Thu the 30th of Apr – Good Bye Trees

Mar sends me an sms: “Professor Martelli wants to speak to both of us. Can you come ASAP?” Again, the fear takes over. I rush to the 4th floor of the hospital. A young lady doctor is waiting for me at the entrance of the department and escorts me to a little waiting room where Mar’s sipping on some tea. She looks so fragile. Her right eye is blood shot and the color vividly contrasts with her big blue eyes. Inserting the catheter was a painful experience. She describes the local anesthesia as the sting of a jelly fish. It felt as if the tube were poking her heart. To make matters worse, the treating doctor’s almost indifferent attitude while tugging at her skin only contributed to aggravating her even more. The feeling of helplessness makes her very very angry. At that moment, I wish with all my heart I could take all this away. But I can’t.

Professor Martelli walks in. He confirms what was said the day before. The Leukemia is back with a vengence. At this rate, even a transplant wouldn’t keep it at bay. The treatment plan and the timelines have changed. A different kind of chemo the first six days and after approximately 50 days, the transplant. It’s now almost 4pm and we’re given a couple of hours of freedom before Mar is expected back at the hospital to immediately start the treatment.

We go for a walk. She says good-bye to the trees, the wind, the bar and after one last cappuccino at 6pm we go back. Mar walks in with nothing but the clothes on her back. She’s handed hospital pajamas and asked to change. Her clothes will return with me. Everything is taken care of and anything else must be desinfected. This includes her mini ipod, her books, her mobile phone and even her sister! I am covered from head to toe in this green disposable garment. Not a great fashion statement but sterilization is taken very seriously. The moment Mar’s admitted, an entire team of nurses takes over and swiftly gets to work. She is no longer in control of her body and is asked to sign different papers allowing them to treat her. As her Private Assistant I feel strongly about protecting some of her basic rights. For example, even though all her friends and family call her Mara, her official name is Domenica. The medical staff has thus far addressed her as such and Mar has not corrected them even though I know this is important to her. I therefore fiercely demand they call her Mara everytime her name comes up. It’s a detail and I may be over-reacting, but I won’t let them take away her name!

After a long journey, around 9pm, Richard and Hege finally arrive. Mar’s in very capable hands and in good spirits after a very decent hospital dinner. A culinary treat compared to the carton tasting food she was fed in the Netherlands. I leave her to pick up our friends and when I see them, I welcome them amid sobs of happiness. It’s been a long couple of weeks and it feels like an eternity since I last saw them.

They’re staying in my room and as we walk to the Foresteria, the resident cat gives them a lavish welcome as he did with Dad, Mar and me on our first evening. Richard is convinced he must be the reincarnation of a patient, looking out for us all. I think he’s right.