Márcia, in loving memory
Although I was no longer a resident of the support house and, because I could not get a job, I volunteered at CRT-A and the support house, taking care of a sadly weakened person, Waldir, who taught me a lot about Humility, therefore, although I was a man, his penis needed to be cleaned and I would not have the stick face of going to call a nurse because "in chick I do not get"; so I helped people and got two meals a day, one at CRT-A and another at the support house, where I refused to live in that hell. This, in a way, may seem cynical, or even hypocritical, but a person with AIDS, without medication, without housing, without having to be able to feed himself will always consider this expedient licit, especially in the dark scenario of the 90 decade there, the cocktail arrived and with it, what I christened as "the end of the first wave" (triple therapy - the cocktail had just been implanted and there were still a lot of people in a bad health situation) it was not difficult to find what to do.
Waldir, who died a few days later 65 victim of something that appeared on the death certificate as miliary tuberculosis and was cleared to be tuberculosis spread throughout the body (one day I cheer and tell this other story). He died of poverty Waldir.
But it is the story of Waldir I come here to tell on this page is that of Marcia, I had the pleasure of meeting while accompanying the waldir.
After "deliver" the Waldir to receive their care, who were numerous and took all day, I was free to go home and just come seeking - it late in the afternoon (attempting here is to put in a wheelchair and take until the ambulance), which was the home support, known as Pope all (...), but rather stay in the hospital, circling the aisles, entering each room, talking to people and getting a chance to deliver a glass of water a person or forgotten, sometimes, to feed the mind of someone with some hope that even I had not, and as you can see I was wrong. I think we both just gave me hope that convincing.
So I met Lia, Edna, Peter, Angela (19 hemophilic years), many other ones (like that girl who had complications with toxo and live consciously and in a fetal position, dependent on everyone for everything all the time); these among so many others, Marcia, that brings me tears even now, after so long.
She contracted HIV from her husband and was taken by surprise by a positive diagnosis of HIV due to an endless number of opportunistic infections that attacked and killed her husband in a period of 5 months.
Tb It was not good (I always wonder how a person begins to get sick of this or that and no one bothers to make a closer examination, I wonder also how the person is unaware that something is wrong and let it go until the end. Must be the fear of knowing.
But when I met her, I was better, I had to walk back, like a duckling hatches (I always said that to her, that smile ...), and was filled with hope.
But I had to be there every day and receive medication endovenosoa; bites the tortured, there was no vein could be found without a search 30, 50 minutes ... and so she wept to see the needle (I think it worsened further situation in their veins) and I always drove by the 8 thirty in the morning to try and help (hugged her and kept talking nonsense in her ear, passed sung hairy girl in thirty-seven years and she laughed like a child. Unless get distracted.
This lasted a few months 2 and she was discharged.
Months later, I already support out of the house, entered the CRTA to take care of myself and came down the stairs 8 floors, going through each room and ended up meeting again Marcia, who was dozing, eyes open, very depressed. So depressed that I was scared. She was startled by the sudden arrival of a person and agreed.
There was not much to say. I do not believe in anything ... and she told me this:
ClaudioI'm tired, I do not want to live anymore.
Even without hope, scolded her and said she lived, who fought, who would not give now that he was so close (what?), Which go forward one more day.
I stayed with her as much as I could, but had to leave, it was a Friday and life called me out there charging me obligations and commitments ...
When I was leaving she hugged me and said:
Thanks for everything Claudius.
Cried (like crying now) and have not had word ... It was the last time I saw her alive on earth ... died at home, along with their, who felt immensely relieved (...)
It's a normal story, common to any hospital in the world. Just a detail in this story makes me account - it:
On Monday, early in the morning, I rushed to the hospital, still unaware of her fate, and wanted information.
Then Dona Teresa, head nurse of the hospital day, a lady 55 years, gray hair, happy eyes (the image of the grandmother) told me that she had died.
Before my amazement and my sadness she said:
Why is that? You know, you, people living with HIV and people living with AIDS, always end well ...
I was, for a second, about to play - it's fourth floor, but gave herself ...
Never talked to her. It seems to me to this day completely absurd that a healthcare professional could be so insensitive ...