Wed the 20th of May – No news good News?

Alas, our Leading Lady spends most of her days either sleeping or hanging over - what has surely now become - a diamond studded platinum toilet bowl. Her trump is back. When Professor Martelli urges her to exercise, our Heroin’s tired response is simply: “I’m not very inspired right now…” I don’t think he appreciates her humor.

I continue sending text messages, two to three times a day. Mar rarely responds but that’s ok, I don’t expect her to. Nor is she in the mood to talk. That’s ok too. She’s forgiven and I’ll demand what is rightfully mine, my older sister’s undivided attention, when she’s 100% healthy again!

The Doctors estimate that some time next week, Mar can be discharged from the hospital. She can recover at the Chianelli Residence for a while before the next round of chemo and radio. She is literally counting down the days (to leave the hospital, not to the next treatment). She worries that her leave may be delayed depending on her physical condition.

My parents prepare her “home” coming the way they know best...FOOD. Mom even brought her blender from the Netherlands to make the healthiest vegetable soups or veloutes as she calls them.

I booked my flight to spend a long weekend with my family. I can't wait!

Wed the 13th of May – Martini Royal

A text from Dad. Cryptic as usual. “RR like Martini: officially appointed blood supplier to royal house”. It takes me a couple of seconds to decipher before I shed some tears of relief. For the confused, like me, let me translate: Dad, Rocco Rossini, is now officially Mara’s donor for the stem cell transplant. It wasn’t easy but he passed the health checks. At one point, the poor man had his blood drawn six times in one day, before and after every meal. He walks around with so many needle marks in each arm that between him and Mara, some may draw the wrong conclusions. An assumption easily justified if they knew we live in Amsterdam!

This is great news. The last few weeks have been uncertain and this is one worry less. I am elated, I want to jump up and down in joy and celebrate…But experience has taught me otherwise. So I am carefully happy, cautiously optimistic. I don't want to tempt the gods into sprinkling any more “complications” on our delicate path.

My parents must be so relieved. On the day we were told the Leukemia returned, Mom cried and desperately wished she could spare her daughter this cruel fate. She would take over this hardship in a heartbeat, without hesitation. It must be unbearable for any parent to watch helplessly as their child suffers, unable to protect them.

And so for once in a very long time, this feeling can be helped. It sounds so dramatic but my father will give his blood to “save” his daughter. Or at least increase her chances. Straight out of a Hollywood movie….Starring Angelina Jolie as Domenica aka Mara and Sean Connery with an Italian accent as Rocco “The Rock”!

I miss my sister. I bombard her with text messages on a daily basis. She's very tired thus not very responsive. I worry about tiring her even more and so, in yet another sms, I ask if I’m driving her crazy with all my messages. If so I’ll back off. Her response is clear: “U never drive me crazy”. Even though she doesn't answer, I'll continue texting so that she knows she's in my heart.

Perugia Hospital Address

Dear Friends,

If you'd like to send Mara a card, this is the hospital address:

D. Rossini
C/o Osp. S.M. Della Misericordia
Reparto Ematologia / Degenza (Cam. 9) 06132
S. Sisto - Perugia - Italia

Sun the 10th of May – Return to Amsterdam

It’s yet another beautiful sunny day in Perugia. Every morning we are treated to a musical concert, performed by the talented Perugino birds. I am sad to leave. The cat who welcomed us on our first night at La Foresteria, comes to say good bye. I ask him to take good care of my father while I’m gone. On cue, he walks to Dad and rubs up against his trousers. I feel better knowing that my father will be looked after!

I need to get back to work and make some arrangements in the Netherlands. Mom hasn’t seen her daughter in over 3 weeks and is anxious to be with her. She’s been taking care of her elderly mother and wasn’t comfortable leaving her unattended. Now that I’m back, I can relieve her of her charge and book her on the earliest flight to Italy. Also, I’m happy she’ll be with Dad.

The journey, two trains, two buses and a plane ride, goes smoothly. I left Perugia at 9am and at 8pm I land at Schiphol. It’s been a long day ending on a warm welcome at the gate by Hege and Richard. At 9pm, I receive a text from Mar “Did you have a cheeseburger?”.

Before leaving to Italy, Mara bought a lottery ticket. Her reasoning makes perfect sense: “Paul, if there was a chance I got Leukemia, surely there is a chance I can win the lottery.” Gotta love her logic…Having checked the results, I must inform her that the odds of her getting this illness still outweigh those of hitting the jackpot.

Sat the 9th of May - 118

I am jolted out of sleep by a very loud and throaty groan around 7am this morning. It comes from the neighbor next door. The only interaction I had with him was when I asked him a couple of weeks ago to lower his voice while Mara rested. Even though the walls are thin, he was very understanding and immediately did as he was bid. Seconds later, I hear the panicked voices of a young woman and an older man, screaming and calling his name, Giancarlo. I jump up and run outside. At the same moment, the young woman also bursts out of the room. She sees me, and frightened, asks for help. I can not dial the emergency number 118 with my Dutch phone but we were given a direct number to the hospital in such cases. Only, Dad has it so I run to his room and persistently knock on his door. In one breath I explain and Dad ever so calmly dials the number once he finds it. The lady, in tears, begging us to hurry, says Giancarlo can not be roused. He vomited and is salivating and their attempts to wake him are useless. She eventually also manages to call 118 and runs downstairs to wait by the gate for the ambulance. Since he vomited, I worry he may be lying on his back and suffocating. I run back to the room to find the older gentleman, still trying to wake him by shouting his name. Giancarlo is in bed, on his back, unconscious. I try pushing him to his side but he’s a big man and I can only get his upper body to shift. The older man sees what I’m doing and grabs a yellow bucket. I remember fleetingly wondering of what importance a bucket could possibly be right now. After a minute, he understands and helps roll Giancarlo to his side. I never did this before and I desperately hope I’m doing the right thing. I do notice a thin line of bile trickling down the side of his mouth while we turn him. When the paramedics arrive, I return to my room. I still hear a lot of commotion, people rushing about, talking loudly, equipment moving and finally to my relief, through my window, I see a drowsy but conscious Giancarlo being brought to the hospital. Just to be sure, I walk back out to check on the young lady. The door to the room is still open and I call out “Signorina?” She appears, looking exhausted but calmer. She apologizes for having disturbed us…As if I would write a letter of complaint to Management!

I am now wide awake and it’s only around 7.15am. I take a long warm shower and after a while I give in to my grief and burst into tears. This is all just too much. I keep thinking how Giancarlo must have been not so long ago, a vital man in his forties with strong thick hair. This is all so unfair.

Other then reading, blogging, facebooking and hanging out with my sis, I picked up an old childhood hobby of mine. Friendship Bands! The repetitive motion of tying knots in strings is very soothing. So today while talking with Mar, I knot away! Since it’s been 17 years since my last band, I wonder if I still have the touch. I do. It’s like riding a bike. In 3 hours, I make my first bracelet which Mar now proudly uses as a bookmarker. You see, I miscalculated the length of the strings and it’s a little too short.

While we converse, a man walks in. Not only is he clad in the green hospital cloth, he is in actual fact (no pun intended) a Man of the Cloth. He is here to offer his spiritual services to the patients of this ward. Mara and I are initially weary of his intentions…Will he trick us into a quick conversion, Vegas style? While sizing him up, his first question does not bid well. He asks of what Faith Mara is. Straight to the point. She says she is a Spinozista…He looks at her puzzled, as do I, but he is not deterred. Although he is wearing a mouth piece, he is pleasant to talk to and we find out that he is a Brother of the Franciscan Order. I eagerly show off my recently acquired knowledge of Saint Francis as Patron Saint of the animals. Anyone who is kind to animals automatically receives Mar’s stamp of approval and she therefore takes to this Saint. The “Brother’s” name is Michele and he comes from the same country of our father, Puglia. He’s a friendly man and promises next time to bring a book for Mar to read. Anyone who brings her reading material also receives Mar’s stamp of approval.

Fri the 8th of May – New Arrival

Early this morning, Mara sneezed and her trump flew out! There is no way that thing is going back in. Only, the nurses don’t know this yet. As we speak, Mara is carefully crafting a “cunning” plan to secure a trump free existence. She calls me and tells me what happened. “Oh no Mar. I’m so sorry. I guess they’ll have to put it back in”. As always, when Mar’s passionate about anything, she naturally reverts to French: “Ah Non! Faut arreter le delire” (this madness must stop). I suppress a smile. Mara is practicing her next move with her most authoritative tone on me. Later that morning, she explains what happened to a male nurse. She insists that it is useless to put the tube back in. Her oesophagus (not from a Greek Tragedy) still suffers and it’s just too uncomfortable. The nurse says he will reinsert it this afternoon. Mara looks at him and says: “No, you will not reinsert it this afternoon….”A few moments later, Dad receives a text. She is rid of the tube. Her Jedi mind trick worked! The doctors, on their daily rounds, were informed and most probably decided to give in as long as Mara ate properly. Here’s to the little triumphs in life (as long as our headstrong Mara eats).

Mara has always been subversive when it comes to Facebook. It’s a matter of principle. An invasion of a person’s privacy. However, these days, looking into people’s lives through their pictures, offers a small escape from her present reality. Her views on the matter of FB may have softened. Just a little bit. She still refuses to create her own profile but will no longer feign indifference when I access mine. She has always been very discreet about her private life and so while in the beginning she had her reservations about The Blog, she is now curious and supportive of it. Because, says she, with yet another smart ass remark: “how else will I read about myself?”

At the end of my visit, I leave through that ONE door with that ONE key. There is an internal waiting/changing room that leads to it. As I open the door to this area, I witness the arrival of a new patient. Her personal belongings are in a plastic bag and she is wearing the hospital pajamas. She has shoulder length hair and seems Mar’s age. While she dries her hair in the bathroom, she talks to her family. They are all wearing that hideous green quarantine outfit. Before the nurse ushers me out, I catch a glimpse of a man I assume is her father. I know the look in his eyes all too well. The look of a terrified deer caught in the headlights. It’s the same look I had last year. I recognize this scene. The one in which the patient desperately wants to protect her family by acting very strong, pretending that all this is normal. As if she does it every day and isn’t really going to the Hospital but rather is preparing for a trip somewhere nice. Perhaps there is also an element of self preservation in which she denies her new Reality. Mara even said: “Don’t worry Paulita. I’ll be out of here in 4 weeks!” This was last November.

Thu the 7th of May – I say a little prayer for you

Every day I pray, a few times a day for Mar's full recovery. I don't think it matters who I pray to. Whether it's God, Jehovah, Allah, Buddha, Shiva, Mother Earth or the Universe. Ultimately, if done with faith and love, I believe prayers are heard.

Ariane, a childhood friend of Mar’s, living in Bali, promises to “recruit” many of her Hindu friends to pray for Mara. This brings me to a clear realization.

From all corners of the world, we are blessed with loving friends who send healing thoughts and prayers to us. It’s a beautiful notion. At the risk of sounding overly poetic or just down right corny, your positive energy flows through us and gives us the strength to face whatever comes our way.

So to all corners of the world, we cherish your loving prayers and your healing thoughts. Please continue keeping Mara in your minds and in your hearts. Please visualize a vibrant Mara in a very near future, completely healthy, utterly happy, full of life, definitely with longer hair, fulfilling whatever important mission she is meant to accomplish in this life.

The other day my father said he could not imagine that a voice such as Mara’s would cease to be heard. If you know Mara, you would agree. So when picturing her, hear her voice and her laughter too.

As a token of my masochistic appreciation, I will happily receive little electric shocks every time a positive vibe is sent our way! Maybe not Mara though. She may not appreciate being shocked on top of everything else.