The fourth year

Italian

March 17 of four years ago marked the lowest point of my descending curve...
Eaten away by the leukemia, crushed by the weight of the chemotherapy and flattened by a cycle of radiotherapy.

I was isolated in the Bone Marrow Transplant Unit of the hospital, sunk deep into the bed with three electro-mechanical pumps continuously administering fluids via a vein catheter inserted into my chest.

Four years ago today, I had just finished (once again!) losing all my hair, and at a weight of 55 kg I had never been so thin.

I knew that a few hours earlier my brother, judged a compatible marrow donor, had been subjected to a painful (and generous) withdrawal of marrow blood from the bone of his iliac crest.

So, I was waiting for the arrival in my room, at any moment, of the life-saving serum to substitute my own bone marrow, which had been devastated by the therapies.

The afternoon was calm and despite the closed window, I could feel the warmth of the sun. It would soon be June and finally, unless there were surprises, I would be able to leave the hospital and go home.

A face appeared on the other side of the glass door; two blue eyes scrutinized me for a long instant. Everyone in that department wore hygienic masks, but I was accustomed to recognize them by observing their bodies and their movements.

The nurse with the sky in his eyes was Matteo. He cautiously opened the door and entered, holding a dark red bundle in the fold of his elbow, the way newborn babies are carried.

He walked over to me, controlling every detail on the label of the bone marrow blood bag, and asked for confirmation of my personal information.

Matteo then hung the bag on the pole for infusions, connected it and in the instant before beginning the delicate process told me to have positive, hopeful thoughts.

My mind raced... the visions of the bathroom at home after I had fainted, the entry into the oncology emergency room, the dramatic moment when I found out about my leukemia, the injections of chemotherapy which beat me down, the slow recovery, with a daily count of white blood cells, the smile of the doctor who told me about the verified compatibility of my brother as a bone marrow donor, the wonderful people I have met and to whom I want to demonstrate that their faith and esteem was totally reciprocated...

The transfusion commenced under the watchful eye of Matteo, who regulated the velocity of the flow. Then, when everything had been completed and verified, Matteo left me alone.

The rhythm of those red drops falling from the bag into the tube leading to my body nearly hypnotized me. One drop. Two drops... one after another.

My gaze drifted to the sky beyond the window glass...

This is the same sky I see today, four years later, with the same firm conviction that I can overcome the latest test. Today as then.

During this time many things have changed, including my hips, which, because of the therapies, crumbled. After innumerable attempts to recover, they have just been replaced with pieces of titanium and ceramic.

However, the will with which I remain tenaciously attached to life has not changed. Births are celebrated with birthdays, and my re-birth, after the bone marrow transplant on May 17, 2011, is celebrated today.

Today, I share the joys of this meaningful day with... my brother to whom I will be eternally grateful for his gesture and generosity, my wife who has always stood at my side, my entire family, the doctors and nurses I have had the privilege of encountering, special friends who pick me up when I fall and those who follow me affectionately.

There is also a thought for the friends I have lost, and from whom I received a formidable lesson in dignity, and to all those who are still fighting against the disease.

Let's raise the glass and toast to life, so ephemeral and so very beautiful!