Mon the 8th of Jun – A day in the life of…

Mom is always the first to wake up. Every morning, she opens the door that gives onto the outdoor hallway/balcony onto the trees and the hills. She reminds me of a more exotic, slightly older, Julie Andrews almost singing “the hills are alive…” Almost. Thankfully she doesn’t burst into song. Rather, our Early Bird enjoys the musical symphony of all the other birds. Even in their feathered community, there are always a few Lead Singers trying to outdo each other with the most original tunes. Competition is fierce! They could not have found, in my Mother, a more appreciative audience. A pregnant cat very quickly understands this is the place to be for a good meal. To be clear, it’s not the birds she preys on…At least not the ones in the trees. It’s our very own Early Big Bird that caught her hungry eye. The expectant (in more ways than one) mother sits in front of our netted open door looking like a gigantic tea cozy. Mom already anticipated and sent Dad to buy cat food days ago. While Dad indulges, he thinks the animal just found the biggest sucker on the premises. So what. It makes both Moms happy and him, the loving sucker by association.

Dad gets out of bed a little later. After a very healthy breakfast (he’s Mar’s Champagne) he’s on the move. There always seems to be something that urgently needs to be bought. Sometimes I even wonder if he “conveniently” forgets things just to go out again. Trust me, his forgetfulness has nothing to do with age. As long as I can remember this has been his way. Our kitchen cupboards are always extremely well stocked. In the unlikely event of a natural disaster imprisoning us in our apartment, a week could easily go by and whoever freed us would find a crazed, cabin fevered but otherwise very well fed family.

I’m the last of the Rossini Bunch to wake up. I make my way to the Chianelli Residence by 8.30 - 9am each morning. They have a wireless network and I get some work done before Mara texts me to pick her up between 10 and 12pm. In her eagerness to leave, she sometimes sends for me too early and I end up waiting while the medical staff busies itself with its daily Mara routine. An entire delegation of doctors visits Mara each day. There are at least 3 of them, sometimes up to 5 squeezed into her tiny room (standing next to Minnie Mouse). Professor Martelli usually leads the party. Just as the doctors may not understand Mar’s humour, at times, she is uncomprehending of theirs. The Professor explains that the transplant process should commence on the 20th of Jun. They will start her off with a little radiation first. He won’t be here that week and hopes not to find her burnt when he returns. The rest of the team chuckles. Mar’s big eyes grow even bigger. Another doctor adds: “Yes Professor, you’ll find her very well seasoned”. This triggers another collective giggle. Mar’s huge eyes are about to pop out of their sockets…One of the doctors touches her cheek. The other pats her head. Another gives her a hug. “Signorina Domenica, aren’t we just a lame bunch?” She smiles unconvincingly.

We slowly walk back to the apartment. She’s still very tired. We usually stop at the bar for a slice of pizza and a cappuccino (for me). Her appetite, like Britney Spears, is working hard on making a come back. Mara really does her best to eat. Every day she weighs herself twice, in the morning and the evening. Every kilo counts. She still yoyos between 48 and 50 kg and understands that her condition must be good to take on the next round of chemo/radio. A couple of times, she also measures her height. As if, by eating, she could actually also grow a centimeter or so. “Paul, did you know that certain Yoga stretching exercises can actually extend your height by at least 1 centimeter?” I did. There. Another bit of useless information.

Lunch is carefully and lovingly prepared by Mom. It’s a warm meal designed to fatten Mar up in the healthiest way. She is so tired she heavily leans with her arm and elbow on the table. Every time, she apologizes in advance. My sister is so well behaved!

Afterwards, almost squinting with exhaustion, she stumbles into bed, finally reunited with Herald, her fluffy mate. I clear the table and Mom washes up. I sit on the bed next to Mara and draft a few work emails to be sent later. Once Mara’s asleep, the three of us tip toe around and make ourselves scarce. Mom and Dad are off to run errands and I go back to work at the Chianelli Residence.

By now, the Chianelly staff knows me well. I look so very busy and important with my super smart headset and my ability to laboriously and blindly type away. Somehow there is an air of seriousness about me and I think they may be treating me with a respect that isn’t entirely deserved. I make little effort to dispel any misconception they may have of my incredibly high powered job…

Occasionally I am lured into the kitchen for some fresh fruit and pastries. Giliola generously calls everyone “Amore” (love). The accent is on the very long “oooooo”. Otherwise it’s “Tesoro” (treasure). I start calling people “Caro” or “Cara” (Dear). I also catch myself sprinkling my conversation with “Con la grazia di Dio” (God Willing) or “Mama Mia” (no translation needed) to some of my new Italian friends. It’s catchy. It rolls so very easily on the tong and is always spoken in a singsongy way. I then also bring my palms together and shake my clasped hands in a back and forward motion…

Around 5 or 6pm, I return home and accompany Mar back to the hospital. I stay with her until around 9pm. Dad insists for me to leave the hospital while it’s still light outside. The first nights I make it home 5 minutes before dark. Dad is happy but would be even happier if I returned earlier. In his cryptic way, he makes his point: “Paul, in the North Pole it’s light 6 months a year, does that mean you’d be home in 6 months?”

After dinner, Mom goes for a walk. Sometimes I tag along. From morning concert to evening spectacle, Mom makes it just in time for the light show starring hundreds of dragonflies flickering away in the night.