Travelling on morphinesis
The True Story of My Death and Resurrection
Presentation
This is a real account of someone who apparently went “over there” and managed to get back.
It is not quite what is usually said to be the near-death experience, which is found in various scientific and secular articles.
I am a “Doubtist”[1], which differs from an “Agnostic”, one who believes in nothing spiritualism: I even doubt my certainties and I look for, I always look for, some explanation.
This experience in no way helped me to believe or definitively deny the existence of a God or Deity, in the afterlife, of something before the “Big Bang” that science is still struggling to define and is creating theories to its respect and its consequences in the creation of this possible Universe in which we apparently live.
Science is a slave to Epistemology[2], or rather, it led to the creation of Epistemology of Science[3].
For a theory to be valid, it needs to be proven by different experiences. It was possible to prove that what Einstein theorized about light being deflected by gravity[4] is true, and has yielded tools such as the Gravitational Lens, which are of great importance to try to prove other theories, such as the value of the expansion speed of the Universe[ 5].
And how to make several experiments that agree in the demonstration that imagined things, whose shapes and characteristics are not even known, exist or not?
Well, almost everyone who has religion will say that there are many; no direct, epistemologists that there is no way, doubters doubt, agnostics have certainties.
Leaving these speculations aside, my story may interest anyone who wants to read a crazy novel, Umbanda, Spiritualists, Buddhists, perhaps Taoists; possibly to psychologists and psychoanalysts, for the content, or to prove that I am irretrievable insane.
Let’s go there and decide.
[1] He who always doubts, even his certainties.
[2] https://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epistemology
[3] file:///C:/Users/blogf/OneDrive/Área%20de%20Trabalho/ram-72.pdf
[4] https://revistapesquisa.fapesp.br/2019/04/12/Quando-a-luz-se-curvou/
[5] file:///C:/Users/blogf/OneDrive/Área%20de%20Trabalho/1679–6774–1-PB%20(1).pdf
It’s amazing how I could have lived all these experiences in such a short amount of time.
The text does not describe everything that went on in my head and of which I have a very clear memory, nor does it elaborate on the details of hallucinations and dreams.
They are images and, as each one would be worth a thousand words, I would spend the rest of the 74 years of life that — according to the IBGE — has as a life expectancy those who was born in Brazil and in 2011 writing everything…
For those who are not interested in reading the long statement, I’ll leave a Summary of events right after.
And, for those who want to know, I put at the end “References” linking what is written in each chapter or paragraph with the reality that actually occurred, according to those and those who accompanied my apparent death, rebirth, and back to what is usually admitted as normal.
No one can go through such a thing and go back to being the “normal” from the past life. In my 2011 Holidays message I gave some hints of what I think will be my normality from now on.
It’s amazing how I could have lived all these experiences in such a short amount of time.
The text does not describe everything that went on in my head and of which I have a very clear memory, nor does it elaborate on the details of hallucinations and dreams. They are images and, as each one would be worth a thousand words, I would spend the rest of the 74 years of life that — according to the IBGE — has as a life expectancy those who was born in Brazil and in 2011, writing everything…
For those who are not interested in reading the long statement, I’ll leave a Summary of events right after.
And, for those who want to know, I put at the end “References” linking what is written in each chapter or paragraph with the reality that actually occurred, according to those and those who accompanied my apparent death, rebirth, and back to what is usually admitted as normal.
No one can go through such a thing and go back to being the “normal” from the past life. In my 2011 Holidays message I gave some hints of what I think will be my normality from now on.
Summary
I have been a regular producer of kidney stones for many decades. From having to let the stones, boulders and pebbles pass so much, the pipes ended up widening or getting used to it. The first crisis required hospitalization and intravenous application of dolantine; the next with injectable buscopan, which forced me to carry syringes, ampoules, and prescriptions in English to withstand my many trips around the world. Gradually the pains became lighter and, about ten years ago, only a few pills of buscopan solved it without any further problems.
On September 19, 2011 we were still living in an apartment in Portal do Morumbi that Julieta had just sold, as we were no longer able to pay the condominium and IPTU payments. In the morning I began to feel the symptoms that always preceded the attacks: general and undefined discomfort, slight nausea, sometimes sore legs. I didn’t even mention it to Julie (Juliet).
The next day (20) started severe pain and I started taking a pill of buscopan every 4 hours. The pains only increased; Julie suggested that I should go to a Health Center. But I already knew the closest SUS well, to which I could, with some effort, walk: without doctors or minimal diagnostic equipment. The closest AMA (which I also knew) was Vila Sônia; to get there it took two trains and climb a slope of about 300 or 400 meters.
Julieta was drowning with work and tasks to give a treat and furnish the apartments where we would have to live (one of hers and one of mine); she hardly stopped at home and at night would pass out from fatigue.
On the morning of the 21st I was crawling, bent over and panting, maddened with pain; Juliet had already left.
Then happened the first of the miraculous coincidences that allowed me to be writing this now.
Neide, our friend who also lives on the Portal, called her office, but got the number wrong and called our phone!
I answered, she asked what was wrong with me; I don’t even know what I answered.
- “Go down to the garage and I’ll get you!”
Even though your car is great, those new, soft suspension and upholstery, with every bigger hole — that abounds through our poor town — I stifled a moan.
At the AMA in Vila Sônia, she put me inside the service area, explaining to the attendant what was wrong with the old man, and went to the reception to register.
The girl was very kind: please, sit here and you will be attended to.
After a while, she told me to go to the inner waiting room and repeated that I would be the first to be seen. Neide soon entered to wait there with me. Sitting or standing, bent over, it was the same unbearable suffering.
Time passes and Neide was, three times, to find out what was happening: “an emergency came in” — as if my case wasn’t — he is the first now, on room x”.
On the fourth time, Neide learned that this time room “x” was 22. She took me by the arm, opened the door of that room and the old doctor (I don’t know if she was really a doctor), who was attending a woman apparently very well. of health wanted to rattle, but Neide imposed herself. The patient left and the old woman asked my name and went to look for my file: she was under many others!
This is how my people became: each one interested only in himself and in taking advantage; bribing and being bribed, insensitive and screwing with those who, naive, and do not give them “little gifts”.
The old woman finally asked me to take an abdominal X-ray. I was: the pain to climb on the table and to lie down on the hardboard…
I came back with the technician and the plate. Then she must have seen that the thing was very serious and didn’t want a dead person on her file: “We need to take him urgently to the University Hospital.” I only found out what had happened to me later: a diverticulum had burst and opened an inch-long hole in my colon and flooded my abdomen with faeces.
Neide, who had already taken a look at the AMA yard: “There’s an ambulance here, he has to go in an ambulance!”
This was the first of three ambulances in our Municipality of Sao Paulo’s ambulances that I had to use until the end of my “Via Crucis”. All without shock absorbers, without adequate equipment for the patient and companion to enter, without equipment to raise or lower the stretcher other than brute force! And the brutality towards the patient, however much the nurse and driver try to alleviate the thing.
On this trip began my test of resistance to pains that I believe would have made most people faint or go crazy. Only in the first two or three kidney crises did I have to be hospitalized, from then on I learned to bear the pain; after many of them, the “pipes” also learned and I spit pebbles and pebbles only with little discomfort, rarely needing an oral Buscopan. But these, dammit! They were infernal.
There were highly positive coincidences, but a negative one: even though I arrived by ambulance and was referred by the AMA, I had to sit in a wheelchair waiting to be called by the password Neide took for me.
There were highly positive coincidences, but a negative one: even though I arrived by ambulance and was referred by the AMA, I had to sit in a wheelchair waiting to be called by the password that Neide took for me, despite she having informed the attendant why I was there and with the radiography of the AMA!
Yes, there were a lot of people waiting, but for me, the great bad luck was having arrived at the end of the shift of a doctor who I believe has no experience in dealing with the situation (and I think heartless). After my discharge, I wrote a long complaint to the HU Ombudsman, which, until now, only received a note saying that they received it and that they would respond.
The girl asked an intern to examine me. I had to get into bed. When the boy touched my belly he got a bellow in response. Everyone who knows me knows of my resistance to pain; but even if the young man didn’t know about it, I imagine that this was enough for immediately being hospitalized.
In the meantime, Thais, my daughter, had already arrived and replaced Neide, who went to fetch Julieta.
I don’t know if the doctor was really incompetent and insensitive or if she didn’t give a damn about the intern’s opinion: she started asking for more tests.
Blood: this was relatively close to where I was and Thais pushed my chair over there. After the exam, my daughter went to talk to the intern, who was nice and friendly, and insisted that I could not stay there. — “I’ll talk to the Doctor”.
Result: another abdominal X-ray!
Follow the blue line. And off we went: Thais pushing me in a wheelchair without even a headrest, for another torture session.
Now an abdominal ultrasound! Follow the blue line. Imagine what I felt with the technician rubbing that thing in my belly.
An EKG! Believe! Follow the blue line…
If the doctor had seen the first results or at least the X-ray taken at the AMA, she would certainly have admitted me urgently.
In the meantime, a second saving coincidence happened: Delza had called my “home-office” phone; she had no answer, she called my cell phone and also had no answer. She then called Julieta who, by coincidence, was passing by the apartment and leaving, running, to the HU. Julie gave a terse reply to Delza, informing her I where and how I was and took off with a Neide to there.
Delza was with Claudia, a dear friend of ours, by her side and asked her to try to find her sister Monica, Head of Pharmacy at the HU, highly respected by all medical, surgical and clinical staff at the hospital.
Coincidentally, Monica was passing by her office on her way out for an appointment. She cancelled everything and went downstairs to search for me.
Today my impression is that the “Doctor” when she realized the seriousness of my case, was kicking a can down the road to the next boss on duty.
At one point my Anja Monica had arrived and transferred me to a stretcher. She already knew who the new duty boss would be and, I imagine, had talked to him.
In these moments, no matter how hard I tried to keep myself awake and alert, I would go off for a while, but I would return to wakefulness.
Whatever it was, I, from my stretcher that was parked on a higher level, saw a tall, grey-haired man pass by, from left to right, who shouted: “Full abdomen! Immediate surgery!” Later I talked about this with him who told me it wasn’t quite like that, but similar…
At this point, I could finally lose consciousness.
With all the misfortunes and even more for all the saving coincidences, I went into surgery already with sepsis.
I had had diverticulitis which, with so much time gone by, had runny and opened up into an inch-long hole in my colon!
I heard afterwards from Monica that the doctors talked about whether or not it was convenient to “open up to me”. Dr Cassio didn’t even blink and went ahead. Thank you, Dr Cassio!
I was in an induced coma for almost eight days.
From what my many Angels have told me, I had a cardiac arrest the first day and another the next day or two days later. My kidneys also took a long time to work, but they worked (in the long story below, the tale of Juliet’s disobedience giving me more water than allowed and that apparently is what made them work).
I was delirious and just talked crazy things.
Independently of each other, Thais on the one hand, and Juliet and Neide on the other, went to talk to the psychiatrist. “Is he going to get back to normal?”
- “Usually they come back” …
The recovery was very slow for me, but extraordinary according to all doctors, surgeons, clinicians, and nursing staff.
Between hospitalization and discharge, 27 days of great fun in the incredible journeys that are still vivid in my memory.
The birth
I didn’t see lighted stairs,
a tunnel with a bright light at the end, not even a small light.
The first thing I remember, when I came out of nowhere or out of complete darkness, was being thrown into a big garbage pickup truck by a cleaning assistant, a short dark mulatto; everyone, anyone, white, brown or black, was short in “my” hospital.
I reappeared, not knowing how I got there, under a pile of red bricks, arranged on steps, longer than wide: a tomb in the shape of a cross.
In desperation and anxiety, as I tried to move or leave, I heard the voice of the woman who was the priestess of the sect who controlled all, or nearly all, the cleaning assistants, other staff, and hospital patients:
- “Say the word!”
- Jesus!… Nothing.
- “Say the word!”
- Mary, Mother, Father, Saint Cristopher… Nothing.
Despair! Anguish oppressed my chest, I could hardly breathe anymore.
- “To leave you has to say the word!”.
- Yemanjá, Oxossi, Ogum, Exu,… Nothing!
Growing despair.
- “Force! Say the word!”
- Iansã.
Puff! I left the tomb only to find that I was locked in a shed that housed the tomb. Shed that, for me, was right next to the hospital.
- “Say the word!”.
- Again “Iansã” and, suddenly, I was in my bed in the ICU, surely still in an induced coma.
I erase.
Shadows of Julieta, whom I knew was beside the bed, a shadow I didn’t see, but which pressed wet gauze across my lips that I sucked, greedily, wanting to ask for more.
I believe that Neide’s “voice shadow” told Julieta to stop, not to give more, the doctors asked…
But she continued several times.
Interregnum.
Thelma’s invisible shadow groped me and spoke softly: Go, De! You are strong, get out of this!
Interregnum.
Thais (a shadow I almost saw or thought I almost saw) followed the ultramodern tomography: me leaning back (or lying down?) on my stretcher, the doctor or technician (who I “knew” was a German) on a level a little further up, in the corner to the right, with a dobby that, pointed at me and without touching me, was making a tomography around my chest and abdomen. Amazing, right daughter? And she joined in the journey: Yes dad…
The beauties of the place
The beauties and lights of the yachts and boats parked there beside my room were unimaginable! Wonderful each one of them and even more so in their entirety.
Once I returned to my corner, coming from the pier’s walkway, through one of them, shimmering in sparkles and colours, of dizzying inner richness.
I lived and relived these experiences for two or three days (maybe more, I don’t know). They became unforgettable.
I didn’t understand if the boats were in the São Paulo University City’s Olympic Range, as I could also see them next to the Oceanographic Institute and the Institute for Nuclear Research (IPEN), or if they were connected to the Pinheiros River or the Tamanduateí (!).
In delirium, I asked my friend Plínio, who knows everything, but he wouldn’t answer me…
I know that a lot of people were there visiting me, but I only remember, at that time, of a few close relatives.
Investigating
I walked, circled the hospital buildings several times to locate the shed. I knew I was right there, but I couldn’t see exactly where in relation to the hospital. I had to find it to report to the Hospital Board where it was and what it was used for!
At another moment I noticed that the object, a kind of identification card, which we received when we entered (looking like an umbrella cord of these small, retractable ones), was stuck in our hands and, suddenly, I understood that a wire tenuous but resistant, invisible, it linked my “identification card” to some distant point; pulling my hand, I felt the force with which the elastic connection gave way and tightened again; it wouldn’t let go. I was stuck with the organization that had kidnapped me!
I twirled the string several times, like a jump rope; I managed to screw it on the end of the gutter of the building opposite me, a little below the window where I could see it. I pulled a few times and there was no longer any elasticity: it was a hard string. I gave a hard tug, and the thread snapped. Free!
Immediately a man appeared, coming out of the side door of the building, ranting, saying that I would pay dearly for this.
I was afraid, more anguished than on fear.
Afraid, almost terrified, I was of all the runt janitors!
Every time one passed by, I ostentatiously made the sign of the cross, crossed myself, and prayed “Our Fathers”, to protect myself and drive the demons away.
Sometime later (or not…)
The “rooms”, were separated by curtains that had holes, fringes and folds from top to bottom, were lined up like a composition of wagons; they walked according to time, or according to the recovery of each occupant, I’m not sure. Mine was number 10, the last on the “train”.
Luckily I had my computer!
The fringes of the curtain in front of me opened a series of messages, one of them from Delza’s Portuguese friend who, for some reason, had sent her a complete alphabet and all the writing signals.
Right away I started using this precious gift to receive and send messages: the letters or symbols were one in each vertical of the fringes-columns, and I could select each one with my “mouse” (the oxygenation meter attached to my finger… .). Huge hassle, but it worked perfectly.
In the “car” in front, number 9, recently emptied, a man entered who, without even seeing him, I was almost certain I had already met, in particular, because of his vain and unpleasant wife, both of whom were introduced to me, a long time ago, by Edison. (Poor Edison: he doesn’t even know he got into this one; when he will read it, will give a good laugh.
I went to visit them, in an Arab country, maybe in Lebanon or a nearby island (!?). His name was Sebastião, I don’t remember very well, but my daughters know it.
During my stay there, I saw that he had a huge fleet of boats and gondolas, decorated with multicoloured lights (during my stay it was always night there), with music and varied and hearty food, in the Arab style. I enjoyed some walks (at night, by the way) that he offered me.
The canals (!) were congested by the multitude of boats of various types, all with fairy lighting, as were the houses and noisy restaurants of two or three floors with open terraces, which we passed. Everything, boats and restaurants, crowded with tourists.
The husband (my companion in car 9) and his eldest son worked day and every day for the “madam” to give nababesco parties and show herself in the media; the husband’s name was never even mentioned.
I got to know the huge Greco-Roman mansion with an entrance space (which I could see below me) with semicircle columns, all in pale beige marble, flanking a huge door, I believe in worked metal.
They were already on the brink of bankruptcy. I believed that was why they came to Brazil.
I had respect and consideration for the new neighbour in front of me.
Then, suddenly, I hear the voice of the “Priestess” who had spoken to me there in the tomb and shed: “Hi Sebastião, if you need anything you can count on us” or something similar.
Terrified that the bitch would involve him, and maybe also “kidnap” him as she had done to me, I wrote a message to him, with an open copy to the “Center” or whatever it was: “Dear friend Sebastião, I’m back here at the room 10, and I wish I could talk to you. As soon as I can, I’ll take my room next to yours so we can talk better, Flavio”.
- “It will be my pleasure. I await your visit. SJMJ”.
- “I haven’t seen this symbol of Save Jesus Mary and Joseph for a long time! Can I copy and insert it in my messages?”.
- “Clear! I am very happy that you also use it”.
I started to use the card as a “signature” for all my new messages, as a way to scare away the “enemies” and protect me from them.
The aftermath of cutting the “invisible thread”
- “Ignorant asshole! Your name was ripped from the book!”
- “Defied the Brotherhood of good! Condemned to Gehenna.”
And one or two more curses like that in my inbox, all women, with their names, wish I don’t remember.
I wrote a message in reply to all of them saying that a brotherhood that didn’t accept differences and discussion of opinions couldn’t be holy, that I wanted to talk, that I was the son of Oxossi and my wife (Julieta) was the daughter of Iansã…
A “believer” told everyone to leave me alone that I was not evil but a brother to be welcomed.
I immediately thanked her, and I was free from curses.
But after that…
- The administrator and chief executive of the “Sect”, a man I’ve never seen but who knew how to be tall, thin, in his 40s, white, hair combed and hair plastered with fixer, always in a suit and tie, started to ask me, send messages of proselytism, where he peremptorily stated that only the “Universal Mormons of Mesopotamia” (or Universal Church of the Mormons of Mesopotamia?) were the bearers of all truth and wisdom, directly from Moses… blah blah blah blah .. . and whoever didn’t join them…
I stupidly replied, shredding his arguments.
Even in a state of delirium, I knew that answering was, more than nonsense, a recklessness. After all, I had memories of what I had suffered in past lives with the harassment of pairs of young men in white short-sleeved shirts, pants and dark blue ties (and a jacket when it was very cold); of the “Jehovah’s Witnesses”; and some of those annoying “evangelicals” people living without life and wanting to end ours. I only got rid of them when I learned to treat them as rude and iconoclastic right away.
The replica came.
I went to Google and put together piles of arguments and demonstrations that his harangue was scum…
That still continued until I told him that I would no longer reply to his messages and that I had deleted his address from my contacts.
Nonetheless and meanwhile
I was particularly grateful to one of the nurses, a cute one, whose name was Raquel.
I asked her if she knew of the strength of her name, which had caused Jacob to serve Laban, Rachel’s father, for seven years just so he could have her as a wife. I believe I recited the Camões poem
“Seven Years of Pastor Jacob Served Laban, father of Rachel, beautiful mountain woman…”
She knew nothing.
What madness to seek the story of Jacob and Rachel!
The sites, very rich and wonderful, were in Hebrew; I had to save one by one and translate it into Portuguese, and each one of them unfolded into new texts and maps, from which I had to find the right point to continue.
It seems to me that it took days to reach the end of the puzzle.
Raquel, as I remember, did not reply to my message with the beautiful and laborious attachment that I made.
The hospital also offered games and pastimes.
I saw the site on “my PC” and decided to enter the game.
Interestingly enough, it opened new rooms as I passed one, taking care not to tip over pieces of crockery or crystal, or sets of stacked cubes, cylinders, and other shapes; all in well-lit environments and multicoloured shapes.
I reached a stage where I had to pay to continue. I thought a lot, knowing I didn’t have many resources; I ended up deciding to continue and paid on a Credit Card. This also gave me additional points in the game.
Further new payment request; this one with a promise of prizes. I paid for it again and got a beautiful surfboard, which I gave to Pedro, my son (the bandit hasn’t thanked me so far!).
From this point onwards I started to see and talk to all my family and friends, all alive and well present for me.
The first one I saw was my father, on the hospital entrance stairs, complaining and wanting to know where he could smoke! (He had quit smoking for over twenty years before he died). From then onwards, with each new “room”, another number of meetings. In this one, under the covered part, my mother sat next to Da Marilda (Darilma’s mother) and Julieta who had Danielle (who died at 21), already quite big, in her lap; on the open lawn Eduardo, Roberto (died February 2011), Celso and Pedro were talking or playing a game I didn’t understand…
Too much for one day: I went to sleep.
The hospital also offered games and pastimes.
I saw the site on “my PC” and decided to enter the game.
Interestingly enough, it opened new rooms as I passed one, taking care not to tip over pieces of crockery or crystal, or sets of stacked cubes, cylinders, and other shapes; all in well-lit environments and multicoloured shapes.
I reached a stage where I had to pay to continue. I thought a lot, knowing I didn’t have many resources; I ended up deciding to continue and paid on a Credit Card (which I don’t have). This also gave me additional points in the game.
Further new payment request; this one with a promise of prizes. I paid for it again and got a beautiful surfboard, which I had to give to Pedro, my son (the bandit hasn’t thanked me so far!).
From this point onwards I started to see and talk to all my family and friends, all alive and well present for me.
The first one I saw was my father, on the hospital entrance stairs, complaining and wanting to know where he could smoke! (He had quit smoking for over twenty years before he died).
From then onwards, with each new “room”, another number of meetings. In this one, under the covered part, my mother sat next to Miss Marilda (Darilma’s mother) and Julieta who had Danielle (who died at 21), already quite big, in her lap; on the open lawn Eduardo, Roberto (died February 2011), Celso and Pedro were talking or playing a game I didn’t understand…
Too much for one day: I went to sleep.
The long day went by and I finally got back to my game
It advanced in newer and newer dimensions. More rooms to continue visiting, more dear people in each one, grandma Francisca and aunt Maria, all my uncles and aunts Musa, joy and reunions. And the sobs began.
I came to the conclusion that my hiccups happened because they were in dimensions outside the real and current. I think I talked about this to Thais and Thelma.
Another hassle: going back all the ways travelled with my “mouse” retracing the tracks, getting lost and returning to the way back. A long and strenuous task that took two to three days.
Already in a bedroom
There were four of us. As far as I remember, I was the one who was still out of my mind; of the other three, a young man beside me had a serious problem in his left leg, the result of a motorcycle accident. The Chief Surgeon (the same doctor who took me to emergency surgery) passed by each of us with several fifth-year residents at the Hospital das Clínicas; one time, he explained everything that matters to a future doctor about me, lifted the sheet and showed how my surgery was doing, examined my colostomy bag, asked me:
− Do you feel better?
I said no, because I couldn’t eat the slop they gave me, I wanted to eat avocados with salt, oil and lemon.
− Wow, he has good taste! This increased my hunger: let’s go to the restaurant now!
During visiting hours, relatives and friends arrived, bringing fruit, magazines, some gift; if men, they exchanged few words in low tones with “your patient”, they took little time; the women spoke in a normal voice, had a conversation, talked a lot, not only with “their” but with all of us, they laughed and made us laugh.
And I, when alone with the room companions, talked to the three of them.
For me, one of them, the one from the front to the left, was a soldier linked to the story of Sebastião, his family and current difficulties. But I didn’t say anything about it. He became the “Colonel” for me.
In front on the right, a chubby gentleman, always cheerful and talkative, who had had his right leg amputated. He became the Commander of the group. A very mocking commander.
To my right a young man, I believe a sports teacher, with a serious infection problem in the large metallic prosthesis in his left leg; friendly and always helped me to reach a book, the crossword, the “parrot”, or to open the lids of the food. We needed young, athletic people; I don’t remember his “codename” that would be an “advanced agent”.
I talked a lot and the four of us played (poor the other three) and “created” a brigade that would end the lies and spread the truths and promote peace.
For me, it became another journey: each one of us went to a corner of the world, would entice one or two more of our lineage, and we would wait for the signal, which would leave the top of Sugarloaf Mountain, for the spectacular action.
A girl and I were lying on the beach in Itaipu, deserted, sunny, under some coconut trees. From “Central,” a high-definition zoom TV camera focused everything; I saw myself at the same time on the beach and watching myself through the camera lens. In Copacabana there was the “Advanced Agent” with another companion who must have enticed. I don’t remember where in the world the Commander and the “Colonel” were (both were discharged…).
Given the signal, all regions of the world were swept by huge waves, as if they were tsunamis, which did not cause damage to buildings or harm people: they just washed them away. From Central, I followed the wave passing through Copacabana. All recorded in VT; I thought about putting the recording on air, but my computer was gone. All lost.
The big disappointment
They lent me the only “walker” existing there; with difficulty and assisted I got off the bed and positioned myself. A skeleton, mostly bones, tried to walk; I dragged my supported body and managed to take several steps; the next day I managed to leave the room and walk a few meters.
In the other, he was already holding the walker in the air! But soon I got tired and to walk around my daughters would push me in a wheelchair to a space where there was a TV, armchairs and chairs.
The Anja Monica came to visit me whenever she could, and I would take the opportunity and ask her to tell others that she had received my “E-Mail” messages. Kind and shy, I don’t know what she babbled or what signs she made that I interpreted as confirmation.
But one day she arrived and I was in that TV room with one of the daughters, in a wheelchair just so I wouldn’t get too tired, but already much stronger; I asked the same question and she nodded, but it confused me with her faltering answer.
The next day or two later I suddenly discovered that my “computer” did not exist.
Big, big frustration.
Finally, the discharge!
Thais picked me up. I left in a wheelchair; I asked her to take me to the smoke area.
Long drag. Ah! Delicious!
Satisfied, Thais took me to Delza’s apartment, who had already arranged this with Julieta and Thelma: neither would be able to treat (nor would I be able to treat myself) during convalescence.
Delza, affectionate, experienced for her time as a medical assistant, was involved in treatment and care. On the wide veranda, I sunbathed; Delza cannot, and must not, smell cigarette smoke; even for me to smoke, she managed it: with the inside windows closed and the outside ones open, an ashtray on James’ tray, a butler figurine I had given her in the past. Later, when it was almost good, I would go downstairs and smoke in the garden.
Adequate and exquisite food (she made her even avocado with salt, oil and lemon), while I was getting better, I walked hunched over without stretching my stomach, reducing the pain. His massage therapist (excellent professional), the first time he saw me, said to me “Straighten your back, it only hurts a little, for a few days, but you’ll be hunchbacked like this!”. Beautiful help! The next day I was already looking to walk normally, on the second or third day I was walking as usual.
It was there, on the terrace, in a moonlit night, that I wrote “Dreaming awake”
Healed, restored,
I returned to normal life.