2012 Best Wishes...

Italian

to Doctors: you are heroes in disguise,
to Nurses: you are angels on the earth,
to those who are fighting: do not surrender,
to you who are close to me: it is an honor to be your friend,
to you who turn your back on me: I’d like to meet you again,
to those who do not understand me: let's talk,
to those who love me: insist more,
to you who are suffering: continue to hope,
to those I have lost: I miss you terribly,
to my parents: I am still growing,
to my daughters: you are already growing,
to my wife: let’s move on,
to death: not now,
to the sun: return soon inside me!

Video... (click to watch)

But what destiny?

Italian

It's destiny.
How many times have I had that thought?
It's not my fault: it's my destiny.
Easy.

Life has it's path.
Another justification.
What can I do: it's just life.
Comfortable.

OK, if I get struck by a rock,
For strong that I am
I remain under it... I struggle
and I'll strive, if I can, to get myself away.

Instead, when I escape from a commitment,
for strong that I say I am,
I remain firm and invoke destiny:
"Everything is already written, it's not my fault..."

Am I a hypocrite with myself?
Yes, if I do not react.
An initial confusion is permitted,
we are human, after all. But then...

Am I just with myself?
Only if I recognize "me", get up... and fight on.
Otherwise, I'll shut up.
And there is no destiny which justifies my errors!

The clown

Italian

The spectacle ends,
the crowd applauds,
I am at the center of the stage,
I am the clown.

Smiles and shouts,
sounds and noise,
and I, with open arms,
accept the irony of all.

What a cruel world,
the heart of a clown
isn't made to suffer.
My aim is to entertain.

Falling into my bow,
I observe my exaggerated shoes,
my vision becomes moist
and slowly I stand up...

Families, children, old people...
Voices and lights all around...
Deafening shouts... silent;
crazy mimes, gasping and dumb.

I don’t want to remain here any longer.
I salute, turn on my heels
and with an awkward step
I leave the arena.

The curtain swallows me,
I no longer need to smile.
Abandoning the character,
these shoes now embarrass me.

In front of the mirror in my dressing room,
I can still see my mask.
I remove the gloves and the wig,
the red nose, and all the makeup.

It’s me again...
My tired face,
my eyes.
A new light...

Here we are... I and me,
The two of us do not betray "us".
The recitation is over.
Life begins again.

The piano player

Italian

It was a humid November night,
the roads glistened with dense fog.
Novara appeared dark and tired.
Gray figures hurrying under the dark porticos.

The moon was a pale halo in a black sky,
while the city's muffled murmuring could be heard.
A vague perfume of wet dust
spread over the cold stones of the monuments.

The colonnade of the center was tall and solemn.
Inside, a few windows emitted a yellow light
which reflected on the walls and cobblestones:
the American Bar for after-dinner.

Its sign was old but well-preserved
and the view of the room was filtered through elegant light colored curtains...
A young couple emerged from the darkness around the entryway,
he pushed the door and together they walked in.

Inside, there was a pleasurable warmth and the smell of coffee filled the air.
Here and there were round tables with cloths and a candle in the center of each.
Clients... someone was sipping a tea, another reading a book...
Two women were chatting with low voices and a soldier was searching for the waiter...

In the center of the room there sat a shining black grand piano:
it was a spectacle for the eyes and the ears.
A talented piano player around 50
was performing without interfering.

His music was sweet and soft.
The ups and downs on the keyboard were cradling the thoughts.
An ending at swing rhythm
passed him to the next song...

With absent eyes the piano player continued to observe his own hands.
Carrying a tray, a waiter walked close
and put a glass of wine on the piano.
The musician, with a nod of the head, thanked him.

Another piece began... while the room maintained it's buzzing.
The piano player enlarged his music,
as the room kept it's distance
and time passed slowly and with indifference.
Tens of lives crossed each other in that bar.
Tales of meetings, friendships, loves...
The progression of things...
Like on a silent path.

These lives all had the same background:
the sound of a generous piano player,
silent and discreet... nearly absent,
alone with himself and his music.

The kite

Italian

I am a kite,
I have bright colors,
a big smile
and a long loose tail.

When the wind strikes me,
the string pulls tighter
and I rise high into the sky...
I feel free.

Funny paradox:
the string which holds me
maintains it's grip,
but I hover in my illusion...

I am happy at the heights,
my smile twirls in the wind,
I dance pirouetting around,
my tail is snaking in the air.

Then, I feel a tug,
the string pulls me down!
I don’t want to go lower,
but there’s no choice!

I leave the sky,
I leave my dream,
an inevitable descent,
I surrender...

Touching the ground upside down,
my smile is reversed,
the expression is the opposite one,
and my tail is now whipping the lawn.

That ambiguous string!
Now, I can understand the game:
it deceives me and governs me.
Damn snare!

Reflexes and reflections

Italian

I was a child,
I leaned over the mirror of water in the park
and formed circles of waves with my finger,
my face reflected made impossible grimaces.

I was a young man,
I examined the skin of my forehead in the bathroom mirror,
I passed over my reddened cheeks with a razor,
my face reflected was joy of living.

I was an adult,
I looked at my face in the mirror of the highway auto-grill,
with my hands I refreshed my over heated neck,
my face reflected was tired of driving.

I was ill,
I raised my glabrous head in front of the mirror in the hospital bathroom,
with my hands I rubbed the deep dark shadows under my eyes,
my face reflected was an unrecognizable mask.

Now I am healed,
I notice my image on shop window,
with strong arms and secure step,
my body reflected is moving and alive.

The other me, in my reflexes, has changed so much.
The other me, in my reflections, is now beginning his change.

The boat

Italian

Lightning and thunder together,
the tempest is near,
the sea is stormy,
high waves of water chase each other everywhere.

The rain adds water onto water,
white foam crests glide upwards,
while they are forming deep gorges impetuous;
waves writhe and slam...

Far away a dim light,
a small firefly in the darkness of the storm;
stubbornly resists to the incessant shaking,
disappears and reappears between the walls of dark water.

It is a boat, a fishing vessel,
who knows how in that torment.
The bell on the bridge sounds wildly,
shaken by invisible hands.

At the helm a fisherman,
with his hands tight on the wheel,
cries, as if to face
the monster that rules out there.

An avalanche of water strikes him,
and for a moment he drowns,
then he finds his breath
with a reversed scream.

The boat rears up,
climbs a wall of water.
The horizontal rain invades the cabin,
the prow points towards the sky.

Then the wave withdraws,
the propellers spin uselessly,
the hull is suspended...
Time is suspended...

A bolt of lightning splits the sky,
the light whitens the scene,
the thunder rumbles in the bilge,
the boat twists and falls.

Moments of blind terror,
the fisherman closes his dazzled eyes,
the bow now points towards the sea;
large gaping jaws of water await the hull.

With a dull thud the boat dives,
all around is water,
the fisherman claws to the helm,
his body pulled by the waves.

The muffled roar of the engines insists underwater,
the fisherman grits his teeth and extends the effort,
his lungs protest for the need for air,
the boat limps toward the surface.

And finally, with a dive from the bottom,
reemerges in that stormy hell,
the fisherman breathes desperately
the air brings him back to the world.

That world so angry and dark,
where the Up mixes with the Down,
the day seems to be night
and salvation seems a lost fight...

The man shakes the water off his back,
observes the horizon all around,
pushes his glance on the farther details;
that rebel surface seems to extend indefinitely.

A flash, another ... there is something there on starboard;
is a regular glow, not a freak of mind.
The light pulse insists... looks like a lighthouse,
the light nears... and gradually... blurs...

The rain ends,
the wind stops,
the waters calm down,
the boat does not pitch...

I open my eyes... I'm sweaty and tired.
My hospital room, my bed;
it is still night, there is silence and stillness.
I need to calm down...

I think back to that dream,
Was I that brave fisherman?
No, I rather was that small resilient boat.
Obstinate and stubborn to survive and fight again.

Bye

Italian

So, it ends like this,
    the silence expands,
    glances  are lowered,
    your soul rises.

You are free now,
    no more obstacles,
    smiling and serene,
    rest in peace.

In front of the important things of life...

Italian

There are some who do not waver; they take the hit and proceed,
there are others who hesitate, doubtful that they can do it, but they try,
some lay down their weapons and surrender,
and others work at trying to live with that.

This last group is interesting:
learning to live with pain,
moving next to the enemy to steal some of its strength,
keeping a low profile and annulling every reaction...

Just wait hoping for an improvement,
without acting to second it,
observe the events,
but firmly standing in place.

The mind prevails over the heart,
a rational idea insists,
and overcomes the natural instinct,
to autonomously save itself.

Fatalism? Acceptance? Patience?
Surrender? Submission?
How can we define this attitude?
Passivity always seems to win out.

Passive acceptance is dangerous,
the risk is to tolerate, welcome,
justify and so to approve,
finally eliminating the tension which leads to change.

The battles of those who affront their own monsters,
are trials which can wear them out,
it is better to seek clarity of intentions,
instead of the ambiguity of artificial quietude.

To a courageous friend

Italian

I don't know you too well, but I do know that you are a tough guy.
I know that you take life as a constant challenge,
I know that now you are fighting against a brand new adversary
and I know that this time it will be a surrender.

But you will know how to accept this too,
as you always do, with  dignity and strength.
And when it will be the absolute moment
You'll surprise us again taking a running start before the leap.

Awareness

Italian

When you're alive you are always so busy with "things".
You run and you think about running.
Life accompanies you and gives in to you.
And you feel that it should only be this way.

When you become ill, things immediately lose their meaning.
You stop running and you think.
Live seems less of a friend and less of a "given".
And you feel that it should not be like this.

A precise moment arrives,
In which you feel suspended over a divide.
On one side you live and on the other side you do not.
Life against death.

In that dark and silent moment you ask yourself many questions.
And if I go? What will remain of me?
What sign have I left of my passage?
What life have I lived? Have I been just?

When you begin to move towards healing, you hear the noises of life restarting.
Muscles and bones begin to awaken.
Eyes discover a new horizon.
And hope warms your heart.

You take a few steps beyond the abyss.
Your legs hold up well now.
You look back at your past and at your mistakes.
Ahead there is your future, on a new road.

You no longer have doubts, and continue.
But, you are no longer alone.
You have a new companion,
Called Awareness.

Life after death is different.
It is an aware life,
Wiser and more thoughtful.
Not necessarily easier.

I brought my ass home!

Italian

When I was a  young man, I played accordion in a folk band.
We traveled around, crammed into a small truck which was totally full of musical instruments. We drove a lot of kilometers too.
At the end of those evenings, we dismantled everything, and the truck brought us back to the place where we had gathered. Each of us in his own car, we then all went home.
Very young, driving in the deepest night, destroyed by exhaustion, I hoped to arrive at home in one piece.
And when, finally, I turned into the street of my house,  I said to myself: "I brought my ass home!"

Then the day of departure for military service arrived.
Not wanting to throw a year of my life into the weeds, I decided to work a bit harder and enrolled in a cadet course for fixed term officers. Five months in Rome (training, marching, guards at the Quirinale, ...), followed by another ten months as a second lieutenant at Bellinzago in Novara province (Readiness for operations, field camp, simulation of  battlefield conditions, ...).
On the day of my discharge I was beyond tired after  finishing a 24 hour shift as Duty Officer. I drove home still dressed in a combat uniform.
And again turning  into the street of my house, I said to myself: "I brought my ass home!"

I began to work as a sales representative, selling mobile telephones when they were still  brand new technology. In the  houses there were still gray electromechanical SIP phones but I had a brand new Panasonic portable device that was as big as a dictionary.
At the beginning, when I asked  what territory I was supposed to work, the reply was: Emilia Romagna!
So, I began to hit the highway between Piacenza and Cesena, grinding out hundreds of kilometers each day.
Each night the trip to return home was a battle against falling asleep.
Finally, turning into the street of my house, I used to say to myself: "I brought my ass home!"

Then the leukemia arrived. From one evening to the next morning I found myself near death in the hospital.
The doctors stuffed me with medicines. I did radio therapy and several rounds of chemotherapy. I had a bone marrow transplant and felt the tremendous effects of Bone Marrow Aplasia.
On the day I was dismissed I weighted 55 kilos and could barely stand.
My wife drove me home in the car.
And still once more, as I turned the corner to the street of house, I said to myself: "I brought my ass home!"

After

Italian

The Oncology Day Hospital...

I arrive later than planned: it’s almost eight o’clock in the morning. The waiting room is full...
I take my number  and notice that it is 104...
Listening, I hear a voice announce... "The person with number 12 should go to the blood laboratory” ... Eh, we're only at number 12... It's going to be a long wait...
Looking for a seat, I find a place off in an angle.

Next to me, an older woman is on the telephone... "Hi, Luisa. I've been here since 7... I didn't sleep last night... my back aches... yes I took some Aulin for the pain... Eh, my ankle? It's ok now... yes Luisa, don't stand up too much... Oh, here's Gino... He had blood drawn, so now I have to go to him. Bye..."

Next, a man is disagreeing with his wife:. "I told you no! We are not going to the sea to visit your mother..." She replies: "Lower your voice! Why are you so stubborn?"
He answers: "I've been telling you this for a month... We are not going. That's it! Hey... where are you going?"
The wife jumps up, looks at him and says: "I want to get something to drink. Now you calm down or I am leaving!" She hurries away with the heals of her shoes making a nervous sound as she walks...

Two rows over there is a young woman wearing a surgical mask and a flowered scarf covering her hairless head. With a low voice she says to her mother: "Yesterday it was the therapy, today the blood tests, and the aspiration... We spend more time in the hospital than at home!"
The girl's mother replies "Yes, but everything is going so well... You'll see... soon we'll come here less often... Here, straighten your scarf." and with a movement of her hand she adjusts the knot of fabric on the girl's neck...

A very overweight man arrives: he has a beard and disorderly long white hair.
He mumbles something which I cannot understand. His clothes are old and badly kept and his gym shoes are untied. He slowly walks in circles, with tiny steps, then behind him another figure appears. At first glance she has the appearance of a young woman, but she is elderly too. Her hair is gray and falls to her shoulders. She wears a purple vest with a flowered broach, dirty white pants and leather boots which have been consumed too much. She cares for the man with loving attention, gentle gestures, and incomprehensible words whispered in his ear.
They sit close and he starts to play with the ticket indicating the number of their turn.

Through the door of the laboratory room, a man about 70 years old walks out. His step is elastic and quick. With one hand he presses the cotton ball into the angle of his left arm.
His expression is proud and his teeth are straight and white.

Leaning against a cement column stands an elegant man wearing a dark suit, a blue tie, and nice leather shoes. He's handling his mobile phone, and his mouth is forming the words of the message he's writing...

In the background, two doctors cross the entryway, happily chattering with each other. Those plastic cups from the coffee machine are in their hands. Their strides are long and swift, and their  white jackets are waving behind them like capes... One more laugh and they disappear through the door of the department...

Meanwhile the loudspeaker announces "Number 74 in room 2"... A man who was speaking stops and frowns "What did it say?"... And those waiting begin their guesses "It was 64..." "No, it was 72 in room 4..." One voice is raised "89 in room H!"
I smile... After a few minutes a nurse opens a door and announces "74 in room 2. Where is 74?"
Then a very old man stands, using slow, measured movements.
He folds his newspaper, and picks up his hat. His cane slides to the floor with a loud noise and he carefully bends to pick it up... Then, with an uneven step he follows the nurse...

A young man with a printed tee shirt and low waisted jeans takes his number at the entryway desk and looks around the room to find an empty place. He's wearing sunglasses, a red cap with a visor, and low cut gym shoes with colored laces. Held tightly in his hand there is a mobile phone which is continuously vibrating... Finally, he answers it... "... hey Gio... there are lots of people here... yeah... so, are you going to Lu? ... Ok... at Lu's. Gio, call Fede... ok... ok... Bye!"
The young man finds an empty chair and literally collapses into it, extending one leg to the side and folding his other one under the seat. His cheek is leaning on one hand while the other hand is already playing with the keyboard of the phone...

The buzz all around intensifies. The waiting room is completely full now. When the loudspeaker calls a number, the noise is suspended for a second. Then it begins again...

I look around at all the faces: the people are young, old, women, men, foreigners laborers... office workers, businessmen, retirees... Each of them at a certain moment of life encountered an obstacle and had to begin to fight. Some were forced to accept new habits: medicine to take every day, periodic controls, physical discomfort...
Others have a more serious motivation to be here: survival...

My thoughts return to my days in the hospital ward, when I too was fighting to survive.
Thin, weak, hairless... with three intravenous tubes at the same time, with terrible back pain, and devastated mucus membranes...
I asked myself what would happen afterward... I could not imagine how "after" could have arrived.
Unable to walk, eat and speak, adding another day to the slow daily count already seemed like a lot...

The voices in the room lower for an instant: "The person with number 104 is requested in the blood laboratory." ... My turn!
Wait a minute... it's now! Suddenly I realize that I am living in my "after".
Beyond the therapies, beyond the transplant, beyond the slow and pathetic last recovery...
I did it and I am fine, finally! Now, I have only the controls to do...

Happily, I roll up the sleeve of my shirt and walk towards the room...

To Giovanni

Italian

I'll talk to you with the familiar lower case "you", Giovanni,
now that you're not here any more.
This was never possible before.
You, my new father... and I, your new son.
With our wonderful walks to find a coffee,
and chatting, accompanied by the sweet aroma of  your pipe.

You had such a complicated story,
among  your obligations to judge correctly,
and the revolutions in your family.
Between a sharply spirited comment
and  your intense love for art and culture.

You appreciated Life with a veil of pessimism,
that melancholy of a curious person unsatisfied with the present.
You had your own personalized way of respecting others,
with friendship always placed first of all.

You did not give up when your world began to change,
refusing the compromises which were simply  tolerated.
An example of moral integrity
which flees from "giving in".

Life was tough with you,
and inflicted a cruel punishment.
A devastating disease for which there was no cure.

The first thing you lost was your ability to speak,
your most brilliant gift.
Then your arms halted...
then you legs.

There, immobile on the bed,
your eyes screamed  your desperation.
But, with a bit of life in your lungs,
moving an invisible point over an alphabet,
it was you who asked me "How are  you?"

Then, finally,  the darkest night,
Your spirit left that exhausted body.
All the pain came out in my tears,
from being a new son, I became a new orphan.

Death does not anger me, just because it took you.
But, I hate the destiny that wanted to take you in that way.
On the grief of having to leave you,
prevails the honor of having met you.

Bye, Giovanni.

Light

Italian

You are the first sign of life
  You are the morning glow
    You are the hope in faith
      You are the best path to walk
        You are the spark of love
          You are the new thought
            You are the lamp of reason
              You are the warming sun
              You are the rainbow which comforts
            You  are the everlasting sunset
          You are the first star
        You are the lighthouse on the rocks
      You are the white moon
    You are the torch turned on
  You are the candle of a life spent
You are the destination after death

Light is life
Life is light
I search for you light
Wherever you are

Photographs

Italian

I have a bit of free time... I close my eyes and open the memories, 
Leafing through my photographs...

In this one I was collapsed on the bathroom floor after fainting...
And without any idea of what would take place in the succeeding months...

Here is the pale face of the doctor after she saw the first blood test results...

Now, there I am on the bed, with my wife next to it. She have just told me about the leukemia and the massive lung infection... What a shock!

The next one... let's see... This was at night and I was breathing as the machine forced me to exhale... lung gymnastics. What a terrible time...

This is my wife, sleeping on the chair next to my bed.
My eyes were open and observing her because I could not sleep.

Oh yes, here is Toni, my nurse friend, who opened the door because he heard laughing as he walked past the room.
Because on the TV there was a program which made me roar with laughter. Ah Ha!

There are more too... Here is Doctor Forghieri, glowing and pushing the door open to shout: "Great news! Your brother's bone marrow is compatible!"... Eh, Forghieri... usually so composed...

Here... here are two nurses, Betta and Anna Maria, who were washing me.
I was too weak even to move.

Leonardo is this one, the mythical Doctor Ferrara. He is standing at the entrance of the room and saying: "Hi Alfie! I heard that you're making progress. I'll say hello from here because I have a cold...
Go! Give it your all!" ...
We still hear from each other, Leo and I...

Ferruccio, another nurse, is in this photo.
It was the middle of the night and he arrived to see if everything was ok, not  because he was called. He noticed the light turned on, filtering under the door of my room... What a fantastic person!

Then... ah yes... this is Doctor Fantuzzi, a kind and  lovely woman.
Here, she was withdrawing bone marrow, an aspiration of bone marrow blood from my back...
I never suffered with her, as I often did with others...

Here is Carla, a bright and sunny soul... She and my wife had long long chats together... Nurses help everyone, both patients and their families...

Ilaria is in this photo. She is steadfastness personified. Endless work shifts, one after another, and she was always present with a disarming smile.

My brother is the person in this photo. He came to visit me at 6 in the mornings. To be there, he got up at 5, showered, and raced to the hospital...
It was Winter time and often there was snow.

My sister is in the next photo. Along with my brother, she passed incredible hours in order to see me. When she wanted to drive the new car in the fog there were many disagreements...
Once she brought me a life size photograph of my daughters.
I missed them so much!

Then there is Maria, the most precise nurse who ever existed. She understands the strangest and most difficult procedures, and criticizes colleagues if they make a tiny mistake. In this photo, she was medicating my PICC, that tube inserted in my right arm and reaching above my collarbone... For the infusions and the drawing of blood.

Chiara, in the next photo, is a psychologist. We spoke a lot, Chiara and I (I had nothing else to do!)... Before leaving, she always shook my hand, which was a small break in the rules, but even a brief human contact was so important to me...

This photo shows me immobile on the bed, and Doctor Narni, who was talking to me... I was paralyzed with illness and pain, and he incited me to react. Take little steps, he said... My steps were, indeed very small...

Here we are: my wife, myself and Giovanna, one of the most enjoyable nurses... In fact, in this picture we were laughing... She always told us about her daughter and found a universal lesson behind everything... Giovanna brought the bottles for the therapy, but she always added a good injection of optimism...

Next, there are my parents... My Mother was seated and my Father was standing, as always. He had his hands wrapped around the tubes at the foot of the bed, almost as though he wanted to shake me.
Seeing me in this condition made them suffer... they tried not to let me see, but they failed...
And I wanted to appear less in pain, but I couldn't do that either...

This photo shows me wrapped in covers on a rolling bed, being hauled along the underground corridor by the orderlies from patient transport...
They were taking me for still another radiology exam or TAC... It was freezing that day!

Yes, here is a good one... It is of the doctors standing at the foot of my bed during their daily controls. In front there was my friend Doctor Monica Morselli with clear light eyes and a luminous smile. I knew her when I was young and rediscovered her here. Professor Luppi was the one with rebellious hair and a dark beard, a real leader. Here Doctor Forghieri, Doctor Fantuzzi, and a few pratictioners...
They were talking together in lowered voices and then one was explaining the blood values, the therapy, measures and counter measures...
I didn't always understand what they said, eh eh...

Ah! This is my first day outside, after months in the hospital... It was for the First Communion of my daughters... After the ceremony, all the family gathered around a table in the parish hall... I had that sort of fuzz instead of hair on my head, and was so thin and weak...

This photograph shows me in the Thoracic Surgery Ward. This was during the last TAC, just before I went home for Easter. It showed dark shadows on my lungs. Doctor Potenza, an excellent doctor but a bit fussy, joined with Doctor Paolini to advise me that after those few days at home I'd have a lung biopsy (total anesthesia, three holes in my rib cage, one lung halted, taking a tissue sample, restarting the lung, surtures...). But... just like in a film... at the last minute it was Doctor Potenza who insisted on one more TAC before the surgery, to confirm the situation.
To summarize... it was a false alarm... Tears fell to free the emotions. Here I was on the phone with my brother. At the other end of the line he was weeping inside his shop...

This one, instead, shows Gino. I was put into a room with him. He was a 60 year old cancer patient, on loan to hematology. His memory was foggy and he repeated the same things over and over. Gino complained a lot, poor guy, about the terrible pains in his back...

Then, look here, this was my new room mate, Alberto. We immediately became friends. The dignified gentleman next to him is his father, who was very kind to me. On Sundays he arrived with a serving dish full of the best food from a restaurant outside the hospital. I'll never forget the first time he brought us bowls of fantastic tortellini in broth!

This picture is of me in the Operating Room. They were implanting the Hickman; a catheter in a central vein... A tube which entered a major vein by passing through my chest. It was inserted for the infusions, before and after the transplant. That was my first time in the Operating Room...

My wife and I, in this photo, were placing clothes and objects inside sterile bags... Before my entry into the Transplant Unit everything had to be cleaned and disinfected ...

In this scene I am immobilized, attached to that sort of iron and plastic perch in radiology. Doctor Bertoni and Doctor Pratissoli, those two figures manipulating the plexiglass panels, needed to be sure that I could not make any movement at all during the therapy...
Incredibly, there was a relaxed joking atmosphere in that room, despite the risk and delicacy of the procedure...

Sophie was a wonderfully sweet nurse of French origins. Here, she was attaching me to my new pole, with three pumps for the infusions... Such a tangle of tubes and junctions that entered in my body... At first I was anxious, but then I got used to it...
The gray pump... eh, that one. It gave off a loud mechanical tick tick tick that punctuated my days, and above all the nights...

Now there is a photo of Rossella, the hurricane of the Ward. When she said Hello to the patient in the room next to mine, I replied. Her voice was that loud! I can still hear her words "Goooood Morning Young Maaaan!"
In this image, Rossella was explaining that every time I went to the bathroom, I needed to wear mono-use vinyl gloves, measure the quantity of urine before flushing, remove and throw away the gloves, wash my hands then write the number on a paper document... They gave me so many liquids that I went to the bathroom every 40 minutes day and night... A disaster!

Matteo is in this one. He's the nurse with blue eyes who brought me the bone marrow blood donated by my brother. This photo shows him hanging the bag on the pole... To give the proper symbolic weight to the moment he solemnly pronounced: "Turn off the television and put on some music that you enjoy..."
My choice was the album "Long Road out of Eden" by the Eagles...

The tall young man here is Alessandro, another nurse. I'll never forget his enormous patience and availability. I was tortured by a devastating mucositis and a hammering backache and did not know where to turn... But every night he brought me a bit of hot tea, then stopped to chat about music and other easy subjects, so I was distracted...

Here, instead, is the cleaning lady. I never knew here name, but found out that she had a son who drove her crazy! She passed by to clean and disinfect twice a day. Each time she asked how I was feeling and how my children were. This woman, too, had an important role in my voyage... In her own way she was a parenthesis of normality in the middle of that long nightmare...

Then Pietro... always smiling and in good spirits... And Vincenzo, precise and punctual, and extremely polite. He always said "excuse me" and asked permission to enter... and to leave!

Here I was closing the door after gathering all my possessions on a cart.
I was leaving the Transplant Unit... It was quiet and I was free from the pole, perhaps feeling a bit melancholy... But I do not miss that place...

This is one of my favorite photographs: I was finally at home, standing at the front door, and my adored children had me closed in a long hug. I could not hold back the tears... And become emotional even today...

The next shows my Father and I at the Day Hospital for the Hickman therapy. We spent hours waiting on those wooden seats...

Here is Doctor Pedrazzi, with her wonderful smile, as she did a bone marrow blood aspiration... Fortunately, she has a gentle touch...

And this is Doctor Cuoghi, with her short red hair and her stethoscope always around her neck.

Here are the employees at the reception desk of the Day Hospital: where I registered when arriving for the controls.
They see thousands of patients every day, but this woman, in the photo, calls me by name when she sees me...

Next is Doctor Bresciani, small and yet so grand. A distillation of absolute precision. Perfect.

This gentleman is Doctor Cintori.
He loves vacationing in Switzerland and when I told him that I was born there he wanted to know all the details. With him, I am re-doing all my vaccinations, right from the beginning. At each appointment he gives me two injections in my shoulders.

This is Valeria, Doctor Coluccio... Here she was smiling in her doctors jacket. She is made for this work because she knows how to balance professionality and humanity. With her I always feel comfortable, and her periodic medical visits seem more like meetings of old friends...

Lisa, Doctor Galli, is in this one. She's in charge of the Psychological Services at the AIL. Here, we were in her office, and we were shaking hands.
We had met once before in the Ward... A brief but important meeting. Later, we got back in touch again.
Lisa was the person who suggested that I open a personal blog; and the very next day I created it and posted my first writing. I am so happy that I followed her advice!

These are only some of the photographs, among the many which I hold dear inside me.
For each one of them there is an episode, an anecdote, and the positive memories have surpassed the negative ones.

I hope that all my "travelling companions" preserve their own images.
Their lives after the illness will be richer and fuller.
I hope that they always know that there is a universe in every gesture... And that there are people who dedicate their existence to others with such a strong commitment and such generosity that we can only admire them...

Alone... in my motionless body

Italian

My eyes opened... I was still there: the white room of the hospital ward, the bathroom, the chair, the table...
Objects which I didn't touch for weeks, while I laid nailed to the bed.

Finally, the pneumonia had been dominated by many daily hours with the C-PAP, a machine with a mask to push air into your lungs and then force you to blow hard to exhale...

Looking to the left, towards the window, I saw the drawings of my children attached to the glass.
They added color to the white room, and reminded me not to surrender.
Outside, it was Winter, February, and the sky was gray, but perhaps things would improve.

On the wall ahead of me there was a surveillance camera, controlling me with its round black eye, and a wooden crucifix hung next to it.

A yawn began to rise towards my mouth, which I was unable to open...
So I yawned like you do in a theater audience, when you don't want to be noticed.
I tried to turn my head... but it would not move!

My heart began to race and so many questions came over me:
“Is this a coma? Am I paralyzed? Will I remain this way forever?”

I tried to move a hand. But there was only a slight tremor in the smallest finger.
There was no pain.
I was alone... in my motionless body.

Later, one of the nurses arrived to check on my condition.
"Hey! How are you doing today?"
An enormous effort helped me to open my mouth a bit, but no words came out.
My eyes closed in resignation and a teardrop ran down my cheek.
The nurse understood, and assured me that everything was normal and that soon I would feel better.

I could not believe that I was still in such a condition after all that had taken place...

Just like every other days, my parents came to visit.
I tried to reassure my Mother, to tell her not to worry...
But only a "...n..." came from my lips.
I watched her try to contain it, but the desperation was taking over.
She asked if I wanted to be alone. Slowly I closed my eyes... “Yes” ...

Like a fallen tree trunk, this was the way the hours passed that crazy day.
Returning my gaze again and again to the stillness of the sky, the silent drawings, the video camera... and to the crucifix.
I prayed. I implored. "Let something happen!"

... then, into the room arrived a doctor, the department head...

He made a brief examination, then with a firm tone of voice said:
"Your treatments are very difficult. The illness is serious.
Medicine can do  much, but it cannot do all.
You must do your part. Fix an objective and try to reach it.
Even just to get to the evening... then to tomorrow..."

But I had nothing left. I was dry.
Even digging into my deepest soul, I could no longer find the strength to act.

When the doctor left, my wife entered. She walked to the chair and sat.
With no words, she took my hand, squeezed it and, behind the sterile mask, she smiled with her eyes.

A great sense of calm rose within me, as strength passed from her hand to mine...

The bone marrow transplant

Italian

My brother and I are very different.
Our birthdays are far apart, I June 9 and him December 9.
If the year were a wheel we would be two opposite spokes.

He is a professional compromiser. I am slave to principle.
Idealist at the limits of Utopia... that's me.
Concrete thinker, feet firmly planted on ground.... that's him.
We have often disagreed, especially when younger.
Our viewpoints have always been distant.

However....

The exams were clear: we are 100% compatible. We have many things in common!
My brother, without hesitation, donated me his bone marrow.
He did as though it was the most normal of gestures, to be taken for granted.
As though it was like... tying his shoelaces.

My brother suffered after the explant.
A week of great back pain mitigated only by morphine.
But, in answer to my messages, he always responded: "I'm fine. They'll send me home soon. You just concentrate on getting better."

Two large bags of bloody bone marrow: two liters of "No big deal”, “No problem" and "I love you."

A part of my brother has taken the place of a part of me.

We will continue to disagree, but now that I have a part of him inside, I push myself to see his version of things...


My sister is similar me. Our birthdays are just 5 days apart.
She's stubborn and nervous, but has a big heart.

When she heard that her bone marrow was not compatible, I thought that she would be disappointed.
Instead she was angry!
She wanted to be the one to do what was so necessary and so symbolic.

...

Exactly one year passed since the day of the transplant and that night the entire family gathered for a celebration dinner.

Just before the toast, I glanced rapidly around the table.
On every face I saw there were memories, one on top of the other.
Admission to the hospital, the first tests, the surgical masks and socks, the doctor visits,
the hands waving when I was carried away, the bed being shoved, toward still another TAC.
The hundreds of text messages with the news of the day, the little gifts for nurses on Christmas Day.
My clothes put in sterile bags in the hospital Transplant Unity.
The arrival in my room of the first big bag of bone marrow blood...

And then: the return home, followed by the long days, exhausted, energy-less, on the sofa.
The endless waits for controls at the Day Hospital.
The removal of the venous catheter from my chest and finally being able to take a shower!

Then, again, another slow recovery: days of nausea, pains in my legs, getting behind the steering wheel to drive once more, the first hours back at work, discovering the taste of foods again, taking the stairs two by two...

One year after the transplant, I owed everything I had the strength to do, to those who now were silently and proudly staring at me.

In that moment of silence I realized that each one of them was a donor.
They gave bone marrow, certainly, but also: trust, hope , strength, patience, faith, comfort, spirit of sacrifice, resistance.
A wealth of values which embrace my new bone marrow and fortify it.

Then... we rose our glasses... and celebrated life!

Nurses

Italian

Nurses have such a difficult job.
They need great dedication and awareness,
And they must learn from their errors.
They must have a spirit of initiative.

Plus... a nurse:

Knows you personally.
Stops to chat for a moment with you.
Gives you a hand when you are suffering.
Is able to joke, to lighten the worst moments.

And... a nurse:

Comforts your loved ones.
Thinks about you after returning home at night.
Telephones the hospital to ask a question about you.
Tells the children about you.

More... a nurse:

Hugs you when you meet again.
Calls you by your first name a year after you go home.
Becomes emotional when you get better.
Returns to life when you do.

Nurses are friends, or nearly, and they do their jobs even after their hospital shifts.
They give themselves over to human relationships far and above what their work contract requires.
My deepest gratitude, as a patient and a friend, goes out to these nurse angels.

Despite my misfortune, the illness, it has been a privilege to meet you all!

The race

Italian

Here we go!

My steps are carefully measured; the race is very long.
I try to find a balance between the rhythm of my steps and the rhythm of my breathing and heartbeat.
The stride is regular and my legs alternate the pushing.
The road is long and smooth; so the race begins.

My fists are tightly held and seem to fight against the air.
Now, I feel breathless, but I react.
The asphalt gives away to a winding path,
and my contact with the ground becomes softer than before.

I continue to push, and the exhaustion increases.
I alter my steps, my breathing and heartbeat.
There's a stab of pain in my spleen,
but I grit my teeth and try to think of something else.

There is another runner there ahead,
so I lengthen my stride and try to reach him.
The distance between us is diminishing.
I begin to wonder if I am accelerating or he is slowing.
With a last bit of force, I reach him.

We exchange quick glances; we are about the same age.
Our steps coincide, but I push myself again and pass him.
Now, he's following me, racing.
We are like two team mates, running close together.

The air now brings tears to my eyes, and the countryside is out of focus.
My mouth is open and I need more oxygen.
My new friend sees my difficulty, runs more quickly and passes me.
Now, he is the one who leads.
His shoulders are thin, but so are mine.

There's a hill, and our fatigue rises even more.
We shorten our stride, but he cannot do it.
I pass ahead of him and see that his breath is broken and he wants to stop.
I run slower and wait for him to reach me.
Then I maintain his rhythm.

A drop of water! The sky has promised rain since early morning...
Now, the rain falls harder, and our hair, our clothes are soaked.
Our feet hit on ground which has become like muddy glue;
but we continue to run.

We pass over a bridge then there, on the right, there is a table with water and lemons.
I change direction, run towards the table and grab a glass.
Then, I turn and see that my friend does the same.
We drink while running... and we laugh.

Our path leads us around a tree then heads downwards.
Now, we must be careful because we risk to slide and fall.
This is a good moment for us to catch our breath,
and my friend appears to have recovered.

I have always preferred uphill climbs,
so the downhill is long and tiring.
The rain, meanwhile, seems to be diminishing.
Once more, we lengthen our strides.

Now, we are running on the edge of a level green field.
By now, we are used to the fatigue, and we gaze straight ahead.
The suffering is constant, but we can control it.
My friend, too, seems to recover.

We pass a small hill and again change direction.
The wind is strong, and we must combat against it to advance.
Instinctively, I lower my head, to protect my eyes.
And my legs push harder at every step.

Breathing is again short,
and it becomes difficult even to run on a level road.
My friend and I continue to exchange supporting roles,
so that the one who remains behind is protected from the gusts.

The last curve appears and finally we return to the asphalt.
We are protected by the city street and the wind is not so intense.
On the side of the road, people are cheering us.
Our exhausted muscles obtain new energy from their support.

The sky changes once more, and we can see the sun filtering through the clouds.
The wet roads create dazzling reflections.
Our strides pass over deep puddles and wide sidewalks.
There is a long winding path and there, at the end, the crowd!

My friend and I look at each other.
The suffering is over and we are happy.
Going faster, I feel a block in my stomach,
But I ignore the pain and forge ahead.

We are nearly flying toward the finish line.
Around us, people are yelling,
but I can only hear my heartbeat.
We are shoulder to shoulder,
and our intention is to arrive at the finish together.
Slowly, we go across the line, after such a long and agonizing race.

Our arms are straight with our hands held on our knees,
to support the heavy breathing.
All of our exhaustion seems to have passed through our lungs.
We look at each other and grin. We did it!
We move closer and touch each others' shoulders.

- I'm Alfonso, you?
- Alberto.
- I have leukemia, you?
- Me too.
- I'm going to have a bone marrow transplant; my brother is compatible.
- And I am having one three months after you; my brother is compatible too.
- Well, Alberto. let's do this race together.
- Yes, you go ahead and I will follow you!

Life rediscovered

Italian

I open the car door and slide into the driver's seat.
The door closes.
Yes, it still feels as though this is my place.
Slowly, I move my hands around the steering wheel.
I stare at the dashboard and it, motionless but nervous, waits for me to make a move.
It seems that the gear shift recognizes my hand
and, pushing the clutch I begin to turn the key.
There is a sudden vibration in my back bone. The motor is alive!
Turning on the radio, I hear an old Van Halen rock tune: 1984.
The volume gets turned up: the second song is Jump!
First gear... and I depart. Slowly, then trying a bit of acceleration.
I open the window. It's August and the air of this beautiful day is beautifully perfumed.
My hand is gliding in the breeze outside...

Wait!
“Good morning, fill up the gas tank please.”
“Sure... Is your trip a long one?”
“Yes, a life...”
Let's go!

There it is again... Jump.  I raise the volume...

Then, I steal a glance at the rear view mirror...

Leukemia. Pneumonia.
Fear. Pain. Boredom. Nausea.
Surgical masks. Medicine.
TAC. X-Ray. Ultrasound.
Chemotherapy. Radiation therapy.
Low blood values. Fever. Antibiotics.

Again, my eyes are on the road ahead.
There is a curve, then a long straight path...

So glad to see  you, world. I've been away in recent months, but now I've returned  once more.

Back to what is life: think, deciding, doing.
And now... living!

Resilience

Italian

"I am sick... I am so sick...
Hey, maybe now I am getting better... No, I am worse than ever!
But why? A strong guy like me? No, now I can't move any more!
The light bothers me, and I close my eyes.
My ears hear only the whistle of the blood flowing in my veins.
My back hurts with an intense hammering pain that tortures my spinal cord...
There is a taste of iron in my mouth and I want to vomit.
My cheeks and my throat are devastated by burning mucous.
The nausea is extreme, I cough, I vomit... No... I haven't eaten in days.
I am totally alone... I clench my hands which have no strength.
It can't end like this! It can't end like this!
I begin to cry, and the hiccups of my tears send pain rushing down my back.
The ache increases. I have to stop!
I feel abandoned, defeated. This time, my God, I can't make it.
Life is ending... ending...
... I prepare my body... I'm ready... waiting... waiting..."

And the wait was long... I was ready for the worst. But, the worst did not arrive...
When I awoke, I was still there, in the bed of my hospital room.
Looking at the window, I saw the dawn of a new day.
And the light of the morning gave me hope and strength to fight again.
And I fought again. And I swore with all my forces that I would have done it!

This was the most important and necessary of my life's efforts.

Resilience is the capacity of humans to affront adversity, to overcome it, and to be transformed by it in a positive way.

To relatives

Italian

You were always there, and I saw you waiting in the hallway,
being held up by the wall as you wait to enter the room.
And I saw you awkwardly fumbling with those surgical masks, which are so difficult to wear.
You were there, running after the doctors, to ask desperate questions which could not wait to be answered.
I saw you all alone, silently cry.
And I watched you leave the room, shutting the door with a happy gesture, taking leave with a nearly joyful hop.
There you were, and I watched you slowly pushing the trolleys, heavy with clear plastic bags, up and down the corridors.
There you were, and I saw that you were surrounded by doctors and trying to understand all the obscure words they were using.
There you were, and I saw you to smile while arriving in the hospital with good hot food bought in a restaurant.
You wandered the corridor, eyes red, searching for a sink with cold water to throw on your face.
There you were, and you thanked every one of the nurses, individually, for their humanity.
And then you rushed back and forth, between the room and the car, carrying the bags, to finally leave the hospital.

To everyone who has carried, and is carrying, the heavy weight of illness and suffering with endless strength,
let me say THANKS from all of us who have been and are in those rooms.
For what you have done and do for your loved ones, this is like an additional therapy.

Doctors treat our bodies.
You take care of our souls.

The candle

Italian

At 40 years of age, the man became sick with an incurable illness.
He was a strong person, but this burden was too heavy and it brought him near the end of his life.
On his deathbed, he held the hands of his child: his earthly continuation.
Reaching the last moment, his spirit lifted.

A short time later, the man found himself in a suspended and silent place.
All around him he saw lighten candles.
Some were high, others consumed and short.
A few candles were only melted empty forms.

The figure of an old man, with long silver hair, appeared.
As graceful as an angel, he came closer and smiled.
"Welcome." he said, with a warm and sweet voice.
"Hello." replied the man, hesitating because of his surprise.

"Where am I?" the man asked, while his gaze wandered.
"This is the vestibule." the older man replied, slowly turning his shoulders.
"What about all these candles?" the man countered.
"Each candle is a life." was the answer.

The man then began to study some of the small flames more closely.
He was curious about one which was nearly consumed and whose light was flickering weakly.
"This one?" he asked without taking his eyes off the wick.
"This is your candle. It will soon go out...”

A deep dismay filled the man.
Everything sounded tremendously wrong.
He began to tremble until he could not restrain himself anymore.
"The candle has melted. What can I do? I am dying!"

"You can do nothing." said the elderly figure, standing close and whispering in his ear.
"This is the natural cycle of things."
Meanwhile the man continued to stare at the weak flame sick.
He could not accept such an unhappy destiny for himself.

Suddenly he moved his gaze from the candle. Was he alone again?
He turned around and around, "Hey, Sir?"
He fell silent so that he could hear the reply... and was overcome with a wave of solitude.
He wandered near his candle. The others were so high and bright!

The man moved close to one of those. It was a higher candle than the others.
The flame was brilliant and constant. A beautiful candle.
The man looked around... The elderly figure had disappeared.
He took the wax, lifting it with a desperate gesture and broke it.

Then, he searched again for the old man among the bright cylinders. But, he wasn't there.
The man returned to his dying flame and placed the bright one on top of it.
His weak flame had become high and bright. He felt better now.
He thought that his elderly companion could not possibly have seen...
Then... all those lights blurred together...

The man opened his eyelids and a wave of daylight struck his sight.
He forced himself to keep his eyes open, and barely succeeded.
Had he been dreaming? Was he still on his deathbed?
The pain of his illness and the confusion of the medication had disappeared.

A low sound of crying reached his ears. His wife.
The image of the floor became clearer.
Then the shoes and the dark colored trousers. He was so elegantly dressed.
Turning his head he saw his wife weeping desperately.

The man looked straight ahead and the horror of what he saw nearly killed him.
It was his only child, motionless in a coffin!
He tortured his eyes with his hands to cancel the terrifying image.
When he uncovered his eyes again, nothing had changed. It was all tragically true!

The man understood that he had committed a fatal mistake.
The life he had stolen to lengthen his own was that of his child!
Among the thousands of candles, destiny had brought him to the one which was most dear to him.
Guilt did strike dumb him.

A loud buzzing penetrated his ears, and he felt himself fainting.
His knees could not resist and he fell to the ground.
His wife knelt and tried to revive him.
His face was contorted, his mouth open wide and mute.
Again, he was overcome with darkness...

When he was conscious once more, he found himself seated on a bench.
It seemed as though he had just awakened from a brief nap.
He tried to get accustomed to the light, and began to study his shoes and clothes.
He was wearing light Summer sandals and short beige pants.

The field in front of him was emerald green.
Children were playing with a ball. He was in a park.
A Summer breeze was lightly blowing and the trees were delicately rustling in the wind.
The man realized that he was not alone on the bench and turned his head.
The old man with his long silver hair!

"You!" he exclaimed with a voice which betrayed his surprise.
"Yes, me." said the old man, "I come to this park every day."
"Yes, but..." the man was not sure if he wanted to talk, or if he would even be able to do so.
He began: "... the candle, my child's death... I was wrong! What can I do now?"

"My son" answered the old man "The lesson was hard, but you have understood it...
You lived your youth, created a family with your wife, and had a child... all of this in great health.
When you became sick, you did not want to abandon it all,
So you tried to save yourself at the cost of another's life.
What can you answer to me now?"

The old man stared intensely, waiting for the reply...
"I have understood... that instead of attempting to lengthen my life at any cost
I would have been wiser to appreciate that which life had already given me.
From the beginning to the end.
Love of my parents, love of my wife, love of my son.
I had everything, but I wanted more!"

The man covered his face with his hands.
He wanted to weep out of shame for what he had done.
Then a gust of wind blew through his hair...
He separated his fingers, searching for the old silvered hair man.
He had disappeared once more! The man was alone again...
The sun began to set and the sky turned orange.
The first stars were already announcing the evening sky.

Something struck his ankle. A ball. A running child approached.
The child was sweating and out of breath.
"Papa, I'm hungry! Let's go home!" The man felt a rebirth. He lifted his child into his arms and hugged tightly.
The beating heart of the child hammered on the heart of the father.
For a long moment, they remained this way.
Then, hand in hand, they walked towards home, in the waning twilight.

Why I write

Italian

Hi! I am Alfonso De Prisco. This is my blog, in which I've gathered short meditations and a few stories. The hope is that each post will offer you a chance for reflection.

I am a leukemia survivor. Parts of this blog are about that experience, while others are more universal. My message is about optimism and hope.

I welcome your comments, suggestions and shared experiences.
Thank-you!

NB: English translations have been done by my dear friend Helen Siro Brigiano.
Thank you Helen!!