An afternoon with a slight breeze
by Nandia Foteini Vlachou
When someone breaks tragic news to you, you can’t really imagine the casual way this may be delivered. Monday past, I was announced to, in a rather summary way, that I wouldn’t be continuing with the initially predicted fourth cycle of immunotherapy. During a course of conversations that had taken place last week, I was informed that we had early proof that immunotherapy wasn’t working, and that we would continue with the fourth cycle, with the (very) slim hope that I might be a late responder. After that, if I still didn’t respond to treatment, anything administered would be a palliative measure, since there was to be no cure anymore.
Over the weekend, symptoms worsened considerably, so apparently the decision to dismiss immunotherapy immediately and turn to chemotherapy, in an effort to put brakes on the quick progression of cancer, was reached quickly between my doctors, and then announced to me, unfortunately, by the doctor least familiar to me, in that casual way I mentioned above. Afterwards, I was supposed to have another consultation, so I was taken (I was in a wheelchair) by the nurse, and subsequently placed in direct view of the garden, until I was called in.
The garden at Champalimaud is simply marvelous, a joy to look at. It was a sunny afternoon, with a slight breeze. I could see the leafs of the various plants sway gentle with the breeze, and everything struck me with its beauty. The word ‘terminal’ had not passed anyone’s lips, and it probably didn’t need to. I was perfectly aware what was at stake. But as I was sitting there, in my wheelchair, overlooking the rich variety of plants adorning the garden, I thought to myself: “What does that word even mean?” It sounded vaguely like a train station, a final destination of a long trip, not a medical condition, much less a final one. Does one receive this news and decide that they are going to die sooner or later? How do people even react to that? How do they handle their lives afterwards? How do they even find the strength to go on?
I looked at the garden again, and suddenly it didn’t seem that difficult. You can’t decide that you are going to die, when confronted with so much beauty. It’s not as simple as that. Life does not stop, just because someone announced something with terrible import regarding your future. I thought, screw cancer. No one can predict exactly the time stamp of my death. At that point, I realized there was nothing worse than the death penalty. To know exactly at what time you shall stop being alive, stop breathing. I can’t imagine a more cruel thing done to a person. At least, I don’t know exactly. It seems like small comfort under the circumstances, but a kind of comfort it most definitely is.
There I was, faced with that garden, having all those thoughts. Later, in the car, on my way back, I had the exact same thoughts: the ride from Champalimaud back home, passes what is still to me after all these years in Lisbon, an impressive stretch, containing one of my favorite buildings: the Torre de Belém, the gem-like nautical fortress, imbued with so much history – and despite being aware of the heavy colonial past defining Portuguese history, I cannot help marvel at the temerity of those who one day got into a ship, and sailed to a place they didn’t even know it existed. I shall never get over my awe, even a somewhat romantic feeling of adventure and admiration, an almost childlike reaction, in front of that historic building.
And with such a lovely day, everyone was out, strolling by, in plain summer clothes already, simply enjoying the landscape and the weather. I didn’t now how to be anything but happy and grateful for being alive that day. I didn’t know how I could have any fear about the future on that particular day. Yes, I will die. Perhaps sooner than later, compared to most people I know. But I don’t think I can spend my remaining days, independently of how many they are, in fear, or despair, when there’s sun outside, and life, and love, and a beautiful garden you can always hope to rest your eyes upon.
For a moment, I was reading this imagining it to be a well-written short story. As it dawned on me that you were writing about yourself, I was taken aback. I stopped reading, then started again, in a very different frame of mind.
Never having visited Lisbon, I then looked up Champalimaud, and Torre de Belem. I have been to Cape Sounion, so recognised the therapeutic qualities of that view.
I sat for a while, wondering what to write. How could I comment on such news? Then I realised that no more need be said, as you had written it all so perfectly yourself.
I can do nothing, other than to send you my best wishes, as I always do.
Your blogging companion, and friend. Pete.
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Thank you Pete, thank you so much.
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You know, Pete, you are as a matter of fact my only blogging companion, and I wanted to tell you how much I’ve appreciated all this time, not just your own writing, and your interactions with my own, but your level of commitment to what you’re doing. It’s nothing short of admirable for me! I’ve always approached this activity as something more occasional, ‘I’ll write whenever I feel I have something to say’ kind of, and that hasn’t been often or regular, or anything resembling what you do. So, this commitment (which I also consider indicative of who you are as a person in real life, caring, committed, considerate and very polite) does mean a lot – I’m certain to other people as well. My heartfelt greetings, Nandia.
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Dear Nandia,
escrevo em português para poder exprimir os meus sentimentos ao ler o que partilhaste no Facebook. Foi por mero acaso que tropecei nas tuas palavras e tal como esse amigo que escreve em cima, lia e voltava atrás como se não estivesse a perceber bem, mas incrédula e gelada, talvez aterrorizada ou com vergonha das muitas vezes em que sou perdulária da vida, como se ela fosse eterna… mas… também eu a sentir o sol, a paisagem, a água, o rio, a torre de Belém, a imaginar tudo o que descreves. E porquê a pedires desculpa? Tu a pedires desculpa… quando tu é que estás triste e magoada. Não faças isso. Não peças desculpa.
Apesar de não sermos amigas, mas colegas algo distantes, por força das circunstâncias: áreas diferentes etc., sem oportunidade de encontros e amizade, não posso deixar de me comover com a tua tristeza e com a forma corajosa e admirável como colocas em perspectiva as notícias que te foram dadas. No teu lugar não faço ideia o que faria; assim como não sei também o que te dizer. Estar aqui a dizer-te palavras, estas palavras, talvez sem sentido, mas feitas presença, comunicação mínima… à distância, para te confessar que tens toda a minha admiração.
Pareceu-me que estavas sózinha e fico a pensar se não precisarás de algo. Aqui fica o meu telefone se quiseres um abraço, um tempo para estar, não sei o que seja, mas podes pedir: 965717750.
Um grande beijinho da
Filomena Serra
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Querida, muito querida Filomena…perante estas notícias, toda a gente se sente sozinha – e talvez incapaz de lidar com eles. Mas a verdade é que nunca fui menos sozinha na minha vida, e que o carinho (que sempre confundia com ‘carrinho’!) da família, dos amigos e dos colegas se fez sentido profundamente e da maneira mais comovedora que alguém pudesse imaginar, ou desejar. Obrigada pelas tuas palavras, e pelo tempo que me dedicaste, e saiba que elas não caíram no vácuo. Um grande beijinho de mim, também.
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I don’t know you, Nandia, but I do in a way. You are the fortress. You gave us all the misure of Άξιον εστί. I wish you the best.
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The measure of Άξιον εστί, what a lovely sentiment. Thank you!
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My dear Foteini,
I read your post. It makes me sad and at the same time it makes me see all the beauty surrounding me and you – as you describe it – in these sunny days. It is amazing the way you do that.
It’s been a long time we haven’t seen each other. Since last year, I always carry in the pocket of my back pack a small case with chocolate and almonds confetti, my mum made for my defence. Sometimes we tried to meet but then couldn’t and my routine is a bit hectic, but I see that pocket everyday and it reminds me of you and I keep it there, just in case we finally meet even by chance. : )
Any word I could say would be banal in this moment, but I just want to tell you that you are in my thoughts, that anything I could do I would be happy to do and – as you say – I wish this day will be plenty of beauty for you.
Beijos Vanessa
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There is no way I’m missing out on home made chocolate with almond confetti! I shall arrange for coffee soon, perhaps at my house? See you soon, dear, hopefully 🙂
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Querida Fonteini
Nada melhor que um dia de sol para nos iluminar e apreciar os seus reflexos na água desses mares, no ponto de partida para as Descobertas, como uma fortaleza — que tu és! Sempre gostei de te ler, até nos textos mais polemicos e que nos marcaram… mas este sentimento expresso do efemero, do que a vida tem de muito e pouco, pesou fundo. Estou sempre ao teu lado quando quiseres, como todos os teus amigos. Nunca desistas, não se viram as costas às ondas! Beijo grande.
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“do que a vida tem de muito e pouco”: exactamente (sem AO!) isto, querida…Obrigada pela tua mensagem: conto sempre com a tua amizade tão generosamente expressa desde o início.
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