make him understand certain things I told him for I had the same
illness. I figured (something easy to deduce) that we might need to hear the
same things and only told him what I wanted to hear, then he understood
better or maybe I understood better, I don't know; but what’s important is
that perhaps he accepted treatment with the same hope I accepted mine.
He’s better now, is a grown-up, works, feels happy, and that is why every
morning when I give myself an insulin injection I can smile because I know
that the pain such an insignificant needle can cause, will later turn into
relief.
At 8:30 a.m. before going to work, I go to the kinesiology’s for my breathing
exercises. I feel good when I discover there are other hands trying to help me
breathe, sharing the sacrifice, and they know it, and I thank them maybe
only with a smile, or showing me up full of satisfaction when I walk down the
street or sing without shaking or choking.
I began to practice classical dance at 13. I loved it. I wanted to be a dancer...
As usual, I couldn't. It was too much effort and outside my reach, but it
didn’t matter. Now I teach dance and train dancers, all my desire to dance is
transmitted to my small students’ legs. They will dance for me and when
they succeed, I'll be a little rooted inside each one of them. If I could have
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been able to go on dancing I would have been a dancer. This way I can be
many dancers at the same time.
My limitations also became present in my career. I study medicine and again
the formaldehyde was that signal that appears all the time saying enough!,
don’t get excited, here you must stop. But every time a danger sign lights up,
always and at the same time, turning my face around gets me to meet
something new or something nice on the other side, which is the most
beautiful reflection: there is always a place just for me and an activity where
I may be useful.
Thus, I came to understand, each time a little more, that I’m insignificant
(the famous sand grain in the desert) but at the same time, as such, the
smaller I feel, the greater the things I succeed in doing, for ‘seeing your
limitations is the first step towards finding the possibilities’. And that’s how
it is that without graduating, without standing out, without being all-special,
just being myself, I can get to feel accomplished.
And well… it's remarkable, but my problem is already a part of my body I
can’t do without, and I believe that precisely due to this, I had the biggest
shock ever since I can remember.
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Chapter 2 – ‘Accidentally on Purpose’
It is incredible the way people talk about prejudices and complexes but I
believe that everybody looks for them on their own.
As a girl, I always feared two great issues: one was not being able to be a wife
and the other not being able to be a mother. And in spite of the fervent
desire of being both, I never granted myself the right to love, and therefore I
kept a rigid and cold stance as regards men so as to ensure I could be able
to frighten them, maybe due to insecurity, fear to be hurt or hurt another
person, or die and produce loneliness.
Being things as such, I dreamt fantasies for years to satisfy my need of
affection without putting under anybody else.
But although you can be persistent, a woman always ends up wanting a
man ‘accidentally on purpose’.
It was a hard and troublesome day as any other day when, tired, I leaned on
a counter in the archives: I had to pick up some papers that, as usual,
weren’t ready yet and decided to wait for them as I had a long walk from this
place to my office.
It was there where that I saw Tomás in a different way for the first time. I
realized that behind that strong supervisor -who tried to seduce with his
attitude burning-time women- there also was a certain authentic and
attractive characteristic. Suddenly, that sort of hatred that I once felt for his
somewhat conceited attitude towards me -his assistant-, became a tiny bit of
esteem.
The circumstances, the bad mood due to the delay, and the torturing loss of
time, soon were over, flew away. And his understanding along with his
confidences showed me a trust and a respect I didn’t know in him, and
together with his smile, transformed his monstrous ogre-like image into a
sincere and warm friendly gesture. Thus and thanks to the easiness I felt for
knowing I could never love him, he managed to make me break that barrier
of antipathy and allow myself to get to know him. So it was, at first by the
hours of shared tasks and then not so much accidentally but on purpose,
that we began to look one another: the daily visits to the archives were a sort
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of date agreed for 10 a.m., and somewhere later, I had to pick up some
papers from his office, or Tomás came to pick up a budget or a blueprint or a
book or any other thing from my desk.
Like something wonderful, our encounters imperceptibly turned into
something just like the water you cannot do without.
Everything was fine, the word friendship resonated once and again for us,
and in this way it was easy to confront problems together.
Tomás works at the Human Resources Section; he is in direct contact with
workers. Difficulties pile up one after the other and they all end up in his
hands which are not enough to manage papers. His words to comfort and
support people make his brain function as if it were a computer, trying to
solve everyday issues. I work at the Health Service Section. I take care of
orders, assess them, provide solutions or at least listen people when they get
their problems off the chest. In my free time I also volunteer to play with
children at the day-care centre or to help nurses and doctors at the hospital.
I said everything was fine with the supervisor. But I believe that constant
thought of mine that it was only friendship, and Tomás’s self-conviction that
it was only friendship, only tried to hide the feeling –true but hidden, denied
and repressed-, that began to arise clarifying: ‘no, not friendship… love’.
And then all our mountains began to crumble, we’re two lonely beings
already accustomed to solitude as a unique company, and there’s no way we
could change. For that reason, the first time we touch our skin, that first
unconscious caress, set us to an alert: take care of yourself. We’re scared to
love, we did not know to love, couldn’t love one another.
And then, that ‘tender little pigeon’ I had the pleasure to meet went back to
its old role of ‘aggressive hawk’, beautiful but unattainable, and I, I also put
up a ‘prim’ and aggressive posture (a hard one to keep, I recognize) and the
eye-to-eye glances and the longed encounters -as derisory as hoped for-
ceased; thus ending those magnificent two or three weeks of knowing that
there is someone who you want to meet.
Soon, as if agreed, we went back to the old mask and even managed to make
us stop greeting ourselves.
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Chapter 3 – Twenty Minutes and The Exceptional One
Work -more and more work- began to fill the empty spaces, those hours in
between that perhaps intentionally we crowded with other activities. Each of
us entertained in our own things not to remember. If we did remember, we
didn’t take the hint and avoided seeing each other simply dodging.
Study term began. More and more hours were covered with ‘comings and
goings’, ‘small print pages of huge books that had to be devoured in a short
term’. Anyway, everything contributed to our supposed (although unspoken
or mutual) agreement. I became friend with one of my mates. The idea of
falling in love with Tomás had no room in me and it already was something
quite deep and still very difficult to forget. I preferred a thousand times to get
close to someone instead of feeling the sensation of being in an island and,
within the limits imposed by my own feelings, I kept as communicative as I
could, and shared with this boy that ‘walk along medicine’, something -I
must admit- very useful to us both.
I went to the factory in the morning, as usual. I run from there to the college
restaurant. Those lunches were beautiful: we formed a table for ten or twelve
seats and passed gossips along with food and drinks, and it was a little like
the weather, either an interesting controversy-creating ‘rectangular’ table
(hypothetically round) or the laughing hour of ‘the trivial nonsense of
everyday failed acts’ or the incredible ‘group’ therapy pool (though it was a
‘sheer group’) where many brains worked on one single personal problem. In
short, those twenty minutes cannot be described but can be classified as
unforgettable, enriching, and charged with emotion and sincerity.
And then, classes… Everything changed tones. It was a sort of barrier: a
crossing from one side to the other, our transformation. We had to be ‘pupils’
(or students, for the case is the same) and were invaded by seriousness. And
putting on a mask to conceal that we’re able to feel and able to become
practitioners, veiled the whole previous image that resembled more to
boisterous adolescents than future health wrestlers. A little confused in our
role but ambitious, confident, excited: I think we were a constant refreshing
symbol for our teachers of the calling they felt there, that we’re immature and
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they’re responsible for taking part on the course to make us grow a great
deal, yes, great in every sense, great connoisseurs of science, great in our
heart, great in our soul. That is, they had to toughen us enough as to melt
but not as to break.
And it was in those first classes that I had the pleasure of meeting the one
who -I can say now- was ‘my favourite assistant’.
There are times when we’re lucky and find Extraordinary people. I always say
that when something goes wrong, we protest up to saturation point, and I
believe that enjoying good things and thanking the people that lend us a
hand is a necessity and a duty for us all.
This boy managed to do all the things that, sometimes, I desired or dreamt
could happen (since I started my career). I wanted to chat with him to
express my gratitude but, luckily, silent language is more than enough for
these things, and he understood without me saying anything.
Once, a student asked why he made so much for us, and he answered: ‘I
often left this place crying for an injustice, that’s why I told myself I would,
every time I could, give the best of me to those in my class and most of all I
am convinced it’s essential to be fair so that others don’t suffer as I did’.
I felt a shiver down my spine: it was moving to find someone like him, and
that led me to make small amends with everything. I was angry at myself
and more even at others. Since then I began to seek Extraordinary people
and I’ve found them. I’ll introduce them one by one. Of course I can be sure
they’re there and even though by getting to know them, it’s worth to keep on
walking. And even more: when it seems it’s the end, someone appears to
show us that luckily, that yet, that… that yes, that although ‘life is
something else’, it’s not so ugly.
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Chapter 4 - Because of the Goblin: Two Again
A lot of time went by, almost three weeks before I met Tomás again. We saw
each other every day but it was a little like watching without seeing.
One morning, I heard the loudspeaker warning Urgency in Central Area. I ran
away from my papers and when I arrived I was informed that there had been
an accident at the day-care centre and one of the kids was not well.
The way to get there was almost a 100 meters. Without thinking too much I
started to run -dodging the maze to win time- and arrive soon to the place.
The teacher cried. Men tried to distract the other kids taking them to
another room. I looked quickly around and didn’t delay in inferring it was
another attack of one of the kids with some nervous disorder. He had
accidentally thrown a tin toy to another kid with such a force that the kid
lost consciousness. This created a panic state among the other kids, the
situation was a scandal, and they ran around and shouted in fright.
Without hesitation I wanted to go for the vanished kid but Tomás was
already coming with him in his arms. He carefully placed him on mine, then
caressed him and told me to go up to his car to go to the nearest health
centre. I started to walk, surprised not to see him walking beside me and
turned around: he was soothing the little devil who, after barely managing to
gather himself, had begun to cry terrified at what he’d done. He assured the
kid that it wasn’t his fault, that it was ‘a goblin’ that overtook him to made
him angry, that soon everything would be alright and would never happen
again. He ran towards us, we reached the parking lot, he started the van and
almost simultaneously we were on the move, and within minutes Pelusita
was under care. Pelusita was the boy that, thank God, gave us only a fright
and went out walking. It was a bad knock. He needed further tests but the
little bug reacted well and he’s already asking about the day-care centre and
the toys.
We took him home, waited awhile until his mom arrived: she had been
notified and was given the day off.
We were going back to work when I felt suddenly tired. I was nervous and
sweating like Tomás: we never know what is happening when the warning
28
alarm rings, and anything can happen in this place. That persistent and
torturing sound really frightens you.
Tomás looked at me. We could not avoid being friendly, we had suffered
together, and now that everything was over, it was logic to feel the right and
the need to smile together. A warm hug neared our bodies and we both felt
our still rattling heartbeats resonate at a duet. Tomás kissed my cheek and I
caressed his arm. We arrived at the factory, stopped the van and, happy but
confused, returned to our yoke. Even if I knew we had never been so close, it
was also true that this would bring about a new separation. Cowardice still
prevailed. It was a Thursday (that’s why I took this Thursday May 26, 1975,
as a date to remember; and every Thursday as a Day of Hope for a new
possible meeting). But as I well said before, another five weeks passed by
until our next meeting.
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Chapter 5 – Sore shoulder…
My health began to cry for attention and my energies ran out because I
didn’t rest enough and I wanted to do more than what my body could do;
that led me to a physical and depressive state which, coupled with a
constant flow of problems, led me to an emotional imbalance.
I felt beaten to such an extent that I thought I couldn’t keep on moving and
then a drop filled the glass up in a moment and I burst out. I locked myself
up in my office and began to cry. When I was thinking nothing had any
sense, I saw Tomás passing by. Through the glass I discovered his figure,
elegant, strong, and protective, ran in despair to the door and called him out.
He was surprised to see me in such a state. I felt really bad. The courageous
woman suddenly disintegrated into a bereaved child. I held his hand
between mine and begged him with my eyes not think, to have no fear, to
kiss me.
But instead, as a proof of affection and respect, he held back from the
temptation to embrace me, and assuming a rigid posture while fully
prepared to understand me, he said: ‘The world is too heavy for you to carry
on your shoulders, you cannot hold yourself responsible for all problems, it’ll
hurt your shoulders’. And he stroked my shoulder in a friendly gesture. That
filled me with a force that made me feel capable of carrying the universe on
my shoulders.
Then he suggested I needed help but said he felt unable to help me. (I
thought I wouldn’t need anything or anyone if he was by my side.) I didn’t
understand until his words clarified that he could give many things but that
I needed therapy. ‘You have to talk to a professional.’ This was his way of not
saying psychiatrist or psychologist. I got angry, argued with him, got mad.
Two days later I had an appointment to begin treatment (I made the
arrangements by myself). I was half neurotic and needed therapy. Now I am
sure that was the case.
I was moved to see his smile, full of tenderness, when I went to tell him
about my new decision. I think that was the best way to thank him.
31
I started therapy. I can say for sure that I never imagined it could be so
useful. I could prove it because I was fortunate to meet a person of ability
and awareness, a person who treats me even today. When some issue is
faced with seriousness and love, you get a good result, thanks to Nelly I
reconciled with psychology, accepted it, and believed in it, and that’s why it
can do me good. I had previously tried two other types of therapy but with no
result. I’m sure it was because I didn’t open up.
Nevertheless, my body also needed an adjustment. It was not enough to put
into the clear the messes that populated my mind for all had declined due to
my carelessness. The degree of unconsciousness on my part was such that I
didn’t stop. But one morning I couldn’t get up. I had a high fever. The doctor
came in and ordered to stay in bed for at least forty-eight hours.
I argued with everyone and added I would leave as soon as I could get up. I
find it difficult to stay inactive; staying in bed scares and depresses me. So
the following day I got up and went back to the hospital. I had many reasons
for doing so, work to be done, the people, and my friend, as well as studying.
It was mid-morning when I finished convincing myself that I had to stop and
went back home with a higher fever, more bitter and resigned to give in to
my parents and my doctors so that they could rescue me. I only wanted to
keep on going, and it was self-destructive and counterproductive.
I was prescribed injectable antibiotics (with the insulin I had three shots a
day), aspirin, cold compresses, steam baths, and rest, especially rest, since I
was blocked up and my bronchi and lungs needed to be taken good care.
Hours went by which became unbearable and although my health was
improving, my state of mind was declining little by little.
But slowly, patiently, I began to get better and with a little bit of care,
respecting the extent of my forces, everything turned better.
32
Chapter 6 – Tug of War
I went back to work. I didn’t hesitate to recognize that I needed Tomás and
that first sentence just friends, now began to disappear or to sound
ridiculous. It was important to see him, even a short while and at a long
distance.
The poor fattie, tried more than ever to be sweet and good to me, but
something made me reject him, self-esteem I guess (that fake absurd pride).
Something lead me to want to erase the unhappy poor cow image he saw at
one point.
I decided I had to get away from his eyes to get better, wonderful, with the
beauty needed to seduce him, and with enough balance to stand on my feet
without feeling like a burden and produce pleasure with my nearness, not
fear. And in case he needed it, that he be the one to be supported and not
me.
For the amazement of my acquaintances, I started to change.
Tomás was too busy with his own things as to gradually notice it, and I also
tried that he didn’t see me.
Soon, all my male friends began to perceive the change and flattered me;
they poured compliments and amazed faces. I put on a little weight (I had
been terribly skinny), had my hair cut, replaced my shapeless clothes with
shirts and pants that contributed to show off my body, made up my eyes.
That is, I had been negligent but a new interest had awakened: dressing up.
I began to lose that immense fear which led me to hide and made me want to
prevent people from looking at me, and threw away the now outdated
expression I want to die! and the instinctive desire to hide under the table.
One time, one of the best examples I remember, I was going down the stairs
leading to the library and I heard Tomás was also going down. He passed me
by and I didn’t recognize me. I greeted him with a remark about his
antipathy, and I promise I would have paid all I had to take a snapshot of his
face. He was so surprised that he didn't know to do. He threw his arms
around me and I reacted with an inflexible response, as if I did not care.
33
He tends to get distracted and when he talks in a rush you don’t understand
two hoots, but I believe this time he didn’t know what to say.
Then something re-emerged. That old tug of war got lose when we
understood it was pointless and saw it was better to be honest. We were
honest and the invisible something that stood between us, separating us, fell
down and we returned to be every minute inventing excuses to meet again.
Everything seemed quite calm, with an enormous cordiality, until I began
thinking again; and my reasoning and intellectualizations always lead me to
feel tortured and deduce things with no raison d’être.
Anyway, I also began to deepen a bit on my brilliant idea and tried to guess
why we only had digressing comings and goings of impulsive reactions and
nothing else. And what do you think was the first idea I could come about?
Yes Sir! That he didn´t make a decision because of my illness, because he
wanted no complications, or maybe because he didn't feel able to accept my
limitations, or maybe, just because I was fancying nonsense and his reasons
had nothing to do with me. I couldn’t know, but I cared to find out.
He kept a friendly relationship with ‘any waste of the female sex who
appeared in front of his face’; he always had something to tell each and every
one of them (a friendly man...). I never minded because he acted differently
with me, and as long as he did not play with me, I didn’t care that he spoke
to others. But now, everything began to be different. I think I felt jealous. It
seemed that one word to any woman was one word less for me.
Everything went on as usual. Time was needed. I tried to avoid comparing
me with other women because I always thought I was less. One Tuesday, I
had a chat with another male friend (from the hospital too) who convinced
me that I possessed certain values, and that despite of my not stunning
figure or my seductive mechanisms were not sufficient to catch a man, I was
very attractive (at least for him) as much as any other woman. These were
his words: ‘they are just a wrapping, apart from that, they are hollow, and
instead, you have a bit of everything’.
And I gained a self-confidence I had never had, for someone with his look to
have said such a thing made me feel like a queen. I don’t know how, but all
this appeal to suitors quickly run through the grapevine, just as in all
relatively small places, just as in villages with few inhabitants where
34
everybody learns even the most insignificant details about the others. And
rumours arrived to Tomás`s ears soon enough. Then he came to see me
somewhat surprised and jealous too. In a strange tone, with a mix of sadism,
mockery, jealousy and joy, he said with a smile: ‘It seems you're better,
aren’t you? I see you’re more capable to communicate, to live’.
I enjoyed these words. I was happy to see him somewhat annoyed and
interested, reacting to what had happened.
Women and men are like this. Or better, a woman and a man are like this
when they like each other: capable of anything to make the other mad, to
attract each other. It’s a game, a tug of war, an ‘I hate you because I love
you’.
Distance re-appeared. It became a habit that being closer made us bounce
apart and the separation was increasingly greater and then, more
unbearable, at least for me.
I realized I should get accustomed to be alone. It was preferable because
being a minute with him meant a century of loneliness later, and that hurt
me, sorry, hurt us.
So I woke up with the simple illusion of seeing him and the conviction of
avoiding him.
35
Chapter 7 – Structures Shake
At the same time, the effort to maintain a good body led me to be better and
better, up to the point that one afternoon, at my half-yearly consultation, the
doctor was so surprised that -without much talk to avoid preoccupying me
but very optimistic- suggested I took some other tests together with the
usual ones, taken to rule out or diagnose the illness.
I accepted with a smile, although it seemed absurd! Why taking tests when
they’ll result positive? It’s more than obvious they’ll be... I left happy with the
improvement but struck by his doubtful attitude about the accuracy of my
diagnosis at this stage of the game.
The next morning I went to have my blood tested and to take all the other
laboratory studies. Results were to be ready in two weeks (I believe those
weeks will be the longest weeks of my life).
If this were true, if the results were negative, mine would be a case not yet
described in any book, so it can’t be true. We’ll eliminate any doubt and
everything will go on as usual.
Two weeks are a long wait. If they were holidays they’ll fly by. It cannot be
denied that those many hours may not be wasted fantasizing or assuming
nonsense, so there was much to be done until next Friday.
-------------------------------
I met Tomás but I didn't want worry him (nor create expectations, perhaps)
or complicate his life with my issues. He knows about my health. By chance,
he’s my doctor’s friend and it seems he cares to follow him and as casually
as can be, draw him out of what he wants to know. Sometimes, I would like
to be the one who tells him, but he prefers this way, and I deeply respect his
discretion to avoid hurting me and know he’ll soon know what is happening.
The truth is that I’m glad in spite of all, it’s nice to know I’m loved and that
someone cares so much as to omit some issues worrisome for me. In the
end, it’s better: being close to Tomás is something so beautiful that it’d be a
pity not to take advantage of a probable conversation in which he teaches
me, warns me, and pampers me, replacing it with a series of responses he
can find out on his own.
36
On Saturday, I went to my dance class. It went good, better than ever. The
music and my body merged becoming one and the same and they seemed to
be cronies and hide behind art all the distress caused by the insecurity of
suddenly knowing that all my aim in life was learning to fight, but that it
could now serve for nothing. Science also frightens me as it doesn’t give
without taking away and I do not like to exchange feelings for thoughts.
On Sunday I went to the club with a friend. It was not too cool and I sat near
the river, and spent a long time in a monologue, undefined, almost silent,
and short, but tasty and capable of clarifying things. Though I cannot deny it
also obscured some other things.
It seemed that everything worked hard to show me that I was delusional,
“innocent” as some coworkers say.
Facing impotence, when I can't get to withstand certain people’s unpleasant
and unjustified reactions, when I must give in to the idea that no matter how
hard I try everything is futile and I can’t do a thing; before feeling ridiculous
talking to those who won’t understand me, I prefer to act silly, which I do
very well but I suffer a lot for everyone get convinced and I am aware and
know I'm only pretending. It is very hard to remain silent when your voice
possesses a truth that could be useful if heard, but as it’s not heard, saying
it it’s worthless, and it’s better to talk about the weather and look stupid
than feel in an island where only the echo answers for the emptiness is so
enormous that the sound rumbles towards infinity... words sound like a
frightening thunder and what I'm trying to say is like a flash of lightning: it
shines, gives light to everything, but goes away, disappears almost before it
can be seen. And I become convinced that the talk is just for me only, that it
flourishes internally but that it’s almost impossible to be conveyed with
enough logic not to seem a dream which can’t be deciphered, interpreted or
even listened to.
And as any moment of reflection, it ends up later when writing, discharging
with pen and paper that flame of fire that burns inside me and may burn
when out, and even light the fireplace logs, gaining such a force that it can
produce heat. What a thing… that’s what I do, romancing on Sundays to fill
my time and not be invaded by leisure or boredom.
37
Luckily, weekends go by quickly, and the so coveted Mondays arrive when I
most needed them and sometimes perhaps, sooner than expected.
38
Chapter 8 - The attractiveness of the routine
The alarm clock rings. It’s seven o’clock. I have to run… I don’t know what to
do first. It’s the same thing every morning. Rush is such that hands are not
enough and their clumsy movements hamper my actions delaying them.
I wash my face, brush my teeth and… search the to-do list for the day.
Subsidy
Monday: 8:00 a.m. Health Service Day-care Centre
Medical service
11:00 h – Archives = Folder nr. 1230/14
12:30 h – Monthly meeting
13:30 h – Computer Room (Work nr. 28/2603-75)
14:00 h – Faculty
17:00 h – Library. Search notes
19:00 h – Dancing Class
22:00 h – Study Chemistry
I run list in hand, I have breakfast, oh! I forgot the 10 a.m. apple (the 15
grams of glucose I need as fuel to keep on going).
Do I have everything? Folder, apron, portfolio, there it is! I forgot my phone
agenda, and I have to give back the book that girl lent me, what’s her name?
well, that one... I walk fast; stumbling once in a while, I get to the 31 bus
stop, a large bus, what a disaster! It takes its time and though it’s early, I get
impatient. There it comes, the driver already knows me and greets me, that
makes me happy, he gives me the ticket before I ask him for he already
knows my destination; I go to the rear of the bus (I almost never get a seat at
this hour) and keep my balance, a little drowsy still and not completely
awaken, and after a while I hear: ‘Hospital!’, and the bus empties out, and I
awake all of a sudden. I go inside the building, through the door and along
the corridor, and as I keep walking I began to feel a better mood, I greet the
people I know and that ‘Hello’ and that ‘Good morning’ get charged with a
special flavour that makes me feel good, and the elevator opens its doors,
39
and I look at it with contempt as if saying ‘I do not need you’, and I reach the
staircase for I don’t like to wait. It’s old, spiral, brown, wooden, and in spite
of my haste, I cannot help appreciating it is picturesque and representative.
Somehow its steps register thousands of footprints that highlight its age and
it creaks trying to threaten with collapse, but it is only a noise (I hope).
I walk a bit along the hall, get the keys and open the door of my office, there
a ‘what will happen today?’ invades me, but that’s a question I ask myself
with optimism, because there’s an infinite number of expectations: each of
the 1,500 persons that enter the building at that time for work has their own
expectation, all based on alleged small events which ultimately always
manage to make routine disappear or not to become monotonous. And even
the legendary walls with their ancient status seem to lock something between
their cement joined bricks, documents of having witnessed plenty ‘routinely
arrivals’ experiences, kept in their look so Earth rotation doesn't throw them
into oblivion.
How many illusions awake when orders are made to the offices: either an
acquisition of a new and modern machine or a wage increase to better feed
the family or maybe a reflection of friendship, love and companionship! It's
like a mirror in which everything that can happen anywhere also happens
here, and sometimes you are a character, or you have the leading role, or
you are the author or the actor of a scene sometimes nice and sometimes
raw, but valuable and enriching in experience and faith.
○○○
I started my itinerary, which organizes my activities sorting them with
consistency. The wife of an operator who had had hepatitis was given a grant
to compensate the costs of his medication.
The nursery was reorganized: a problematic kid is under treatment with a
psychotherapist; in the medical service, the emergency ward was the only
one still pending: a building cannot be improved just like that, and this’s
going to take some time, as only the budget and the project competition call
were started.
40
All went well in the archives; I didn't have to wait (although I would have
preferred having to, as I did a long time before, in the company of Tomás).
Although keeping busy doesn’t allow me too much time to remember, there
are some images I cannot leave out as they are enrooted, as is the archive,
and which inevitably make me recall Tomás. He’s in many corners of the
factory, bah! He’s in myself.
It’s 12:30 a.m., I didn’t look at my ‘memory aid’ but I knew I had to go
somewhere, let's see, let's see, Oh! Yes! ‘12:30 h – Monthly meeting’.
There are representatives from each floor; maybe 20 persons, eight women
and the rest, men.
‘Tomasito’ (that’s how I think his name when I don't have to say it at loud),
was also there.
I had done something he did not like at all, so this time he acted vindictive
(which he did very well), and spent all the time talking to a woman I know
who, I have to admit, is more beautiful, more mischievous to conquer him,
and above me in rank (she got her accountancy degree a few months ago). I
had all the disadvantages. I cried for the first time for the attitude of a man
(when alone, of course). After a while I watched the clock: 13:30. I had to go
to the computer room, jotted down the number of the answer I was
expecting, and as soon as I arrived, the scarce staff in this sector went out
for lunch, so I sat there waiting for the sound and the lights to let me know
the fruits of my eight month work was ripe. I went to the machines that
obediently followed their rhythm: ‘they don’t lunch nor sleep’.
○○○
I was entertained in the contemplation of the buttons when it struck me see
that Tomás’s work had stopped. The anger I felt for what happened did no
longer matter. His position was in jeopardy, his peace of mind, his rest, it
couldn’t be, he was going to feel very bad when he learned about this or, did
he already know? I had enough time to warn him. If I found him soon, we
could redirect the documents together so they could take their proper
course.
41
I went to the dining room, he wasn’t there. I panicked; I began to feel
something was not good, something must be happening to him.
I ran without knowing where to go and I don’t know why, but after going to
the usual places, something told me that he could be in the small room next
to his Office: it was his rest-corner, the place where he looked for peace
when he was down.
‘Tomás? Tomás?’, I called out the usual way. But no one replied. I freaked
out and almost shouting his name walked and opened the door. He was
sitting in an armchair leaning on the back with his head backwards,
covering his face with one hand and holding his stomach with the other.
It would have given everything I had to be in his place and free him from the
discomfort. Seeing him in pain provoked an unbearable anguish in me even
though I believed it would be over soon.
‘What do you feel? What’s the problem? Is it physical or are you nervous?’
I got near him and felt his forehead; he didn’t seem to have a fever...
‘It’s… it's a terrible headache, I can barely see, so I sat here in the dark, I
don’t know what happened, I stood up and fell back, got drowsy, do you
realize what happens right now!, I wanted to go but my head was exploding,
I promise... and this plan should be completed within a month and I had to
send it to my boss for him to review it, now it will not get in time and the
response, the one my workers are waiting for, is about the construction of
their houses, you realize, my darling, that I am a good-for-nothing...’
‘Please, don't talk nonsense, don’t punish yourself, you don’t win anything
by tormenting yourself, I beg you! Now it’ll be better for you to get well, the
rest will be solved. It’s unbelievable! You always work for the welfare of
everybody but you destroy yourself, you’re a human being, not a god, and
though your responsibilities place you in front of uncertainties, you cannot
go beyond your limits trying to embrace more than you can do as a man.’
I pressed his hand within mine and stroke his arm as in an attempt that all
my loving could help him get better, but he just suffered in company. He’s
very hard on himself, and though he knows how to forgive others, he doesn’t
know how to forgive himself. I only limited to watch his moistened lashes,
how he swallowed saliva, and how his hands trembled by the unjust
42
circumstance of not being able to see his work through as he had always
done.
Despite all, I understand, it’s a very ugly feeling that when something falls
out our hands and gets out of reach, the illusion of a lot of persons will fell
down; but why worry? I know him enough and know that even without
sleeping for a century, as soon as he get well, he’ll recoup what was lost and
the documents will arrive as they should have within the agreed deadline.
‘Do you realize?’
‘What, Tomás?’
‘I only had to turn a key and couldn’t do it..., it was something so simple!’
‘That’s precisely why you mustn’t feel bad, it’s easy, and you couldn’t do it
because you’re unlucky, just that, it wasn’t your fault. It would be
unforgivable if it were negligence or some other cause of those which
abound, but luckily it’s not. Well, Tomás... How do you feel?’
‘What a question you ask! Do you want me to answer?’
‘Not today, but the headache... is it gone?’
‘Sorry, I didn't want to talk to you like that.’
‘Don’t worry dopey, is it gone?’
‘Not completely, but I'm better.’
‘I’ll prepare some tea and will give you an aspirin; you stretch out a while on
the couch and rest a bit. I'll be here outside finishing the order and the
records to haste the work, and when you get up we’ll go to the room and do
the job between the two. I only need you to tell me what I have to do, I don’t
know how to handle this model but you can tell me, it’s only a turn of a key,
isn’t it? Anyone can do it.’
‘Hey, you…’
‘What’s up, Tomás?’
‘Thank you.’
‘Do you want me to bring a tea or to bathe you with the tea? Don’t say
unnecessary things, I wouldn’t be with you if you were a bastard, I’m here
because although you may not believe it, you're a good man, and even
though you sometimes act hatefully or I-don’t-know-what, you're the Tomás
I know, and even though you believe all my loving is due to my idealizing
43
you, that’s a lie, you earned it. I did not invent nor decided to love you much;
you brought it on yourself, which really is your fault.’
○○○
And already smiling, with a better face, and luckily a little calmer, he stood
up, slowly, took me by the shoulder and we went arm in arm to the
“coloured lights” room. He prepared the documents perfectly and I stood by
his side, watching him, enjoy him, looking at his hands, sometimes weak
sometimes strong but always prone to help others, as they transformed little
by little, ceasing to tremble to recover their usual strength and precision.
○○○
Everything turned out well, maybe a little later or the day after. But what
was wonderful to me was that I got to know a human being, the one that
could be a raw model, the personification of commitment and honesty.
It’s incredible; I would have never believed that weirdo, capable of making
me green, or of acting so hideously at the beginning, could get to be as he
really is and to possess innumerable feelings, experiences and beauty to give
out. Nor that he could have tears, and he could, and that they wet his face
as they come out just as it happens to us all.
It’s nice to know this is the case. I think it’s a joy to be able to discover he’s
not made of iron as he pretends but that he’s built with the material of a
person (flesh and bone), and that as a ‘supervisor’, he’s capable of feelings.
Work was over. It’s time to go and we left without a word, only with a smile,
as we’re already among others and our camaraderie is quite intimate, so
private that can only be enjoyed and valued by Tomás and I, and not worth
sharing with those who will never understand us.
It was ours, ‘our’ moment, ‘our’ secret, ‘our’ life, and we seemed selfish but
we were together, so near that there’s no room for anybody else.
I was leaving slowly, walking back until I bumped against a piece of
furniture and we burst into laughter; he followed me and said to my ear: ‘til
44
tomorrow my girlie!’... ‘til tomorrow my supervisor’ I said moving my lips,
hoarse, almost without a voice and I went away...
○○○
I arrived at college at 15:30, and I’d lost an optional class. I knew the subject
well and didn’t get behind, so I only (as a result) won an eternity of bliss. I
took advantage of the practice exercise.
At 17:00 I went to the library to meet a mate to get the ‘Physio’ notes and
then went home to pick up what I needed for my dance class.
At 19:00 I went to teach a class. I wanted to start differently because I’d been
very nervous and even though I tried to disguise it, the girls perceived I
wasn't well, which created an annoying depressive state that made me feel
guilty and lead me to doubts, questioning whether it’s not better to suspend
my classes for a time and look for a replacement.
But before making my mind, I preferred to make a test: I like teaching and I
feel good having a recreational activity that manages to wrap me up and get
me out from everyday discontent even for sixty minutes.
I chose to walk for a while, it’s the most effective way of loosen me up,
walking the streets letting my mind to fly where it wants.
When I arrived to the classroom, everything was beautiful, a collaborative
climate was created by the girls who managed to move me, and I forgot
about it all but dancing, music and my girls. It’s a hit from the start. We sat
on the floor and after explaining for a long time that they should be
responsible, I thought about asking if they knew what responsibility meant
(all of them nodded and I felt absolutely convinced they could not even spell
the word correctly), so between us all (they are from 5 to 9 years old) we
reached a definition, somewhat accurate but at least understandable.
We began the class after that ‘moment of communication’ and they danced
better than never before; at the end, while I was distracted looking for a
record, they got together to invent a greeting pose; one of them (the liveliest
one) explained that it was a surprise gift they had prepared for me.
The feeling of completeness and satisfaction was enormous and I kissed each
one of them. I’d have to commit suicide if I said I was in a bad mood or felt
45
lonely or some other nonsense of the sort (those that disrupt my tranquillity
when passing by my head). So I realized I must distribute my energy and
invest my efforts on things that are worth; all I can give these little dancers,
they will receive.
I changed my clothes and went home with aching legs but with the graceful
walk of a ‘mission accomplished’; I took a bath, had dinner, read a while and
went to bed.
Tuesday ‘looked’ good and I couldn’t nor wanted to worsen it with fatigue. I
laid down and just as children need toys to share their dreams, I took this
bouquet of flourishing moments with me, which pampering and protecting
me from some perverse nightmare led me to rest, sleep and dream.
46
Chapter 9 - Human Misery = Human Condition
Tuesday began very early. Without an apparent reason, I woke up at five in
the morning, waited until seven, eschewed the wake-up alarm, and got up. It
was one of those days when you feel the owner of a euphoria flooding to
create a paradise climax that can get frightening for you suppose it’s unreal.
Just as when a child laughs out of control and you reckon he’ll end up
crying (maybe not to lose his balance), grownups also recognize the point
when all makes sense and the point when lack of control removes the raison
d'être.
But although intellectually analysis is somewhat more untamed, the laws
governing our spirit and the intentional attempt at a timely change are
pointless.
I was sparkling and spread joy along the streets: in the bus people seemed
nicer, trees looked greener. I was in such a good mood that even the smelly
water in the sewers looked as mirrors reflecting the poetic ‘sky pools’ I can
only see when I look at them with my soul.
It was too much, and as someone once told me, ‘all that’s too much, is
superfluous’, so it’s no good: it’s better to give things their right value.
(Though I wanted to deny the painful reflection I had to admit it’s true.)
You could already assume that something was happening or was about to
happen; I’ll tell you... I entered the factory and I do not know, something in
the air showed something weird was happening.
I punched my card a little anxious and scared; worry deleted instantly my
expression of pleasantness. I asked what was happening, hiding my
ignorance and trying to show firmness to inspire confidence. I toured the
area and found no response, so I went to talk to a Shopping Section
employee, a woman who knows everybody’s A to Z, passionate for ‘hushed
murmurs’ circumstances; I was not wrong in assuming that I would learn
everything being a bit cunning.
Despite her strength, the eyecups highlighted by her swollen eyelids were a
pathetic reflection of something serious.
47
‘No, you can’t even dream it, it’s not going to fit in your head, sit down first;
you can’t take this on your feet...’
I begged her not to keep on fuzzing, I lost it, and in agony, ready for
anything, I asked her:
‘What? Who died?’
She laughed ironically and replied:
‘I wish it only was someone´s death…’
‘It’s enough!’, I burst out, ‘if there is something to say, whatever it may be,
say it at once, I want the truth and soon! Please!!’
‘The factory was sold to a new owner; I think you might have heard
something… Comments began a month-ago…’
‘Yes, I already know.’
‘This dude, sorry, this Sir; as all new managers do, wants to modify
everything; but you can’t imagine how. It’s something like saying I’m going to
move but before having a new house I demolish my old one, and what do I
do with all the bricks and all the effort to build it?... bah, that others made to
build it. At least 300 will be fired and they’ll have no work; the hospital, that
giant mole that defends a little our future, will be reduced to a simple first-
aid room, half the beds will be gone, no more scholarships for research, only
headaches or tummy aches will be cured, let the exquisite sick die, out the
persons with abilities… err…, also day-care is reduced only to one shift, and
computers will be sold; and you know? with a little bit of luck perhaps you
and I are no longer employees of this place, hopefully, I wouldn’t like to see
how they destroy our world… do you remember how it was when we
started?, and now that is almost a castle.... And then, when was the last
monthly meeting? you were there...’
‘No, I had to sit for an exam.’
‘Ah, then you don’t know, the boys’ team, the best we had, received an
immediate transfer order to the provinces without prior notice, orders were
signed last night, they’re scattered in the branches out there (I was
quivering), Tomás just told me, you remember Thomas, don’t you?’
(What a question!)
‘Yes, of course I remember, yes, I remember them all, of course…’
48
‘They sent him to La Pampa, poor man, he was broken down, and maybe
he’s lucky because he won’t have to withstand this…’
‘But, did they leave already?’ (I begged for her to say no.)
‘Of course, they had to leave yesterday night or this same morning... You
look pale… Do you need a sedative?’
‘No, thank you, I need to get this out of my system, you don’t need my telling
you what I fell, you already know, everyone knows.’
(She doesn’t know how much this affects me.) My knees slackened and I got
up with uncoordinated movements.
‘I forgot’, she said, ‘the volunteer, your friend, the small girl who works in the
hospital, asked me to let you know that she wants to see you. Maybe this
shock turns her round, gets her out of her fancy world and takes her to
reality, she’s such an idealist, I also was eighteen years old and lived in a
wonderful world.’
One after the other, my feet drag me to my desk, I closed the door and saw a
poster someone hang in which a little girl was pushing an elephant with a
phrase that says: Faith can move mountains. I read it twice... What faith? ...
What mountains? ...
○○○
I tried to get a grip and went to look for my friend, the volunteer; as I went
through the swinging door, a light blue eyed and red cheeked kid smiled at
me, and I wouldn’t have been so moved if -at his five or six years- those two
crutches didn’t exist to hold him up. Before following my way, I stroke his
head that looked like a set of sunset rays and managed to give him a wink
with a gesture of joy.
Setting my feet in the patients ward sufficed to feel how bitterness emerged
everywhere.
Work hadn’t stopped because in such a place, with such people, nothing can
halt the desire or the obligation to help, and there is always someone who
needs help. Graci, the girl I was going to see, didn't take long to get by me
and without saying a word, without being able to coordinate a phrase, we
embraced and burst into tears.
49
Soon I gather myself and realized I had to keep up, others were worse than
me and it was essential I did not decay, maybe it was the only thing you can
do for the loved ones when you see they suffer and you can’t give them
nothing more than tenderness and, though forced, I had to show a strong
image that let them find support. They need to feel we are not going to fall.
I began to pretend; it was difficult but necessary.
Graci, could not control herself, it’s understandable, for she still is a
teenager and she had to deal all of the sudden with all the impotence we
veterans get to know little by little. It was a very hard blow. And then those
of us who had already gone through similar events had no arguments, the
harshness of the situation exceeded everything; there were no elements that
let us gather up. It all became a chaos in which nobody could do anything
for anyone, not even for ourselves; so it was absurd to expect young people
to act differently, when for us maturity or experience were useless to find
consolation.
We sat down and after a long silence, unbearable and inevitable, she began
to reflect on a number of things that, even though meaningless then, were
useful to remember my past and find the freshness of immaturity that I’d
have liked never to end and that will be alive as long as children and young
people exist.
○○○
This is what she said:
‘I was patient of a doctor here, my parents had been told that I was going to
die; I had one year left, tops. They didn’t accept this and had already
exhausted their resources. They’re going to allow the surgery, as it’s the only
possibility left. But I don’t know why, they didn’t settle for this and began to
look for alternatives, there had to be something else to make me better. And
you… you do believe in miracles, don’t you? There was a genius, a unique
man capable of knowing it all, a doctor (now my boss) for whom all
languages on Earth are not enough when I try to describe him. He’s
exceptional. He found out my problem and ruled out the death sentence with
a brilliant phrase: We have to work hard. We all struggled from then on but,
wasn't it for him, I would not be telling this story; he not only looked after
50
my medical condition but always knew how to say things just as they are, to
fill me with hope and joy, and he even had the courage to tell me sometimes
things that really hurt me as they made me feel relieved; so I could overcome
obstacles and, I can’t help saying, worshipped and venerated him a bit more
every day. It’s like alcohol in a wound that though it stings, disinfects and
the more it burns the better, for it has to hurt to heal. You do not even
dream what this doctor meant to me, you won’t believe it, he’s life itself. And
to many people’s surprise, I grew up; and I also wanted to give someone
something, and always said that when I graduated, I would work with him.
One afternoon, I came for a check-up, December 18, 1973, I had just turned
seventeen, and emotion invaded me when he talked about the possibility of
doing some tasks in this place. I believe all that sacrifice now showed
worthy. It’s very hard to begin considering him a boss. As his subordinate I
was afraid of losing my doctor, and during my first hours of work his
presence really disturbed me for I felt ill-at-ease by my degree of admiration
mixed with his surprising occurrences. I went to see him once during his
office hours because I was about to resign; I thought he spoke too seriously
and that he wasn't going to treat me or that he’s angry, then I realized it’s all
my invention, I’m very imaginative. I loved bumping into him in hallways and
see his face of satisfaction that seemed to return an I am happy. I felt the
same happiness, using the white uniform and being there was a way (a bit
particular, but real) of thanking him and telling him I owe this to you, this is
(I'm) your work. And surprised and comforted at the same time, we smiled,
you can say the doctor smiled with the satisfied look that suggests the need
of a bib and I smiled with emotion, biting my lips so my laugh didn’t show
for I’d to stay in my role and was no longer in his office. I somewhat lost the
privileges of the patient, being there changed the possible I can see you later
for I always see you, I can make a check-up at any time. As usual, there was
a for and an against and I’m immensely grateful for I appreciate the for,
which were many. Once a four year old girl came to see the doctor and I
remembered my childhood, the first time he saw me, and got jealous: I’d
have wanted to start again, struggle was very hard but very beautiful. Not
much later I started to grow up in some aspects: I took a step aside and I
devoted to learn, contemplating how a person can build a temple to health
51
starting from where we all started and get to achieve it. I grew older and had
to understand I’d to manage all alone, I’s temporarily transferred to another
service, I met a lot of doctors, nurses, technicians, assistants and thousands
of people who, each one from their place, increased my experience, enriching
me to such an extent that today I’m a millionaire in friends and experiences I
will never lose because they’re already a part of myself. Can you stand what
is happening to us? I saw them fight; I saw them give what they hadn’t for
the welfare of the sick. I know of cases that consider the hospital as their
greatest love or as the only thing they’ve got for they invested all their time in
the endless string of that watch their hearts form when beating at the same
time. And now, if they take this from them, they’ll feel empty. Luckily they
aren't. But if they only intended to give still more, twenty or thirty years of
dedication are an enormous injustice! Anywhere else they’ve all the means
and awards and their capabilities are recognized, they’re known worldwide,
they receive invitations from all places and here doors are closed to them.
What’s the sense? I can't understand it no matter how much I squeeze my
brain analysing the events. I may be a little imaginative as everybody says
but they’ll always be here, in the children’s smiles, in the adults’ trust, in
every corner, and in all those who stay because in hard moments or in joy,
both, we’ll keep on sharing and when I’ve no more words, I’ll manage to
produce a voice, and when we’ve to face something unbearable, I’ll feel a
warm hand holding mine and...’
She started to cry.
‘Don’t, Graci, please, not like this, we must put up with this, we cannot
slacken off now, we’re needed to recover a bit of serenity, and whatever it
costs, we’re bound by the love we’ve to own it and transmit it, do you hear?
You need peace and we must find it, where it might be and as it might.’
○○○
Someone knocked at the door. Graci dried her eyes and ran to open.
‘Please, I'm looking for the doctor, the lady who works here; she’s the only
one who takes well care of my son, the one who found out his problem. It is
a rare case and it can’t be treated by another person, when can I find her?’
52
Graci stayed silent, tried to recover herself and said, somewhat hesitant (as
it’s logic in this awkward situation):
‘Well… err… err…’
‘Is she going to come or not? It’s not possible! I need the doctor, she can’t
abandon my kid, doesn’t she understand I need her? She has to come! She
doesn’t understand there’s a life at stake? ...’
The woman raised her tone; she got furious and began to scream, the kid got
frightened and looked at Graci in grief and in anger. I couldn’t take more of
this and interfered:
‘Please, Missis, Graci here would really like to tell you that the doctor is
coming, but there is a problem. If the doctor helped you, you need to show
the respect she deserves and accept that she did not abandon your child. I
assure you the doctor knows perfectly well what your child needs as well as
she does for many other patients, but there’s nothing she can do. She could
give all the help you need if there weren’t some persons of our species who
make decisions without thinking about what they might mean for others. I
beg you, we’ve always helped you and we’ll do everything we can, but this
time help us, not to judge beforehand and understand, we’re only a part of a
whole we can’t change and whether we like it or not, even if there are
injustices, we must accept that most of the times (I don’t want to say always)
we aren’t able to fight against them.
○○○
When I stepped into my work today, I had the feeling that something was
going to happen and as usual, when I think of something nice it may not be
true but when the feeling is bad, unfortunately, it always is.
I left. I arranged to meet with Graci another day. She’ll bring a sort of Diary
or articles she writes. I found really valuable the way she contemplates
things, showing a picturesque vision typical of someone who profits to the
maximum and at every moment of the simple positive things that many
other people overlook and that, however, are the most representative way to
show that everything has a salvageable facet and that optimism is the eye
with which you face a future so that dark black that can turn multicolour.
I turned round and went back to my area.
53
Chapter 10 – The Alarm, the Operating Room, the Green
As soon as I sat on the armchair, the alarm began to scream. Without
hesitation, I got up like a spring and ran through the hallways, everything
was blurry, had to stop for a minute as images tended to disappear and by
the trouble and confusion I bumped into something in front of me, I don’t
know what, a wall or a piece of furniture, it’s the same for the case. I only felt
a pain somewhere, but that didn’t matter. I hear the alarm ringing and
whatever happens I'm there and must find out, someone might be in trouble.
It was at the factory, a worker was exhausted and fell down; he’s a good
man, one of those persons unknown to everybody and to whom no homages
are made, but a man who from his insignificant corner adjusted the details
essential for things to turn well.
I don’t know what the problem was. He’s agitated, conscious and asking for
his wife, then he disconnected from his surroundings for some seconds and
then he’s trying to stand up, had to be restrained to prevent him from doing
so, then he asked that he’s doing and why he’s on the floor.
There was no one left to come with me and quell the problem but even if I
wanted to, I could not slacken off, not now: I couldn’t hold this man by
myself to take him to be assisted.
I told him some nonsense to calm him down, asked for an ambulance while
his mates took care of him, looked for his documents and went back to the
place. We spent moments of nervousness and anxiety making comments and
talking about silly things among ourselves and were able to disguise the
waiting time and shrink the high voltage atmosphere.
The man was taken to the hospital. I phoned his wife and eased away an
explanation of the situation trying to not worry her.
I went back to my office to leave immediately after. I had to initiate the
admission procedure and see he was given all necessary assistance.
Doña Ana was at the waiting room: a woman as fat as good-natured who
grumbled in despair and furiousness, for she has been warning her husband
to rest for a while, not to make more efforts.
54
Someone came to say the man had to be operated; the woman started to cry
at loud, quickly invaded by anguish, ‘it can’t be, not this, not to him, why
now? He’s only sixty, he’s the heaven for me...’
We tried to calm her down but a nurse reckoned measures had to be taken
soon to avoid treating the two of them. She called a doctor, gave the woman
a sedative and she fell asleep.
Everything was under way and I was not in a very good shape: I had never
seen myself like this nor had felt worse than this.
I talked to the nurse: she gave me her word that she’ll take care of both of
them and I gave her my word that I’ll phone in an hour and visit them that
very night.
I took the bus to the factory; fatigue won over me: I fell asleep.
You can imagine my concern: I even dreamt I was a theatre nurse (the one
who help surgeons).
I visited an operating room only once, but it struck me a lot. I’d describe it as
a place with a special dialogue: there only the eyes smile, looks speak, and
hands don’t express but turn into machines that hold metallic elements
conveying their coldness to the whole body. And people, disguised with long
white clothes and small caps that render some grace to their clothing
(otherwise ghostly) and talcum-powdered fingers enclosed in gloves, play to
show courage trying to convince outsiders and themselves they’re robots
with a steel heart or a plastic stomach.
And it’s a lie, luckily, it’s a lie; they only make silly jokes because they need
them to cut the silence or the unbearable noise that it not imperceptible
even if they wish it to be, because it indicates the heart activity and if the
heart stops, if the noise stops being heard, it makes you understand how
much it weighed before. Not listening to the noise is only a sham as lot of
other things inside there.
Suddenly, I’m shaken by a sharp braking, I was soundly asleep and it was
hard for me to place myself in the space. A few blocks to get down, no, it's
here, and seeing the familiar Green gate, I rang the bell and got down.
But no; today everything is upside down, I got down too quickly, at the other
entrance, in front of the nursery. A kids’ playing yard was built there and at
the other side there is a path between tress that leads to a footbridge. When
55
you cross it, you get to a park where the staff can go to relax a bit during
their free time.
I looked at my watch, it was almost noon. It would be nice to stay for a while.
The Green may return my hope back.
56
Chapter 11 – Remembering (a luxury), an Unavoidable Whim
There was a pine and jasmine aroma that wrapped me up; inadvertently,
beauty helped to sensitize me even more, and that was counterproductive.
I stopped for a minute to ponder, trying to search how I really felt. It was
very hard for me, then I assumed... fear, it must be fear, how odd, I had
never felt something like this, I mean: panic. I felt I was in a sinking ship
and didn't know what to do, maybe swim and save me to find help, or sink in
solidarity (or cowardice) with others.
And in the middle of this digression, distracted at times, concentrating at a
set point as if motionless, I bumped into a smiling kid: the day-care blonde
was trying to hunt a butterfly –a real show-: he approached very slowly,
didn’t dare to touch it, and then protested in disgust to see it fly. He was so
immersed in this that spoke to himself. He was charming.
He chased the unruly that got him angry, mockingly hovering over his head
only to escape. When was closer I discovered he was Pelusita. He had not
changed much, a little taller, but his head was still populated by golden
threads coiled with each other and they glittered. The rest was tiding knots
and at last, unknowingly or perhaps on purpose, I began to remember.
Tears invaded my eyes, my face, my neck, my soul. It’s one of the most
difficult things I had to face ever. So far, other people’s problems had me
jumping from here to there, and it’s just appropriate for me not to stop to
defend me, by evading. But at this point, there’s nothing that could
contribute to disturb me and prevent my realizing things: this garden,
Pelusita, having to deal with situations all by myself as I did today, if
everything was no so unpleasant, I could have been accompanied and even
maybe by Tomás, worrying secretly about me, and inadvertently caressing
me, and telling me with his eyes ‘come on, girl, you're not going to give up’
and I, owning a supernatural courage, would tolerate anything and would
respond to my obligations with a hundred per cent. And now, I don't know, I
will hopefully reach a fifty per cent, a mediocre half.
57
Emptiness, coupled with the memory that shut me, more and more, led me
to isolation. It was the first sign, I was in a well and could not get out, or
knew not how get out, and if I were not careful, wouldn’t want to get out.
I only turned round, hide my face in the grass and, my fists closed holding a
branch I grabbed from somewhere, and repeated, shouting to myself no,
please don’t!, Tomás, Tomás, my Tomás, my dear Thomas, so far, not that,
not that! I know that when you love time and distance are dissolved, they
lose magnitude for love unites us both to one another so that the limit
determining who is who ceases to exist. But however, although that
argument could provide some comfort, it was transitory, and the feeling of
loss got greater, more painful, more desperate. I wanted to remember, and
began to pant when I realized that from now on, no matter what, I’d have to
manage by myself, for no one would take care of me sensing for the point up
to which I can endure things; and in bad times as today, I would only be a
thing providing solutions. Being rewarded by Tomás’s pampering or just by
the illusion of seeing him was already in the past. I stood up, my knees felt
stiffened; they looked as if they knew it’s not worth for me to rush, for even if
my legs run, they would not lead me to where he is. I realized I must, I
needed to get relief, and only locked up in my room where nobody could see
me, I’d get rid of all this unrest that could be defined as one thorn that
penetrates the flesh more and more to become an unbearable suffering.
From now onwards I’d have an obsession: everybody would make me think
they were Tomás and I’d fell in the constant search that leads to nothing but
to which is inevitable.
I had to respect depression, and found only one way to fight it: self-deceit.
Going to the Archives, I thought, ‘of course, it’s still early, he comes later’. I
stumbled once again with Pelusita, closed my eyes, and felt convinced that
Tomás was hugging me, went to the computer room... ‘til tomorrow my kid’.
‘til tomorrow my supervisor’, I said in a very low voice (almost in a secret).
And suddenly, I met one of the bosses. He looked at me rather surprised and
said:
‘Are you talking to me?’
58
‘Err…, no, I was thinking at loud, talking to myself, you know, here you get
lost into so many things, sometimes I talk to myself, I mean, well, you
understand, don’t you?’
He smiled kindly and walked on.
I sighed! I went back to the Office, I wouldn’t say embarrassed, but with a bit
of modesty or something like that, I’d been an inch away from making a fool
of myself, could have gotten into a mess, and made Tomás look a laughing
stock.
I phoned the nurse to check the state of the worker and his wife: they are
very nice persons and I don’t want they might lack something.
The man was in the post-operation room, everything went well. The woman
had calmed down a bit.
I thought I had the right to look for peace; I called the day off, went home,
had dinner and went to bed. I’d just one positive element: the idea that
perhaps tomorrow, after waking up, I might find a new dawn facing new
horizons. That transferred me to the image of a huge field, full of nature, a
man sitting on the ground looking far away, giving the landscape an
indescribable beauty which included me between the wheat and the thistles,
talking to him as usual in that silent language that only we can translate,
just he and I, we, being together. And then, inventing, I was protected by
that sort of cloud that covers us and crushes us down but that fortunately
takes consciousness away and out from us so that everything seems a
nightmare and not reality, and that gives us a rest for us to recover clarity.
Destiny, cunning and ungrateful just because, got us into something that
fooling us, forces us to keep on going.
59
Chapter 12 - Wednesday
It seemed the name of the day was right: as expected I felt stuck in the middle
of nothing just as a Wednesday is stuck in the middle of the week
My face was deformed; I was a little over the clouds still but already getting
aware of reality -once in a while- and discouragement increased.
I didn’t want to skip work at the factory. It was better to elaborate things as
they occurred than accumulating the inhibitions that grew increasingly
worse, and that taking a step forward could easily be taking a false step and
goodbye.
Shaking, discouraged, I repeated the events of my routine by inertia: maybe
by their constant repetition I didn’t require too much effort. I only lacked that
dose of expectations, of optimism, of charm, that I always put in the salt-
shaker that contains the magic powder, the desire for beautiful things to
happen. It’s worthless to explain how I felt when passing by the child care
centre in the bus, when going to the Archives, Tomás’s desk, the Computer
Room, or anywhere.
Self-convinced, I decided to start a new way of life: work, study, dance and
full stop.
It didn’t take long for me to reconnect to the old reflexes that came through
the most insignificant details. Before plunging into the task, I tried to sort
the papers on my desk as usual, they were a lot and all mixed up, and I
could lose them or throw them when confused. Among them, I found a file of
mine -I don't know how it got there-: a card with the number of my medical
history. I felt suddenly shaken. My serum. Results will be ready soon; tests
were already on the way. And noticing I was going back to despair and a
depressive state (now increasing though for a time it seemed to have
decreased), I returned to self-conviction: everything but thinking or feeling. I
just drifted and spent the hours as busy as I could, covered by papers,
issues, responsibilities and all those things that now sound as occupational
therapy. It’s nearly eleven when I saw Graci, the volunteer, coming. I felt
reassured thinking that there still was a representative of friendship in that
60
world that only seemed to try to make me understand that it’s worthless to
search: you will not find them.
‘Hello Graci.’
‘Hello, how are you?’
‘Trying… without digging too much; as things are, I could say I’m fairly
good… and you?’
‘Not so good, I think I’m –I don’t know what to say- a coward or a
maladjusted, but I can’t accept it and I can calm down but only for a while,
then I come to a crisis and end up crying like mad.’
‘You’ll calm down, don’t think I’m already recovered. I’ve been collecting a few
things like this, you know; you must allow yourself the right to respect your
mood and here, with the racket of tasks in the ward that doesn’t give you a
rest, you’re going to evade it a little, at least for now, then destiny will
somehow answer this uncertainty and we’ll talk again about it.’
‘You know, I brought something for you to read because of what you said
yesterday, I think, I don't know, maybe it’s useful to you; now I´ve got a few
of all the beautiful things I’d got before, and maybe you’ll like them, or they’ll
amuse you at least; some of them are pages from my diary.’
‘What a good idea Graci, thanks truly from my heart, I love to read things
like this and I can assure you that possibly it’ll help me cope with anguish; I
used to write a lot once, you know, it was wonderful because I had many
simpler and tenderer things to say than the ones I could say now.’
‘Why did you stop writing? Maybe now writing can be sadder but it might be
useful if you write.’
‘You’re probably right… the cause was but a nonsense: I had no one to read
what I wrote, it was too complicate for my companions and they weren’t
interested and for grownups, it was kids’ stuff. Growing up, maybe when I
was fifteen or a little more, I started to carry a sort of diary, but on separate
sheets (somewhat original); I added letters telling truths, giving advice, and
guessing. I lived quite isolated and replaced dialogue by monologue, and
that’s why I felt more at ease with old notebooks than with people. At some
point, I don’t know when or why, I began to be interested in the world
outside and I began to undertake a change. It turned out well and that's why
I learned to communicate through dialogue. I ended that need for the diary
61
and those letters without destination which tortured me as I wrote them and
made me disdain their value because I wasn’t going to mail them and nobody
was going to receive them, because they’re only one more baluster forming
the barrier I was creating to shut myself in, to set me apart, to make me
different, lonely, and which wouldn’t allow me to go out when I wanted to, for
it’d be too late. I loved the freedom to share, talk, understand and feel
understood, and deduced I was creating more limitations that those I could
have in real life, and then I flung the pen and denied myself this old
pleasure, at least until really communicated, so as to make each page not a
baluster but a bird, a flower, a smile, a wave, a goldfish or just a sheet of
paper and not the replacement of a person who perhaps I’m preventing
myself to meet.’
Graci was speechless, she didn’t know me in this way, it’s true, and it was a
coincidence I spoke of personal things. The atmosphere was encouraging.
Yesterday events moved me too deep and awakened that hidden vision I
hadn’t had for long and which appeared to have abandoned me together with
frustrated illusions when I grew up.
‘You have to write, you must do it, you can do much good, you’re descriptive
and enjoy much perceiving details and highlighting them; I felt good hearing
you, I’ll have to ponder seriously on what I’m looking for through this, and
especially think whether it’s productive, whether it’s leading me to open the
door or to close it. Well, here are my thoughts if you want to browse them,
and come to see me every time you’ve spare time or feel like talking about
some remembrance gripping your mind. And don’t look for the leading
character because he’s no longer here. Please, think I might be going through
your same situation and come, we can cry together.’
‘Thank you, Graci, as soon as I get home, today I go straight home, I’m going
to enjoy your articles, I am convinced they’ll help and even more, I think
they’ll clarify some things and give me many others I feel as nearly lost.’
I looked at Graci as she was going away and took a folder to place together
all her writings. I didn’t want to lose them.
I scratched my head, hesitant. It suddenly seemed that this visit could have
been I a few years ago. Listening to her brought longings, for she possessed
an absolute assuredness, a fullness of being able to feel accomplished with
62
everything she did, to enjoy what she’s got and to pour all her being in these
pages. I think that, at her age, the only thing I wanted was to have a diary,
those letters were worth as much as my body; and as I could see, I think she
felt the same... my childhood and my adolescence were terribly wonderful,
everything satisfied me and I solved all problems with fantasies, inventions,
and due to that today I can get to expect that perhaps tomorrow, in a star, I
might find happiness, or that everything that happens today must happen
because of something, and in a short time we all will find the good side and
perhaps everything will be better.
So, Graci introduced me into the world of the imagination and I'm flying
higher than an airplane... If someone knew what I'm thinking, I guess they’ll
give me the sack, for everyone here thinks I'm a mature, insensitive woman.
Who could assume what I hope to find in a star, or that I would like to turn
the pages I write into flowers, birds, waves. Can you imagine the budgets, the
blueprints, the checks, the receipts? It’s original to say the least, isn’t it?
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Gaby’s Writings
Graci Esperanza
October 10, 1974
Friends like air, imperceptible to the senses and essential to life.
When you are a kid, everything around seems huge, then we grow, and
everything around shrinks.
January 9, 1975
Friend =
Don´t let time and people take us apart. Let the strength of sincerity help us.
October 27, 1971
I’d rather cry for the problems of a good friend than cry for not having that
friend.
We learn to love before we learn what love is.
Before criticizing something you need to think how to make it better.
Memories
Maddening images
Reflect in my mind and disrupt me
Blind emblems
A continuous flow from my past
In my present increases.
To remember, only a mistaken verb,
Behind perplexing images
Darken the current present,
Shadows and dreams left behind
evasion = a comfortable way to hide desperation
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Think about my feelings and understand my thoughts.
A good teacher is always a teacher, although by the incidents of life you are
no longer her student.
Hands
There are princess’s hands and others’ that are rough. That doesn’t matter:
everybody goes around naked.
If they have wrinkles and are very old, they’ll have experience, they will be
more beautiful.
They don’t study, they learn, don’t get a diploma; by the way, they are wise
in their own language.
They smile, they move, they caress, they kiss in sad moments, they express
their crying.
Hands speak to us, they say without thinking what words fail to explain.
Grandmother
A grandmother is the person
Who reasons and forgives.
She pleases her grandchildren
And does everything for them.
Adolescence
To love is her first ailment
A common ailment at that age.
Obsessions filling the head,
Swiftness in the way of thinking.
Creative spirit wanting all
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Without never believing reality.
Playful and unconscious conscience
Emblem of apparent clarity.
Neat the idea of adolescence =
Creation
Illusion
Affair of the heart.
Better not to say a word, I only want someone to talk to me and listen.
Why asking, if only when giving you can receive.
I search for the calm
And the soul appears
I search for the hurry
And a smile emerges
In my dream I beg
I wake up and cry
How
How is that man doesn’t know how to achieve peace if he wants it so much?
Then how can he live in war?
How could people run looking backwards if they usually stumble when
looking forwards?
How can you watch time go by without thinking, when hours are lost in
talking?
How not to cope with problems when trying to combat them with dilemmas?
How can you feel useless at dusk when there is so much to do in life?
It is difficult to turn your face round and look towards the sun which, although
it shines and dazzles, compels you to close your eyes with its glow.
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They are physicians: some of them more than others, but actually none less
than others.
Lines
I look at my hands
And I have lines
I look at my feet
Lines again.
I look at a canvas
Full of lines,
I look a paper,
Very little lines.
I look at a wood
First rate lines
I look at a guitar
Wooden lines.
We go to the beach
There are stripes or lines
We go to fish
Lines in the sea!
The Endless Whys
Why do we feel regret when we see thieves, bums, and murderers if we mark
their destiny when they suffer as children, without thinking, without
believing?
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Why do we want to fight and battle fervently if we are like children in our
naïve innocence when injustices occur?
Why do we want the things destiny made us lose if we never wanted the
things we lost?
Why do we greatly appreciate material riches if only ethical wealth is lost
when people die?
Why do we always look the past suffering, dark and distant, if we don’t dare
to see our future but in invented dreams?
Why did I live day after day fearing death without even valuing what life is,
what luck is?
When you look at people, why do we not see all their virtues, all their
richness and their alternatives?
Why do we simply see in the distance and the sadness, all the nice, sweet
and beautiful things we missed?
Why doesn’t man know how to live in the present if floating in the past and
in the future they feel they fail?
Why do lovers look at the stars watching infinity if they can find them in
their own love and they are much more beautiful?
Why do we see the eyes full of tears or the sad face of a child when we can
see many smiles generated by a little affection?
Gabriela Esperanza
October 30, 1974
My First Day Taking Polls
(Health Poll)
Thank you, people. Today I faced the street, the street I know as the image of
a picture painted in all colours but static; today, I was face to face with the
street, but the street moves, assaulted and pleased me.
I was afraid, afraid to watch every colour and afraid I didn’t like them, or
maybe afraid for I didn’t watch them; but as logical as it is, some landscapes
marred my sight and others clarified the clouds dazzling me.
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Each one, located in their place, in their environment, more or less humble,
or more or less beautiful, each one in their framework gave me a smile. I felt
multiple; I began to be what I want to be, for everyone and from everyone. I
spoke with each of them in their language and they all interpreted my
language: the children with their eyes and the elderly with their words. But
they understood me and I understood them, which it is the essence and I felt
my love towards people is actually polyglot, it’s the Esperanto we all seek
and not the language characteristic of external artifices.
Everywhere they began speaking formally to me and ended up with an
amicable good bye.
In the first house I visited, they took a long time to meet me. I felt confident
but afraid of their reaction; I believe in my people but I was afraid of getting
there at an inconvenient moment or of being ill received. It wasn’t so.
It was a simple but beautiful house, with a patio surrounded by bedrooms,
three kids, six and seven years the older ones and six months the youngest,
and the mother, a simple but very pleasant woman who needed to talk. I
played with the kids for a little while, then I spoke to the woman, and when I
was about to leave, this good woman not only didn't know how to stop me
but also wanted to entertain me, and gave me a little bottle of perfume, a
sort of sample, but with an aroma great in sincerity, appreciation and
affection that I believe it’s the richest perfume I smelled in my whole life.
Then I went to a second house. I was politely met by the kid’s grandmother
who suggested I returned later for she didn’t know how to answer my
questions.
As I had time to spare, it was working hour, and I don't like to lose even a
minute, I decided that waiting until later (from 5 p.m. to 9 p.m.) was too
much and took the opportunity to visit another house.
If you ask me how I’d describe this third place, I think I can only say it was
blurry because there were tears in my eyes. There was a barefoot boy
wearing worn out and dirty clothes, his skin almost as dark as his black
hair, red cheeks and a loaf of bread, a hard dry bun in his hand, a small
hand capturing that bread as it’s its most precious treasure, tight around it
to prevent it escaping, and the boy bites it slowly to make it last, so that it
doesn’t end.
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Yes, that third place was in a shanty neighbourhood. I had passed by and
seen it many times from afar. I’d found it negligible and continued with my
journey. But I am there now. As I was arriving, the houses in the residential
neighbourhood –as in a four block gradient- began disfiguring their facades
and turning simpler, older, more precarious, more dreadful, step by step;
they were less formed as houses, their windows turned into wooden patches
and maybe doors were windows, more and more bared, more in the open,
less guarded by roofs, maybe their only safe roof was the sky.
Everything changed tones in those four blocks: in the first one, children with
bicycles, t-shirts of their favourite teams, one of them with a number five; in
the following blocks wooden carts, worn t-shirts -if they were t-shirts-, and a
ragged ball. I tried to find the number of the house I had to visit, got into the
crowd and asked; the kids played with dogs full of fleas and so hungry that I
thought they could bite me to pieces, not because they were bad but because
they were hungry. Then I thought I’d not find the house if I asked for its
number as it wasn’t painted in the only piece of wood it might had in one
corner, but because these people didn’t know the numbers.
It’d be best to ask for Gladys and then ask her to take me to her mother
because the neighbours didn’t know the surname or the name of those who
lived next door. I entered the room this family had to live in (I say room for
although my heart might be large, I can’t call it a house). It was something I
don’t want or maybe I can’t describe, honestly. I don't want to describe it as
it wouldn’t prove anything similar to what I had seen before and trying to
explain what I felt would be really impossible. And I can’t describe it for it
hurt, as it hurt having everything I have when being with those who have
nothing. What a stupid I am! I have an immensity of things even in my closet
(mind that I have other things that are worth: my friends’ love, and their
sincerity, and my job, and the sky, and a thousand things worth all the
largest palace could never be worth) but at this moment reality is based on a
material issue and although money doesn’t interest me, I must admit it’s an
existential problem, and that it reaches a so unmistakable seriousness that
it consents no time to think about other things, maybe not even about the
most elementary ones, such as health. I stumbled around during a while
before meeting Gladys but I finally found her and she took me to her mother.
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Poor woman, she met me quite well but showing panic in each gesture, even
when she blinked. It looked more pain than shame. I don’t know what could
shame her for it was I who felt embarrassed, for I was wearing a shirt or a
watch when there are people who have no bread.
I carried a package of cookies in my hand that I left on the table in order to
write. When I left, I felt as if those cookies could feed the family and acting as
if I had forgotten the cookies, I left the package where it was. I was so naive!
As if that package might solve such a serious problem! ...
To complete the survey, I had to invent a virtually new way: without words
and much simpler; the woman said the girl was going to go to school only for
one year. I showed her a sheet informing this work was sponsored by the
Ministry of Education, and then I deduced she didn't know how to read.
I lead the conversation to ward off fear for a while, and then explained what
the poll was about as simply as possible, and I got an answer. I didn’t ask all
the questions for I didn't believe she could answer them; left with a knot in
my throat, a sour taste in my mouth and an irresistible and deep pain.
I went back to the house I’d visited before. The mother had not yet arrived
and I had more time to spare. I was already tired so, as a CEO would, I sat in
a bar, and began to work with a street plan, buses and addresses, trying to
reach some coherence in that mixed uncoordinated bunch of data.
When it was the right time, as in “High Noon”, I went to the appointment,
was greeted really well. It was 19:15. I chatted for almost forty-five minutes.
This woman was different, very capable and very skilful, the kind of
admirable woman who due to circumstances must carry the man’s trousers
and be a mother and a father at the same time; and it was that double role
she had to play that perhaps made her look as one person worth two. It was
truly remarkable to see how this woman managed her house.
And so, with my multi-coloured picture, I left with the illusion of walking the
streets once more, fearful and hopeful when ringing house bells again, facing
the expectation, the enormous expectation to meet someone when they
opened the door, identifying myself a bit with each person, and feeling more
assured every day that these were my people, that we all speak the same
language or maybe similar dialects, and that I do not only feel it but that I
can really be from everyone and for all of them.
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By awakening my illusion, for creating hope and for giving me love = thanks
people!
November 6
Perceptions
Only the breeze and the warm aroma of dawn; only the feeling that implies a
caress; only the reason that accompanies tears; only nature and love can be
perceived.
What does it mean to perceive then? Perhaps that our skin fills with goose
bumps or that a smile shoots out or that our hands tremble against the deep
unattainable sigh of those whom we love.
Sitting at a window, watching the sky… thinking about a star and about how
many people are also sitting there sharing that star with me.
To love simple things; what a pleasing phrase to say something so huge it
would suffice to say only love! Simple things are the only ones you can love.
Why fear, loneliness, silence, when trust, sincerity and sound are life?
… And it’s not just a word game, it’s incredible. Rain, sky and love are life
and are perceived. But then, why life itself is so imperceptible?
Instinct is what achieves coexistence and instinct is the main thing for man
(as intuition is for women), and instinct as well as intuition may only be
satiated like this, reaching further from our senses. That’s the way,
imagining, investigating, seeing more than what is shown, hearing more
than what we are told, understanding more than what can be explained, and
this means discovering, and there is only one way of doing this = perceiving.
November 8
Baby
Coiled, warm, tiny, with bulging eyes from fright or curiosity, skinny fingers,
its face still without the features of person, it’s just a minute indefinite
shaped baby. Without even knowing if you look like its dad or its mom, who
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can tell if you look like them, if even you don’t know who they are, you
haven’t had the pleasure of meeting them yet, who knows if you'll have it...
What a little thing! Premature, they took you from your mom’s belly before
time, and put you in a glass box that though trying to deceive you with an
absolute security, doesn’t achieve it, because you feel you don’t have it. They
take you out from there and place you in a crib that seems warm and
comfortable but it’s not, because lacks love.
You learn to hear the noise of a door, strange, annoying squeal, ugly,
because it’s what separates you from the others and keeps you alone, so
small, and nothing and no one for whom to smile, cry, eat, sleep or be
awaken.
And so, a thumbnail, a semi-abandoned one, they give you medicines, fed
you through a probe and you don’t grow. But my pumpkin, it’s
understandable, you don’t want to grow, you're not interested; perhaps we
are not confident of you, I and some others aren’t we sure that maybe the
only really effective dose would be the one consisting of caresses, lullabies,
company and all those things that do not fit in the science of medicine and
yet are the ablest to restore your health back, to heal you, make you
improve… I knew this was going to happen...
I wanted to give you something I thought I had to give, but couldn't. I wanted
to give you little moments of love but they were intermittent and few and fell
short to fill your emptiness, you wanted your mom, not me. Today I went to
offer you my humble dose of affection. I found a big, cold, silent room, with a
high ceiling and a few sunrays shining on a crib, a small crib, that was
empty despite giving the image of something beautiful and full; covers
disordered, serum vial still hanging from a high foot, and silver balusters
simulating to protect a very small source of future that no longer exists.
Why! Why! Why!
Just because...
It happened and although I would like to, these letters won’t be able to turn
back the pages of time or remedy what’s inevitable. But please, don’t let this
happen again; with so much hugeness and grandeur, with all the modern
comfort of an incubator, to see so much misery… I propose something: let’s
organize a fundraising where all will contribute together:
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duration = eternity
purpose = no more loneliness!
contribution = kisses and caresses to lonely children
requirement = no limitations, just feel and give what you feel
February 17, 1975
The Mirror of Time
I’m sitting here on my bed, in the semi-room I sleep in, a warm nook in the
middle of the dining room, listening music that gets to my soul and burns.
The romantic and weepy guitar notes combined with the whistling sound
brought by a fresh wind (which seems to placate the effect of music in my
soul), moved me and gave rise to a temporary relief.
Suddenly, I look to the opposite wall: my picture over a wallpaper flower
between two lamps; the white shoes (Wilhelmina type) with socks white as
foam; equally impeccable clothes, and my eyes lost, taciturn in the distance,
dreaming and wondering, what about tomorrow?
I look at it today: how many years passed by, how much I lost, and how
much I won in this game of following my way.
Maybe yesterday, in this photo, when it was taken, maybe that confused and
distracted girl, at a distant point, begged to grow and reach these 18 years I
am today, to reach a body of a woman able to fall in love with a man, my
intellectualizing mind savouring medicine books. Probably the image of the
distant point I was absorbed in is my current panorama. However I look at it
today and I’d like to go back and be four years old, to that body that -though
reflective in the photo- was no more than an unconscious little fuss that
could live without thinking too much and without feeling the weight of
responsibility other than taking care of her dolls as a mother.
Today, from this place, I look at the rigid figure which now seems to ask me:
what happened? And I presume it’s someone else, not me, someone from a
world other than Earth; someone I remember from one of those tales which
argument we retain with some details that hit us but we clear the rest, hide
it into oblivion.
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And ponder that its inheritance still is melancholy and uncertainty, but also
optimism, my three inseparable ones.
I look around, I see the watch I bought a few years ago, saving coin after
coin for it was a whim; and think today I wouldn’t buy a string with what I
paid for it.
Bus fares also increased, and consumerism increased with them: the use of
material things and the use of my energies torn off together with my naivety.
Every minute added something and took away something else from my
children's personality. And I grew up.
And here I am. I should, here and now, at this very moment, take a snapshot
and compare it. I believe that although many things have changed, the
furthest points remain the same, in the past at times, in the future through
this day. And if the photograph is repeated some other day, my vision of life
would still be the same, with more experience, with more scars, but with
more strength and with happiness rooted in my factions just as the roots of
a tree are rooted to the ground. I look at this picture and can define this
feeling only as the static and mobile mirror of time.
○○○
And this makes me remember something = words...
May 19, 1979
Contradictions
(Pocket Doubts)
I do not want to identify today: Monday, September 06, 1974, 20:30 h; and
that’s why I put in the heading an invented date, the first one that came to
my mind, a date from tomorrow that forces me to look forward.
And looking ahead, by contrast, leads me to look back: yesterday, not long
ago, just a few weeks, two or three, when I thought I felt they supported me,
depended on everything and everyone, on a little chain with a heart, a club
and a key, on a rainy day and on some people, then my friends.
Today, now, I’m already independent from everything and everybody, also
from myself.
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The human being begins as a cell, composed of elements from another cells
that unite; it’s said to be totipotent (it has the potential to become any
cellular species according to its predisposition and environment).
And so we are at birth, naked babies, we kick in rage asking for food or smile
peacefully while we sleep. Then they disguise us with clothing, better or
worse as money can buy. They breastfeed us or not (according to fashion),
they educate us better or worse, they tell us truths or lies as they please,
and we began to be the trace of the environment surrounding us and even
thank in joy to be one part of a society.
Until we grow up. Some are not aware and others unhappy ones fall for
science, or art, or the contemplation of nature, and begin to understand who
we were, who we could have been, and who we are.
Here anguish begins, the disagreement and the desire to start again, to
change, and here the generational conflicts starts: the misunderstanding, the
obsolete experience of the elderly against the immature idealism of the
young. And we face one another and spend hours arguing without even
listening.
And then the choice of our own way: many are led to a crash as they are
little prepared for they are hasty, and thus they decant divided into halves,
one is, one is not, one is, one is not... It’s a matter of chance or luck;
perhaps of smartness. Not falling into a well lies in knowing the ground
where you walk, first you have to explore and then you walk in.
And there is everything: safe roads, stone roads, swamps, you recognize
them, you don’t, we walk, we run, we fly, we float. They are possibilities. It's
like a supermarket where you find everything: some people buy a lot, some
people buy the basics and some people look but do not buy because they
don't want to or cannot.
Some cells (once the first is multiplied) have inducing substances that
stimulate (instead of induce, as it’d be iterative) them to transform into one
or other species to be grouped with their similar ones, the tissues.
That’s how at the end we find a nervous system, a circulatory one, a
respiratory one, the digestive, the reproductive, the defence system and
thousands of functions, without getting into details. Now… what, how, when
and why is the fate of each cell established? In other words, who is
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responsible? Let’s say that many factors contribute by chance so, can we
attribute such a task to a single one?
That is my question: a life full of possibilities, everything is possible and it’s
like this, full of impossibilities and uncertainties equating the possibilities.
And that’s how we men are: we build by destroying, we love by hating, we
learn by losing wisdom. Progress necessarily and unintentionally leads to
kickbacks.
For example, while science is wise, it drives against instincts and many
natural principles and perhaps, isn’t going against nature going backwards?
Who are the most intelligent but the less sensitive and the least
spontaneous, for example, in the field of study or work?
Contradictions, questions, doubts; invented and indecipherable external
networks… Self-torture, adaptation, resignation?
first and foremost, exist
how, when and why?
laughing or crying, always or never; just because
September 30, 13:35 pm
Fear to grow
Here at a bar, in a corner, testing, I’m learning to support the absolute
solitude trapping me, the one I cannot get rid of and that I’ll have to get
accustomed to, little by little, and that someday I’ll come to enjoy.
I tried with my best will to open myself up to the world and share, but the
world is not honest, it grabbed all my tenderness embittering me, fooling me
with the belief that I was wanted as much as I wanted, that I was worth or
meant as much for other as the others meant for my. But it was a lie, a
tremendous and unbearable lie that shows itself today as if mocking me,
laughing, as if saying: “you silly, we subdued you to life and now you have to
manage on your own. No one is responsible for Gabriela the woman, no,
everybody wants the Gabriela baby who passed away, the one years killed,
and now you, tottering, smiling or crying, whatever, will you manage? Even if
you creep, even if you want to give up, you must go on and go on alone,
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completely and utterly by yourself, until you somehow you find again the
force that drives you to go on”.
They lie to us! Until the force that drives me to go on runs down… Why? Who
or what I am going to believe in? Where will I regain the will to dream or to
laugh? ...
It’s like a campfire surrounded by friends: everybody lights up the fire and
tends it and every dry twig represents a little bit of the love each one hands
in to liven the flame up. Then they must put it off, or then it dies by itself,
but anyway ashes always remain and from the outside, only few branches
were burnt, a piece of nature. And so I am, so I am, burning, becoming
nothing, wearing out the brightness and the light of my spirit in return for
nothing (I need the dry twigs).
I cried a lot, a lot, until I fell asleep out of energy. Today, as usual, I woke up
again. Peace does not come soon even if you long for it.
Today I look like a monster, swollen eyes, deformed face, a symbol of what
was lost. Thus the traits of ingenuity and freshness, the little left from my
childhood, disappeared. I aged, sad, inconsolable, trying to pull smiling
grimaces to persuade myself I still have something of beauty, but they are
only grimaces, forced, rigid, lacking spontaneity and joy. Nothing’s left from
my usual smile now.
I needed to converse with myself as I choked, luckily, I'm used to these
conversations where it’s only I who... so, I will learn to find the answers
inside of me, just as I found them many times when I sank on the island of
oblivion, on my island of peace.
Goodbye. And I don’t say this to myself but to the world. Sorry for not having
the keenness to discover things without being told, but there are certain
things that do not fit in my head.
Maybe now, I would learn to see things by myself, without help, without love,
without the need of nothing or anyone.
Dedicated =
To “My Carlos” moving further away
(my paediatricians).
To my parents moving further away
And in memory of that Gabriela girl who doesn’t exist today.
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October 12
To Come Back, I Have to Go
Misunderstanding made me believe I had to get away from the place I love
most, my work. I took a 7 day license to make a test. This was what
happened:
I turn my head back on the bus, and look that way, see my old hospital
going away: it shrinks with the distance that we, people, shrink with time.
I continue my trip, the hospital stays. Something binds us, a wealth of love,
of images, of people, of facts. But I go on and the building goes away.
Just as so many losses I faced in my life, one more today.
This is life, just as parents you love a lot, a lot, and when we feel we’re
completely clinging from them for they can protect us from everything -they
give us life- is when we’ve grown enough to manage by ourselves but not
enough as to face the reality that we must be independent.
That’s the time when everybody suffers: grownups because their children are
no longer kids and children because they’ve become grownups. And then the
fatal test comes: each one must comfort their bitterness and hide it to avoid
the others’ suffering, and each one must get convinced by their own, even
though they don’t stand it, that they do what is best.
I think everything I can do to satisfy them maybe now, and it’s no good;
maybe tomorrow, if I get somewhere, if I'm someone, if I am as they expect
me to be, I may tell them thanks in the language of intuition and facts (in
the true language).
And I don’t want to say goodbye, no; it sounds very sharp, very cold, as a
farewell, as a nevermore, and I don’t want that; a see-you-soon would be
better, maybe only it’s necessary to draw away a little, to watch from the
distance, as a spectator, so as to watch better.
It’s true, I could not say I worked at the hospital, no; I lived in the hospital,
and now I must appreciate this bouquet of experiences, enjoy it but
understanding that if I go back it must be to work at the hospital. That
place’s not my home or its inhabitants my family. Although I always denied
it, I carry inside me what is known in childhood and grows at the same time
we grow, and it comes a time when we feel and make ourselves owners of
everything, of everything that should belong to us by logic but doesn’t
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belongs to us, simply because it’s Destiny who decides and it doesn’t take
into account what we deserve and want, but that it wants or can give us.
At a certain time, I’d have preferred to remain a girl, to keep on feeling
intensely that incomprehensible passion for corners or desolate hallways I
used to spy with pleasure from my attic, that small and huge window of the
number 8 little room. But no, stages follow and we must respect their
course, we cannot make the first one everlasting neither avoid the last one;
they are temporary phases which mark the hours, the feelings, our bodies
and our minds as they grow and we cannot go in against them.
If I’d like to thank or explain to each and every one of the persons there, who
were there with me, helped me and shared the task, I think it would be
impossible, there would be no means to denote or illustrate, so that they
could come to understand how, how much, infinitely much they gave me,
how much they taught me, how much I love them.
That’s why I think that wherever you are, the living image of the little
hospital will endure like this, with you all moving around, and I won’t forget
a thing. For the first time, I think that being a grownup has given me
something nice: this feeling that it’s not the end of the world because a stage
closes up; it’s not losing what I've won but protecting it so that it’s not
destroyed, and that I have to keep on searching something else.
I take you all with me, if I stay is because I miss you a lot, and if I go on it’s
because we go together. When I achieve my goal, it’ll be because we have
achieved it together.
GABY
Sorry, Gabriela.
P.S.: It’s true, no more Gaby, Gaby and the childish and affectionate
diminutives are over, and everything starts again. I find myself more or less
as when I was born, helpless and alone; but so it must be, we all were born
some time and we all have had this feeling several times and have also
learned to overcome it.
Don’t be afraid, I'm scared but I’d been given enough spark to my spirit to
keep the light of life on in the future; I'm alone but don’t feel alone.
The following day: (dedicated to the people in Nephro)
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I'm in class, it’s almost 19 h, I promised to take them with me and so it is,
not only in my heart but in everything. I’d been lent a booklet on dialysis and
who are their authors?, who else than you, my little giants, my beloved
fighters from the Nephrology room at the hospital, and I’d like to see them
now, I miss them, I need them, and that’s why I always carry them with me
everywhere.
I felt a little weak because of the loneliness I submitted myself to, and when I
opened this book, when I read their names, two things opposed: a coldness
running down my spine when thinking of not seeing them never again and
the warmth of their proximity at the same time.
I transported myself to the guard, the operating room, the laboratory, to
places as dirty and old as dear. I cannot follow the class, it would be absurd
to oblige myself to delete the images that catch me and help me stay sitting
where I am and not burst into tears and shout that I love my hospital and
that I love my fighters, hardened by life. How do I get rid of this dream and
this nightmare that constantly illuminate me, or fill me with darkness, or
take me to suffering or enjoyment?
With due respect, and the passionate world of admiration for you all, I'll go
through each of the pages you wrote, savouring them tastily, trustfully,
securely, pages which although precise and accurate, I guess will never
teach everything we can learn listening to you, watching you work, sharing
the more pleasant and more difficult moments I have spent in my life.
From this classroom everything looks different, with a tint of nostalgia or
melancholy, with the desire to run to read this booklet and be able to convey
the sense those elusive minutes working with you had. It’s not that I see
them more helpful now; I’ll always value them as such. It’s only now that
when I re-live them, I enjoy them with a little more sadness and they look
more grandiose because I miss them. Everything is relative, distance doesn’t
always shrink or fade images; by the way, I’d define them and enlarge better.
I'm down and need not to return, and although I wouldn’t like that, it would
be easier if I didn’t love you so much.
I now recall the passing anger, the eager and clumsy runs through the
hallways, their exact and precise hands in gloves, their smiles hidden behind
the chinstrap, their consoling words when I felt beaten and the encouraging
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caress closing around death or impotence that shocked me and tried to bring
me down. I must follow the class out of respect, and I’ll try to because I am
strong, and even if I think that I'm not well, I am, you are here, your names
and your faces boom and reflect in my mind, and that’s why I don't need to
transcribe or ask for your photos. You are here, I'll never be alone, and I love
you all.
GABY
Saturday at the hospital
Once again in the fresco and the shining sun, the yesterday perturbing
mechanical sound rooted today in me become indifferent, imperceptible, but
if they stopped, I would miss them, feel bad, wanting them.
However, I hear the words of affection that reassure and shield me from
badness and sadness.
I repeatedly walk the visions I like and the places, transformed or completely
empty of those who at some point were there. I find them nice, they are there
though people are ethereal in my body and the dear spaces are like palatial
relics.
I isolate myself not by avoiding, on the contrary, I want to face reality and
that’s why I undergo my inner sight: knowing me I will know, understanding
myself I will understand.
I take full advantage of reflection. The unique and authentic function or
purpose of this life is to live it, the rest are sacrifices.
I want to live, but I don’t know how, by immaturity or maybe by cowardice,
but the survival instinct connects me with the world and suddenly I'm
crashing, and is logical, you cannot jump into the water if you can't swim, you
just learn how to swim while in the water.
I dive and manage to stay afloat until distraught I wave my hand asking for
help and want to get out. It usually takes a time until someone sees me in
trouble (they don’t hear me screaming for I don’t scream) and offers me their
hand, I go out and when I think I’m strong enough once more, confident that
I’ll manage, I try again and the same story occurs once again. I do not learn,
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I cannot learn. Although trying not to live life is to vegetate, to die little by
little, because a plant that flowers and gives fruit lives a thousand times more
than a person that vegetates.
Well, certain perfectionism becomes an unreachable fact: to be perfect for
each one I must be what they want me to be or what I should be. I can only
show myself as I am.
It’s my principles that I can see as perfect or with the desire to be perfect
and they are not, because I'm changing at all moments and my concerns are
renewed and yesterday ones soon become outdated.
I will only follow the guidelines I chose as essential, I don't know where I'm
going to arrive, I have a goal, although not so distant and beautiful as those
dreamt for me by those who love me. It’s the best known, and you only step
firm in your own ground with that right of possession which is no more than
a device to support the spirit and follow without hesitation. I want to learn to
swim, no matter how hard it might be but, please, if you fail to see me when
I sink and cannot come to help me, don’t abandon me in a pool without
water, don’t contaminate the river, don’t throw stones at the bottom of the
stream. If I only must counterweight my body against the water, I’ll learn to
float and although I might believe I’m drowning (often) I’ll always find
friendship as an element of rescue to hold with my arms to and find an exit.
To the friendly hands that are offered when I need them and have no
strength to search for them.
Reborn, A Lab Returns! So Many Turns…!
Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, and this time we cannot say it has more turns
than a merry-go-round.
What a thing! Meetings, discussions, suggestions about a supposed solution,
all for nothing... There is no dough. No. No more purchases of antisera, no
more material or vaccines. And the sick? What do we do with them? Do we
tell them to go away?
It’s the usual problem, a lot of love, a lot of goodwill, but no one is equipped
with means enough to maintain the laboratory, a world-renowned Centre,
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and only those who work there know how hard is to meet its maintenance
costs. But that’s why! What is worth has a cost!!!
And so we must settle, there’s no money. But it doesn’t matter, there are
prodigious minds that think and know, and inventiveness appears hidden
behind opportunities, and reproduces everywhere, and goes hand in hand
with astonishment when it glitters showing that in some people implicit
creativity coupled with imagination can achieve what economic possibilities
and material comfort denies. It’s unusual to enter unexpectedly and see a
technician that pierces agar plates with a tank pen or a doctor who replaces
a serum that can't be bought with a blend of cow milk and I-don’t-know-
what, or one of the girls using toilet paper because there’re no gauzes.
And let me tell you what the capacity to adapt yourself is: if a stool breaks
down everybody is a carpenter, if a device breaks down the genius of
medicine is an electrician, and if the babies with diarrhoea may not take
certain milk there’s a magic formula for expert doctors prepare dietary milk.
It is admirable to understand how the human being, when they want to, can
do everything. And it is so when you go in for a specific task and when you
leave, you’re qualified to do anything. At least you’ve the peace of mind that
somehow you’ll be able to make a living when you work in a place like this.
And the most beautiful thing is that those who leave this, miss it, but what
they miss the most apart from the fellowship, is sharing distress for what is
lacking, making something up to replace it. That’s why the hospital is
operational and goes ahead: it’s because it’s driven by love.
And by the way, look how far endeavour can go. I left this for the last part
because it must be unique in history.
I named this A lot of turns, and not inadvertently, for when a genius,
precisely one of the greatest in the universe, the chief of the sector, found
the spirit and the desire to help was the only element this Centre had, he
thought that was enough, that he could not miss the opportunity and had
an idea! What a magnificent idea! He installed a merry-go-round in a park;
yes, why not? Let the smile of children serve for the children's health; let the
ones who can play enjoy, and unknowingly contribute to the improvement of
patients.
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Thus, everything revolves around the merry-go-round and begins to take a
shape: first test tubes, centrifugal bombs and basic elements, then
something else and then something more, and now that it’s a laboratory by
its own right, well known, everyone wants to make a contribution. And so
with everyone’s collaboration, it performs better every time, every day larger
and more incredible. Samples arrive from all points of the country, and
there’s room for each of them. All the kids can be diagnosed, and then if
they require, there are open door rooms to give them treatment.
The House is small but the heart is huge, and the heart beats with such an
enthusiasm that it’s able to achieve what’s impossible. And that’s why
sometimes we believe in miracles as if we had a guardian angel watching
over everything and taking care of every detail so we can be fair and our
chances and our medicine reach anyone in need.
I wish, and mind what I say, I wish that lacking what might lack, the love of
people for other people never ever might lack, the love that leads them to do
so many beautiful things and which in this case led to the creation of this
research centre. I think that whoever visits the centre would never believe it
was created by the will of the people integrating it, by the capacity of its
boss, and that today it is supported by a merry-go-round.
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Chapter 13 – In a Short While
What can I say, I think Graci had come to say most of what can be said, and
I’m frankly stunned.
Today is Thursday. Do you remember? Thursdays are my favourite days. Or
they were.
It’s half past six. Yesterday I spent my day studying and at night stayed up
late with the papers Graci brought. Today I could sleep on my feet. Calm is
back, a little. You get used almost to everything, the factory, the hospital, the
nursery, everything is blacked out, all are excuses that most of the time
prevents us from protest or subdue us to a useless search; everything is
settled mostly by a constant assumption.
I think the routine appeal has already vanished; now routine is well defined,
with all its letters and it’s qualified as overwhelming, monotonous and so on.
It doesn’t feel as a Thursday. Today nothing shapes it as my favourite day or
as a special day. It cannot even be differentiated from a Tuesday or a
Wednesday, it’s the same.
Thus came the hours, one after the other, without many more events than
an isolated chat from time to time. Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday,
Tuesday, Wednesday, populated only by obligations and nothing else, and
Thursday again.
I don’t know, but it seems things happen in a particular way due to
something. I read the billboard at the entrance. I bet you don’t imagine what
it said:
Next Monday: Internal Conference. Informative staff integrated
by the personnel transferred to other branches.
Do you realize? Do you understand what this meant? I knew it had to
happen. I would have gone mad otherwise.
I ran to my desk. I was sweating, shaken, my heart seemed about to burst in
my chest as it was beating strongly, my face was wet. My mind was so
confused, suppressing my tears for so long and pretending a non-existent
serenity. Imbalance won me over and did what it wanted with me.
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I collapsed in my desk chair, hid my face among the papers and closed my
eyes. I might define this moment as fullness, as a long hoped for one, I’d
waited for so long, dreamt it so much that it felt incredible it could be real.
I never take days of leave, but today I had reasons to celebrate, and I wanted
to. I put everything in order, went to Personnel for the authorization and fled
soon to the street. It was one of those times when I like to do what I want to
do and comply with any occurrence as unusual as it might be.
First I walked, singing while walking, I repeated a verse (the only one I knew)
from a fashionable song that fit the occasion very well:
In a short while
The day will come and
Will get us together again
I went back home. Mom was surprised to see me at that time of the day. I
hugged her and kissed her, fluttering. She looked at me, amazed but so
happy that we shared the joy I hadn’t had for so long. I greeted Dad, he was
also somewhat surprised but happy to see me like this.
I changed my clothes, made me up, I had to look pretty now that I was going
to have someone who would look at me, someone who gave me the desire to
take care of myself and flirt.
I sat on the bed and when I looked the folder with Graci’s writings I felt the
desire to reread the letters I’d once written. I couldn’t say but from that
infernal moment when I knew he was no longer there, 24 h didn’t go by
without speaking with Tomás and I kept the letters I couldn’t mail or stop
writing, one after the other. They were beautiful, they had so much of me
trapped in their words that were almost a sort of diary or something intimate
in the shape of a secret, and reading them I felt a certain embarrassment. It
was the first time I used the word love to define a feeling on paper, and that
implied a great burden.
I took a pen with the intention of starting the list for tomorrow’s activities
and opening the agenda I read:
Friday, tests results. Do you know what does the world goes down mean? I
don’t know if I’d really forgotten, or I’d forgotten it at a conscious level. I
gathered up courage and as there was no other choice but to wait, I quickly
tried to find the best way to populate the time. I didn’t need much effort, for
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I fell asleep soon, slept many hours and when I awoke, it was already
getting dark. I had dinner, watched a film on television, read an entertaining
novel for a while and at 1 a.m. I was already snoring.
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Chapter 14 - Anxiety
I woke up at 4 a.m., went back to sleep and at 6 I couldn’t sleep any longer.
I got up and the hours disappeared, flew in preparations.
Friday at last, right or wrong my doubts will disappear, the test would be
positive and I would find peace once more.
I had my insulin shot, had breakfast, prepared my folders and stuff and left.
I got to the hospital, punched my card, spent a minute at the Archives (I had
to return soon at 10 o'clock) and went to my office.
I had to pick up my test results at 11 but at 10 I couldn’t wait any longer. I
took Graci’s writings folder and went there. She knew nothing of what I was
going through (she knew I had a problem but no more than that).
She was happy to see me and we talked a lot. We’re already a little calmer for
we’re constantly doing something which plays a good part in these cases.
I put on my armour al 10:55 and went to the lab. So much nerves for
nothing, what was I thinking? It’s absurd to doubt now! It’s impossible! I
arrived. The technician knows me and went directly to look for my results.
“Don’t worry, luckily everything’s fine, all of them are negative, they’re OK.”
(A routine phrase.)
“What? How? How can they all be negative? No, it can’t be!!
“Yes, we did the test twice. But, aren’t you happy? Do you know you’ve
escaped from a good one?”
I started to laugh; the poor girl didn't understand a hoot (as if she knew
where she was getting into...). I grabbed the papers and I ran to find the
doctors. I stopped at a toilette and cried for a while. I was terribly frightened.
I arrived, looked for them, gave them the papers and sat on a chair as I saw
their astonished faces. I was trembling. All my life structure was crumbling
down: all already tinted as chronic remained, only the disease disappeared…
then a new search. Would this require a different treatment? A new one? No
more kinesiology, no more digestive pills? And the insulin? Oh no God, this
was terrible, dreadful.
Perhaps would I also stop being who I am now? I was really desperate.
Doctors soon came to my side, also confused, one of them slightly
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stammering to say something but I begged him not to do so (it was too much
sacrifice and wouldn’t solve a thing).
It was a tragedy but there’s no other choice than to accept it. I looked at
them, smiled and said “what a luck!” They tried to pat my back but I reached
their hands in the air, locked them between mine, turned around and left.
My legs walked quickly enough and in thousandths of fractions of a second I
was at my desk crying in dismay. I stayed there for long time, and then
decided to work fervently. I was quite concerned about how they would take
this at home. Well, something positive would come out of this problem.
Tomás could now find out and would talk to me as it didn’t exist.
I loosened my tension a bit, I was feeling something was lacking. I could
exemplify this as when a shoe is too tight and bothers a lot and I take it off,
then rather than relief I begin to feel I’m missing the shoe for it was already
becoming one more part of my foot.
From now on, a new life, better or worse, I don’t know, a new beginning,
once again the unknown. Oh, being sick had some positive things, now I’d
need new compensation mechanisms! What would I be in the near future?
Who knows...?
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Chapter XV- Naked
It was a long, boring weekend, without desires to do anything but wait,
though too messed up to fancy something or realizing everything. It was like
a dream or a nightmare.
I thought I’d repeat the tests, in another laboratory, on my own. This
couldn’t be true. And I did it.
I felt like an athlete who trains for the greatest part of the day but doesn’t
run. It’s too much energy unnecessarily spent, too much effort. I’d not be
able to express solidarity with problem kids because I’d soon forget what I
needed to hear. I already saw myself standing next to a patient’s bed without
knowing what to say.
But something was sure: diabetes was still there. It should have a source.
Having to look for it worried me.
Monday at last. And with Monday, Tomás, my beloved Tomás, I was
ashamed just by the thought of seeing it. It seemed I was not worth a thing, I
felt my mind naked from my unusual arguments.
I knew that being together we could plan to not see each other but that we
would not tolerate a real distance, and I confirmed it when Tomás hurried in
at eight o'clock and, as if authorized by circumstances, hugged me and
populated my cheeks with kisses. I was also ecstatic. It was something
divine. I had never felt so much tenderness. But it could not fail: I reacted
when I became aware that maybe he’d learned of the results and that was
the cause of the attack.
“What? What happens? You turned serious all the sudden. Are you angry?
Please no, it wasn’t my fault. I was transferred. I had no time to tell you… I
could have told you but I was a coward, I couldn’t stand us having to say
goodbye, I couldn’t, I didn’t want to…”
I smiled and we hugged again.
“And then, for you to know, I didn’t see my boss yet. All I did was enter and
look for you, and here I am. You're the first person I greet.”
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I sighed. I was very happy and in that moment I forgot everything and
hugged him with all the strength of my soul, pushed myself against his chest
and told him that I loved him.
It seems he noticed something in me for he insisted I was not myself.
It’s possible, I wasn’t, I’s beginning to, and that pushed me down again.
“Don't get like that, so serious, what happens to you? I see you’re down.”
I leaned on the desk, considering it was better for me to tell him and as soon
as possible, before someone else told him.
“Yes, Tomás, something happens. They have doubts about my diagnosis.”
“What were the results?”
As if he didn't know! I smiled.
“Negative. I don’t know what I might have. Doctors say I’m OK, but I’m sure
it’s not so.”
“OK, don’t you worry, don’t do a thing.”
My shoulder felt once more caressed and I felt happy.
“You see? I noticed at once, you were hiding something, I know you, masked
lady, and you’re different.”
“Better or worse?”, I asked fearfully, “I would like to know”.
“Shall we have a coffee?”
It was the first time the two of us would go to have a coffee. Until then all
encounters were planned or by chance, not agreed.
“With pleasure. And you, how did it go?”
“Do you know how to keep a secret?”
I nodded.
“Like shit, I want to resign, the construction doesn’t begin, what would have
happened if I’d an engagement here? If we’d planned to go to the movies…”
We burst into laughter and went to the bar.
I felt happy, but much afraid, maybe for that Better or worse.
I don't know, but Tomás’s nearness was enough to erase any discomfort.
“You know?”
“What, Tomás?”
He thought I had a complex due to my illness and to make me feel fine, he
said:
“I liked you before!”
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I felt so shocked that the spoon dropped from my hand and spilled a little
coffee. People in other tables looked at me. I stood up with the excuse of
cleaning my shirt now adorned with coffee and went to the toilette.
Tomás is no fool and immediately realized I acted this way not because of the
coffee but because of my reaction.
I tried to hurry for I didn’t want to worry him. I came back to the table with a
smile, forced but very warm.
“You’re better, aren’t you?”
“Yes, it’s OK”, I wanted to fool him but I couldn't.
“It’s not true; I only thought it could help you to feel better.”
“No Sir, that happens when you lie, lies are no good.”
“The truth.”
“Don’t, do not go on, what truth?”, I interrupted him.
“The truth is that with or without, I love you a lot.”
I was confused but tried to pretend I was happy.
We were there for a long time. I kept the sugar (I do not consume it) as a
souvenir and went back to work accompanied by my knight.
It felt really weird, somewhat different. I had to wait: I would have the results
in fifteen days, more uncertainty, but everything would be easier, more fun
with Tomás by my side.
What I’m going to say may sound incredible, but it’s true: I was hoping it’d
be positive, I’d have given everything not to start over with another different
problem, or without it.
All morning seemed to flow as in paradise. He came in every ten minutes,
bringing a paper flower with each budget, clashing against other people to
see me. At 10 he set me up at the Archives, a trap, an ambush. I panicked to
see he was not there. He had hidden behind a filing cabinet to watch my
bewildered face. Everything seemed a kids’ game. Perceiving he’d missed me
as much as I’d missed him seemed a dream and then suddenly I had to leave
for college.
“See you tomorrow, my supervisor”, I pleased myself at telling him without
feeling ridiculous and without feeling ashamed.
“See you tomorrow, my girlie.”
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That kiss was so unrestrained that left a red mark on my cheek, for he
hadn’t shaved. I wore that mark all day long with the greatest pride, as if it
were an emblem. I think it was the happiest moment I can remember.
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Chapter 16 – Conjectures (Home)
Though everything was forming a shape, I’s sure he’d never make a decision
in times like this, even if I’d think he hadn’t done it before due to my illness
(I was already convinced it wasn’t the reason). We were not ready. Maybe a
departure was needed to recognize how much we needed each other and how
much love we could give each other.
I couldn’t guess what was going to happen but searching a little in myself
wouldn’t be bad, on the contrary, I’d shed the clarity I urgently needed.
I was tired, went to my room, put on my nightgown and went to bed early.
This week had a Thursday, as all weeks, and I had to receive it as it should. I
had to recover my dream from this moment on for I’ve spent many nights
without sleep and the dark circles below my eyes made my face ugly,
stressing that concern I didn’t want to transmit to Tomás.
○○○
The next day I was another person, luminous, smiling, moving fast and
wanting to do things, to come and go, full of expectations, knowing that
routine could even be attractive.
I arrived to the factory and found a small card on the desk.
If you like to spill another cup of coffee,
I’ll be at the bar at 8:30, waiting.
-I still don’t know-
Tomás
Dawn was already worth. Such a reception made the 24hs of that day worth.
I dropped my portfolio and my handbag, arranged a few documents and went
to the bar.
Our behaviour was more normal, warm but not so overtly euphoric.
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I sat down and he switched chairs to be closer. But as usual, it seemed the
whole world envied us and had to be in the way. Even the very machines
denied our right to meet.
The alarm began to ring and we jumped off the chair at the same time to run
towards the central sector.
It was in the other entrance. I heard someone had fallen down from I-don’t-
know-where. We run through the garden. I was short of breath and couldn’t
go on. Tomás took my hand, waited for a while until I regained my breath
and we continued the marathon.
We arrived late. The ambulance was there and the Pathological Anatomy
nurse was already inside it with the stretcher.
The body was covered by a sheet. By its size, I presumed it could be a kid.
Unfortunately, it was a small five years old girl. I felt shocked and little by
little began to lose my sight. I felt wobbly and stumbled. Tomás came beside
me and hid me in his chest. I started to cry. He stroked my head and in a
sweet but powerful voice said:
“Come on, come on, not like this, what is that? You never went down in a
hard situation, you can’t start now, come on, a little bit more, then I promise
another cup of coffee.”
I tried to regain control and stared at him. He seemed to transmit a special
strength and I started the paperwork, as if hypnotized or under remote
control. I recognized who she was. As I didn’t want to enter the ambulance, I
walked up to Pathology. Fortunately I was no longer alone.
Then, the most unbearable: I had to talk with her mother.
I couldn’t do it, I didn’t know how to, and it was frightening.
I went back to my Office. My boss was waiting for me.
“Are you okay?" What’s happened to you? I never saw you crying in a
situation like this. Something is happening to you, isn't it?”
“Yes, no... I mean, yes Sir. Nothing is happening to me, nothing in
particular, but many things happened at the same time and my nerves, you
know, they are not wires and they weaken, and then this happens, but it
won’t happen again, I don´t know how but I’ll solve it.”
“Don't worry, now go and take a rest, someone else will replace you and if
you wish, you can take the week off to do what you want.”
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“I appreciate it. I don't want to abuse but I think I need a rest. I don’t know
what to say. Who will tell the little girl’s mother?”
“That’s no longer your problem. Calm down and go enjoy your free time.”
Resting fitted me although I didn't like it, I’s falling down and I was worried.
Tomás dropped in when the boss was leaving. He looked at him askance.
“And what was he doing here?”
“He gave me a week off, says I need to have fun.”
“OK, I agree, and as I am also on holidays, what does Lady Supervisor think
if we go for a walk, to the movies, or somewhere?”
“And what about your work?”
"No, I came to the meeting. At this moment I’ve no specific task, unless they
send me to Security again and there I’ll soon find an occupation: I resign and
then I’ll work as a resignator.
We laughed once more, us. I took my handbag and we left.
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Chapter 17 – Though I Couldn’t… I Could
These bonus holidays were unforgettable. I put my library in order, my
bedroom closet and a lot of things. I went out much and met Tomás several
times. Our world widened.
Hours went by. Thursday remained my favourite day for something always
happened on Thursdays. The date for my new results was nearer. That was a
secret nobody knew. When they saw me worrying, I invented some nonsense
fit for the case and investigations simply ended.
On Tuesday I was exhausted. It couldn’t be, for I’d never had so much time
to sleep and be quiet.
But uneasiness grew. I was feverish, the doctor came, a bad cold gain,
maybe bronchial or pulmonary or whatever-it-may-be. I wasn’t interested in
the name of the illness. I only wanted to get better.
This put my mind at rest because it refuted the test results and indicated we
were on the right track. Treatment was right and we could all be calm.
I told my parents I had had my tests retaken and that results would be ready
on Friday.
With all the rage I feel, I managed to stay in bed. I felt a little weak and not
at all enthusiastic to get up.
On Wednesday, I was crushed down, nothing to set off. Then Thursday
began. I got up in the morning but went to lie down again at 14:30 (“you
should not exceed yourself on the first day”).
The phone rang, my mother answered. Who would phone but Tomás! I felt
really excited. It was his first call and this verified that friendship was
genuine and that the tug of war obstacles or the desire not to get burnt were
somewhat overcame.
We chatted about some nonsense and then, the opposite, we had a deep
conversation.
We arranged to talk again to set a date to go out once more (on Friday night).
He didn’t know I wasn’t feeling well and I didn’t tell him for I didn’t want him
to worry. And then, I was thrilled we were going to meet to go out and if he
knew about my fever, he’d postpone the invitation. I didn’t stand not seeing
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him. Better not to wait. Many kisses came and went by the phone wires and
a click cut off our conversation.
I’d already had my Thursday event and with a possible extension to Friday. I
woke up anxious, this time with the shrill alarm clock at 7. Dad would go to
pick up the test results but with my relapse, there was no doubt I suffered
this or that or any other bloody nuisance.
I listened to a piano concerto on the radio and then some rhythmic modern
music. I was up and in a good mood. I also read a novel for a while and
wrote some letters I had to send to some friends.
Lunch had already begun when Dad arrived.
As he still didn’t know (neither did I, I believe) what he hoped to find in that
result, he began beating around the bush until I got tired:
“It’s enough! What are the results? Positive or negative?”
“You have to take it as it comes. Life is like this, you have to think it’s better
what you already know than...”
And I felt I’d been given back something someone had taken away from me.
I smiled, apparently.
“Is it positive?”
“Yes!”
I think I gave the noisiest and deepest sigh I can remember.
Maybe my reaction startled their attention, but it’s somehow logical:
I told them everything had a positive side: that without the disease I
wouldn’t be worth a thing and I couldn’t live, that I always felt motivated and
concerned thanks to this disease, that all I was denied by health was
granted in other things, and that I wouldn’t have been able to keep all this
disease-compensation if I hadn’t had something to compensate.
I guess those who don’t feel it in their flesh must find it difficult or
impossible to place themselves in my shoes, but just to make you feel the
idea: think a little about all that led to my problem, think about the phrase “I
know what you want to hear because I want the same thing you want”, and
it’s valid, and also measure my disabilities and respect them. How many
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healthy persons fail because they don’t learn this and feel useless forever
because they didn’t discover they have to find a correct spot to act
comfortably and overcome more.
Though I couldn’t be a dancer, I could become a teacher. Due to my diabetes
I invented a system to teach how to take care of diabetic kids and put it into
practice.
Though I couldn’t fall in love, I could meet Tomás, and I could go on listing
lots of though I couldn’t, I could…
As I had many reasons to be sad, I learned to enjoy the happy moments and
I’m happy. Yes, I’m happy for everything, happy for nothing, for anything.
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Chapter 18 – I Met You as You Are and I Love You as You Are
The phone rang, it’s 3 p.m. It’s Tomás. I knew he you wouldn’t fail.
“Listen, do we meet, Princess?”
“Do you mind if instead of going out I ask you to come? I had a fever, it’s
over now but I must take care of myself.”
“Of course not, by the way, did you see it was positive? Fear is over?
“Yes, but how do you know? How did you find out? Really...”
“The day of the accident at the factory, I saw the card when I was with you.
You’re not very clever; you wouldn’t be good as a detective. It doesn’t make
you angry, does it? I couldn’t bear it and went to clear up my doubts.
Do you remember your better or worse? You can be reassured I’d say worse.
You wouldn’t be the same person without that fighting spirit, and you can
only have it if you have something to fight for. I prefer you like this. I met
you as you are and I love you as you are!”
Tears of joy jumped to my eyes. Do you realize what I explained before? I’d
have ceased being myself. It’s a part of me, like a hand. Maybe it isn’t a
burden for it’s chronic, not a broad term meaning plenty of peculiarities in
my personality.
“Will you come, Tomás? Are you sure? Or are you lying godly to make me
happy?”
It was a risky question but I had to ask it.
“Do you believe I’m capable of such a thing?”
“Yes, I think you’d do anything to see me smile. Do I lie?”
“No, you don’t, but I’m quite certain of what I say, I love you as I always
loved you, with or without the disease. With the disease you are more
complete, it’s as sort of ornament that makes you, it’s the touch that makes
you not only a pretty woman but an ambitious one, with many ideals and a
great problem-solving training.”
“When will you come?”, I answered.
“Just as I think to come from this moment on: as usual, at dinner time.”
"What? How can you say such a thing all of a sudden?”
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“Do you want to or don't you want to? Why do you get angry?”
“Tomás, dear Tomás, do you ask me? How can I know? I’m so confused,
every five minutes I am and then I am not, I know myself and I don’t know
myself.”
“How do you answer to my question? Do you understand what I ask?”
“I mean… yes of course I understood, but I don’t understand, I thought you
started by being boyfriends… You caught me sort of unprepared.”
“Okay, get ready to not be so unprepared because I’m going there and I want
an answer. If you prefer, we can be boyfriends for some time, ten or fifteen
minutes, and then I’ll ask you again. Would you like to?”
“You're unbelievable, Tomás. I’ve to think, we’ve to get to know each other
slowly, really, not to feel disappointments or regrets afterwards, don't you
think so?”
“No!”
“Then I don’t think so either. I’m waiting for you!”
“Well said my girlie!”
“If you say so my supervisor... You know, Tomás, you made me learn many
things, you helped me discover that I’ve the ability to love and that I
shouldn’t reject the world because I want to share, I think that falling in love
was a coincidence, I never ever thought that… Are you there? Hello... Hello.”
And so I realized I shouldn’t really reject life.
My dream of being a wife, being a mother, becoming a doctor and sharing
could come true. Then I realised that fearing that my partner wouldn’t feel
able to accept my limitations was my own negative fantasy, and that my
chances were many, and very promising ones. The most important fact was
not to arrive but to walk the road.
And then… how many times I have dreamt of not being sick, and yet, when
health was within my reach I used to lose so many things that I convinced
myself I had nothing.
I can achieve an optimal state when I struggle, a (relative) degree of health,
which being the only one I can always count with, it’s enough to keep me
going. We only get to see the bright side of things when we don't have them
and we live in constant complaint. The best knowledge we can attain is the
ability to adapt ourselves, to muster the instinct to overcome ourselves.
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It’d be nice not to suffer so much to reach to the conclusion: our drawbacks
are not the worst of all evils, although they are not the best either.
And so, I suggest you fight. No one can sentence anyone in these cases and
the first step to fight for life is feeling a desire to live; in fact it’s not an issue
of quantity but of quality.
I believe that I'm telling you this because “in some moment, maybe when I
was quite young, maybe without knowing it, I decided to live”.
... It’s easier than you think; give it a try, it’s worth.
GABRIELA ESPERANZA
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RESUME
Name: Gabriela Claudia Kremenchuzky
Date of birth: June 15th, 1956
Place of birth: Argentina
Graduated in: Medicine, June 13th 1981
EMPLOYMENT HISTORY:
October 1979, to June 1981:
Technician in Immune-Histochemistry: Study of Lympho-proliferative
Disorders, Argentine Academy of Medicine. From June, 1981, a physician
under a FUNDALEU scholarship
October 5th, 1977, to December 6th, 1979:
Technician in Immunology: Argentine Haemorrhagic Fever Program,
Chair of Microbiology, Parasitology and Immunology, College of Medicine,
University of Buenos Aires, Chief of Division: Dr Marcelo J. Frigerio
December 19th, 1973, to September 15th, 1977:
Technician in Immunology, Paediatric Studies, Ricardo Gutierrez
Children's Hospital, Chief of Division: Dr Carlos A. Gianantonio
COURSES AND CONFERENCES
Theoretical Workshop on Paediatric Pathology, Dr Luis Becú, May to
November, 1977
Theoretical and practical course on “Immunolabeling Protocol using the
Peroxidase Anti-Peroxidase Method (PAP)”, Dr Eduardo Lascano,
Argentine Society of Anatomy and Pathology, May, 1978
Second Conference on Argentine Haemorrhagic Fever, Dr Taquini Jr,
Pergamino, Province of Buenos Aires, June, 1978
Argentine Congress on Microbiology, Dr Nora R. Nota, June, 1979
Course on Regulation of the Immune Response, Dr Mitchison -London,
England-, Dr Marta Braun, Argentine Society of Immunology, 1979
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Argentine Congress on Cancerology, Dr José Pereira Quintana, Argentine
Society of Cancerology, December, 1979
Congress of General Medicine: Human Leukocyte Antigen HLA and
Diseases, AMA -Argentina Medical Association-, September, 1980
Argentine-British Week of Haematology, Dr Luisa Sen, Dr Maria E.
Estévez, Dr Alfredo Pavlovsky, September, 1980
First Congress on Oncohaematology of the River Plate, Dr H. Kasdorf, Dr
S.B. Salum, Dr A. Pavlovsky, AMA -Argentina Medical Association-, July
27th and 28th, 1981
Congress on Immunoregulation, Dr H. Cosenza, Dr P. Cossio, Dr A.
Pavlovsky, Argentine Society of Immunology, AMA -Argentina Medical
Association-, August 31st to September 4th, 1981
26th Annual Congress of Clinical Research, Dr V. Nahmod, Argentine
Society on Clinical Research, Mar del Plata, Province of Buenos Aires,
November 7th to 11th, 1981