I am grown up, but sometimes I feel small. I am unable to give up hope. I hope to get better and I hope to have him with me, in my life. I hope to not be a stranger in his life. It hurts to have to hide constantly, it hurts to have to run. I want to travel with him, discover every corner of the world with his hand in mine. But I can’t. And we fight, and fight and fight. ‘Leave me alone, get out of my life’. Today I yell it at him in the street, outside the hospital, forgetting the magic of yesterday. This time I sat on the chair on the fourth floor with my head in my hands for nothing. This time there’s a dinner with her. A night with her. Waking up with her. For me there is no place. I am a stranger today. ‘Sara I must ask you to leave. She’s about to arrive, she’s coming to pick me up.’ ‘You know what? I’ll go. I’ll leave here and your life. Don’t look for me anymore’. ‘Sara please...’ He starts trying to calm me down and yet looking at his watch. ‘You’re a shit, there’s nothing surer. You are timing my presence. Go to hell Roberto’. I turn and leave, leaving him there. Things don’t change though. We see each other, we have fun. And then he has to disappear, and then there she is. I feel bad, I would never ever want what I am doing to this young woman to happen to me. I don’t know anything about her, but this feeling of guilt makes me nervous. I can’t stay in this situation, I hate having to share with someone else. I can’t do it anymore. I deserve a normal life. I would like to have never gotten sick. I would like to have never met him. I go home, I’m unsure. This time not even a call to my girlfriends calms me down. As soon as I get home I want to go out again. ‘Sara is everything ok?’ Mum isn’t stupid. And my mother like all mothers understands that something isn’t right. ‘Yes Ma, nothing’s wrong.’ I pretend and while pretending I realise how bad I am at it. My tone of voice gives me away and the desire to escape without giving too much information. I am about to go out when the doorbell rings. From the other room mum calls out ‘Sara who is it?’ I don’t answer. I can see him on the screen of the doorbell waiting for me. Wasn’t he supposed to be at dinner with her? I go out quickly, before my mum can ask more questions. He stops me at the front door of the building, he takes my bag off my shoulder. He kisses me, caressing my face. He wants to make peace. I interrupt him. His gesture makes me put down my war tools, but not all of them. ‘Do you ever ask yourself where we will end up?’ My tone is threatening, I admit. I look him right in the eyes, I look in those irises that I love for a response, a certainty, reassurance. ’Have you ever thought about our future?’ I continue. The sound of my words travel at the speed of light, hit him and come back. He looks down. He escapes. He escapes like all men. He escapes every time he should stay. He takes a cigarette, puts it in his mouth and lights his daily thought squashing drug. As though the smoke is enough to reduce other problems to smoke. ‘Sara....’ He pronounces my name but doesn’t look at me. I hate him. ‘I am tired. Tired of you. Tired of me. Tired of an ‘us’ that has never existed. And that maybe will never exist!’ My mouth spits out words, I don’t take a breath, I lose control. ‘Sara stop it, calm down!’ he says to me, while he forces me to take his hand. ‘Calm down. This is the only thing you know how to say. That’s enough for you. It’s enough to calm down in front of any problem and the problem goes away right? How can you ask me to calm down? I have a heart. I am made of flesh and blood! I am going crazy because of you!’ Here we are again. I didn’t want to. But my face is full of tears, my eyes are like full rivers. I scream in pain, as it comes to me, uncaring what he thinks of me. ‘I can’t hurt you this much, look at what you’ve become’. His tone is decisive. ‘I cry bitter tears’ I respond. ‘You cry, but you don’t deserve it’. It’s become tit for tat by now. ‘I cry because you have two parallel lives’. There, I made him feel guilty. I breathe a sigh of relief, I feel lighter. He takes a drag and fills his lungs with nicotine, puffs the smoke towards the sky and embraces me. ‘Take me away’ I whisper. ‘Take me with you’.
Tonight there is no sleep. The telephone rings, he calls. I don’t answer. It’s five in the morning. Text. Roberto. Have you got any milk? Is he crazy? What does that mean? I decide to respond to him, he doesn’t let me sleep anyway. He is walking in my head, amongst my thoughts. What are you saying to me?
That I’m at your front door. I bought you a pastry and want to watch the sunrise with you.
I run downstairs, put on my jacket, tennis shoes and leave on my pink and black polka dot pyjamas. ‘Hi, what’s the look you’re going for?’ He kisses me. ‘Do you get it? It’s cold, the sun isn’t up, it’s five in the morning, I hate you and I’m in my pjs in the middle of the street’. ‘I know. But I bought you a pastry for breakfast, the moon is more beautiful than the sun, I crossed Rome in the middle of the night to come and wake you before I need to go to the hospital and in your pjs you’re a knockout’. ‘And I hate you’. ‘If you hate me I hate you too then’. We sit on a bench in the park at Colle Oppio. There is nobody around yet, the sky is getting lighter with each minute. A bit pink and a bit blue. A bit blue and a bit yellow. ‘Look at that bit of the moon’. Roberto indicates to me the last bit remaining in the sky while he tastes the sugary pastry. ‘What about that bit of moon?’ ’It’s as beautiful as you are. Actually if there was something I would compare you to it would be a bit of the moon.’ ‘Don’t be such a poet... this croissant is really good though’. He takes me in his arms and squeezes me tight, the early morning breeze freezing our faces. ‘Don’t be so snobby. It’s true. You are a slice of the moon. A slice of the moon with legs!’ ‘Polka dot legs!’ I respond and we both burst out laughing. True laughter, carefree. As if we were alone in the world. That we basically are now. We are the only ones around in the heart of Rome. We look at the Colosseum in the distance and the sun making space in the sky. He moves closer and kisses me on the lips. ‘That piece of the moon is like a smile in the sun. As you are the smile in my life’. I don’t know if it’s true, I don’t know if he is being completely honest, but if he wasn’t why would he go to such lengths?
All of a sudden he takes me by the hand and we get up running through the park. ‘Sara it’s really damn late! I have to go to the hospital!’. ‘Go on, you go, otherwise your boss will give you a hard time. Have a good day’. He pulls me close, the wind caresses our hair, a lock of which ends up in my mouth. He takes it with his finger, rolls it, looks me in the eye and a shiver goes down my spine. ‘Seeya moon slice with legs’. A warm kiss, in the cold early morning, in front of the sun making space in the sky is his salute.
And that’s how it goes. We don’t say the same old thing everyone says to each other each time. You know, like ‘see you tomorrow’. No, we don’t make promises. We don’t even live for each day. We live for the moment. Each moment could be the last. This is what keeps me going, makes it always new and never taken for granted. It’s a burst of energy, strong and powerful. The type that keeps you up at night, that leaves you staring at the ceiling thinking. I have a dream though. I dream that one day he says to me ‘see you tomorrow Sara’. Because that’s a promise, from those words there is no hiding.
When I was younger, I dreamed the fairy tale with Prince Charming on his steed madly in love with me. I had childhood dreams, like any other little girl. I believed the world was so beautiful that there was no room for pain, suffering or sadness. That’s the way it should be. It’s right that a child has the chance to think of the future and smile, imagining an adventure on the moon, dreaming of becoming an astronaut, a ballerina or an actor. That’s why when I think of the children trapped on the Paediatric Oncology ward I feel a profound sense of injustice. Some are so sick that they don’t have the energy to dream. Denying dreams to children is the biggest deprivation of them all. A child should be able to believe that anything is possible. I was lucky enough to have a happy childhood, knowing that happy endings are real, just as in the Disney fairy tales. I grew up in an oasis of serenity, where the biggest pain was a grazed knee, that mum or dad magically appeared to heal with a coloured bandaid.
I grew up in love with love. So tonight I decided to take a step into the past. Believing that sadness doesn’t exist in this world. I closed my eyes to avoid reality. I waited for my modern prince charming. No white horse but a green car, which is my favourite colour anyway. I’m dressed well for once, given that until now all he has seen is my pyjama collection with teddy bears and flowers.
‘Hello moon slice’. He gives me a quick kiss on the nose. ‘We’re going to a beautiful place for dinner’. ‘Where are you taking me?’. ‘Aladdin would say on a star’. ‘But you aren’t Aladdin’. ‘But I’m still your prince’. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure’, I mean it when I say it, even if I use an affectionate tone. ‘The lake at Bracciano isn’t a star, but if you look at the sky you will see lots of them’.
We get to the restaurant. A very polite and distinguished waiter escorts us to our table. ‘Roberto and Sara’ on a card on a round candlelit table welcomes us. It feels strange to see my name next to his. ‘Do you like this spot princess?’ ‘Don’t be silly, my name is Sara’. ‘Can’t I be romantic for once without you being difficult?’ ‘Exactly you are romantic today only and I have no idea why. You aren’t normally like this. Normally you’re cool.’ ‘Nice description...I’m cool!’ ‘You’re cool, you’re not the type for candlelight. You wear jeans and Nike t-shirts. You’re a beer and burger type.’ ‘Don’t you like me like this?’ ‘If I didn’t I wouldn’t be here’. ‘But you don’t want to be here’.
In the meantime two plates of spaghetti arrive. Good, so good. I allow myself a tiramisu as well. I eat the last mouthful. ‘Can you wait a minute for me?’ ‘Where are you going? It feels like I’ve been waiting long enough’ I say laughing. ‘C’mon, I’ll run to the car to get something and then come back’. ‘All I need is for you to leave me in Bracciano on foot, alone, at night’. I barely finish before he has raced off. Look, I’m a bit scared. Is he going back to her? Or maybe he needs to call her and that was his excuse. For goodness’ sake, I’m the lover. I feel totally dirty, guilty and each time I want to stop I’m unable. He’s coming back. Thank goodness. He is looking at me from a distance, he gets closer with a package. ‘For the moon slice with legs’. He smiles proudly. ‘For me?’ I say it with the enthusiasm of a child. ‘For you’. I unwrap it with my heart in my mouth. What has he bought me? How does he manage to surprise me in our imperfect situation? I open it and find a green scarf. And a card. I wish you didn’t have that scar on your neck. But it is because of that scar we are here and I had the honour of meeting you. This scarf is to cover it and always have me near. It’s true. I have a scar on my neck. Skin resewn in order to survive. But that isn’t the scar that hurts. It’s the one a bit to the left. The one on my heart, the one that he is giving me as a man, not as a doctor. He gets up and comes over. He bends down on his knee and takes my hand. ‘What are you doing?’ I’m blushing with embarrassment, everyone is looking at us. ‘Sara I’m in love with you.’ ‘Get up immediately’ ‘I’m in love with you’ he repeats louder. He gets up and goes back to his seat. ‘What are you trying to say to me?’ ‘That I’m in love with you’. ‘That’s the third time you’ve said it. You look me in the eye and torment me with words. Are you trying to convince me or yourself?’ ‘I thought you would be pleased that I opened up like this’. ‘I will be happy when you make a choice. Me or her. If you’re at a crossroad you can’t stay still. You have to choose a path. It’s about choosing.’
Any woman on the face of the earth would scream with joy hearing those words. Or they would get emotional. Or they would have a heart full of love. Or they would respond ‘me too’. Me, I’m getting angry. I can’t enjoy those words. I have the right to be happy. He states there is a war in his head. So I ask myself what all this is for.
Why do we have to live in the fog of pain?
For some weeks now I’ve been taking strong medication, giving up on my daily tablet that keeps me alive. Yes because those who live without a shield are forced to love a special tablet in order to survive. I feel myself blowing up like a balloon. My hands, face and legs are swollen and I am extremely tired. I could fall asleep anywhere no problem. Sometimes I burst into tears for no reason, other times I laugh heartily. That’s not taking into account the muscular pain, palpitations, excessive sweating, cramps and for obvious reasons I hate looking at my reflection. I’ve got tiny swollen eyes that when I smile disappear, leaving two lines in their wake. I seem like one of those manga characters. My endocrinologist says that it’s all part of it. On top of it all I am on a special diet, avoiding all foods with iodine because of the radiotherapy, which is how I will celebrate my birthday. But I’m trying to be philosophical about it all. Between the highs, lows, and extreme lows things are moving forward with Roberto. But I’ll admit it isn’t easy keeping up with everything. I’ve got more stress than blood in my veins. I called him a short time ago and we fought. I throw my anger at him and my guilt too. The need for certain answers, good or bad, is driving me crazy. With him things are in limbo. A bit like the rest of my life at the moment. Today I’m here, who knows about tomorrow? I send him a text. I’m on the bed with my nose in the air.
Sorry I don’t mean it, I don’t like yelling at you all the time. I get stressed out and tonight my legs hurt and I’m in pain all over.
Don’t worry you don’t have to apologise for anything. I’m the one who should apologise for a lot of things. You are my darling, try to smile. You are strong.
I don’t know why but I try and hate him and instantly love him more than before.
I’m back in hospital. For those with thyroid cancer, radiotherapy is really strong and you’re required to stay in isolation for days and days. In hospital you can’t have visitors, the ward is screened off and I said hello to my parents through glass. The doctors administering the drugs are dressed like astronauts to avoid radiation contamination. Before admission, a couple of days ago, I went home after a long day at university and he was there waiting for me. Leaning on the car with a cigarette in hand. He smiled at me. ‘What are you doing here?’ ‘If I can’t see you for all that time because you’ll be radioactive I have to come and say goodbye right?’ My anger passes at the sight of his face. I would recognise that face amongst millions of people. That face that has the power to give me tranquillity in spite of my pain. ‘Are you scared?’ ‘What do I need to be scared of? It hurts to admit, but if you are here I would be ready to face hell. We’re kind of already living it though right?’ ‘Come here for a hug’ and I fall into his reassuring arms. Small and tiny, I let my defences down. He is big and strong, he hugs me softly to protect me. I close my eyes in the warm summer evening. The wind caresses my hair. ‘Thanks’ I say. ‘For what?’ ‘For being here’. ‘Thank you Sara. For always being able to tell me how you feel. Because every time you smile you give me strength to face a tough life. Thank you because when I hold your hand I feel like a free man.’ It was his goodbye.
I go onto the ward and I am alone to start the radiotherapy. They are about to close the door to prevent access for the duration of the stay. The nurse is preparing a cortisone drip for me, I’m lying on the bed. ‘Good morning’. ‘Good morning doctor’ says the nurse. Out of the corner of my eye I see a green uniform coming closer. That green uniform. I smile. He takes my hand, without saying a word and squeezes it tight, to the last drop of cortisone. That’s how I know he’s there. That’s how I know there is no other way for us: our bond will beat everything. Even the radiotherapy. And so yet again I feel grateful to life. ‘Come on, moon slice with legs. Lots of radiotherapy to get better.’ ‘It’s like a fairy tale’. I wish it was. ‘I won’t leave you alone’. ‘Thank you Roberto’. I say it with my heart. He lets go of my hand and leaves the ward. It’s time to start another battle. This one in the bunker, as we patients call it, is a strong experience. You are outside the world, with other ill people and that’s all. You watch life going on outside the glass. You see the world of the healthy from a window. That’s how you realise you aren�
��t part of it. There is no noise, just a loud silence. You feel overtired and psychologically wounded and in spite of it all find time to laugh. ‘It feels like Big Brother’ says Alberto, a 60 year old Calabrese. It’s like we’re in a lab, being observed and spied on’ adds Mari, graceful middle-aged lady. To me, thriller film buff, the situation reminds of Saw to tell the truth.
I swallow the pill and am reminded of the Mary Poppins song when she sings just a spoon full of sugar makes the medicine go down! It’s true, when there’s a touch of sugar even the most bitter life is sweeter. I fall into the bed and feel exhausted. I’m tired, I feel sick, I’m so tired I feel like I’ve climbed the Alps and the Pyrenees together.
I wake up the morning after. As soon as I open my eyes I realise I am in hospital again. It’s so hot, at least thirty degrees. This time I’m in summer pyjamas, pink and green. In my bag, in the cupboard I put the scarf that Roberto gifted me. Goodness, now that I think about it I realise it’s my birthday. How can I forget about spending this day like a prisoner? It’s the day Roberto had memorised a couple of months ago, making the radiotherapy appointment. I decide to message him.
At least for today, give me the gift of feeling like only you and I exist. No one else between us.
All Things in Their Place Page 4