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...
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