Tarv arrived, but Márcia had already fought too much memoias-postumas-de-bras-cubas
Marcia had already suffered too much, taken too many bites, cried too much. And fortunately, I made her laugh a little. But in the end, she was too unloved.
And only for guys like me, messed up.
So much so that I, the patso, only realized that I loved her the day after ...
A day after she left
ART was late for Márcia, in Memorian
Although I was no longer a resident of the support house and, as I was unable to find a job, I volunteered at CRT-A and at the support house, taking, in my care, a sadly weakened person, Waldir, who taught me a lot about humility, because, although I am a man, his penis needed to be cleaned and I wouldn’t have the face to go and call a nurse because “I don’t get caught”.
Thus, 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 like cynicism, or even hypocrisy. But a person with AIDS, without medication, without housing, without being able to feed themselves will always consider this expedient legal. Especially in the dark scenario of the 90s!
ART was late in the second half of the 90 decade of the 20th century
Then came the cocktail, the ART, and with it, what I called “the end of the first wave” (the triple therapy - the so-called cocktail- had just been implemented and there were still a lot of people in a bad health situation) it was not difficult to find what to do.
ARV also arrived late for Waldir
Although I was not part of the target audience, I got a Support House Brenda Lee, my former manager, Elisabete.
Waldir, who died some 65 days later as a victim of something that appeared on the death certificate as miliary tuberculosis.
I was told to be widespread tuberculosis.
One day I get excited and tell this other story. Died of poverty the Waldir.
I got excited and counted the link right next to it! ART can do little for him!
Over time, I learned a long time ago that everything, even with ART, is as God desires!
But it is not the story of Waldir that I come to tell here, on this page.
It's my story with Marcia, which I had the pleasure of meeting while accompanying Waldir.
Waldir's “Delivery”, already in Antiretroviral Therapy Season
After "delivering" Waldir so that he could receive his care, which was innumerable and took him all day, I was free to return home and only come to pick him up in the late afternoon.
That was from the support house, known as pope all (…).
But he preferred to stay in the hospital, circling the corridors, going into each room, talking to people, and having a chance to hand a forgotten glass of water over to a room.
And sometimes to feed someone's spirit with some hope I didn't have myself. Despite the existence of ART at that time, my general condition was not the best.
Ms I was much better than many, countless !!!
And as you can see, I was pretty wrong about ART.
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.
The Fear of Knowing
She contracted HIV from her husband and was taken by surprise by a positive HIV diagnosis due to a number of opportunistic infections that attacked and killed her husband over a period of 5 months.
Damn it, Amaryllis was a victim and her husband too! The time between contagion and transmission capacity is zero!
She wasn't nice either (I always wonder how a person starts to get sick of this or that and no one bothers to take a closer look.
And I also ask how the person does not realize that something is wrong and lets go until the end.
It must be the fear of knowing, because The test has always been reliable!
But when I met her, she was better, she had started walking again, like a shocked paw (I always said that to her, she smiled ...), and she was full of hopes.
It was not like Ultragas, every other day, ultragas at the gate
But I had to be there every day and receive intravenous medication; the bites tortured her, there was no more vein that could be found without a search for 30, 50 minutes… and she cried just seeing the needle (I think it made the situation of her veins even worse) and I always went through those 8:XNUMX in the morning to try to help (I hugged her and kept talking bullshit in her ear, she used to sing hairy hair on the thirty-seven year old girl and she laughed like a child. At least she was distracted. And there are those do not want to die of “will'AIDS"
And she “was discharged”
This lasted a few months 2 and she was discharged.
Months later, I was out of the support house, I entered the CRTA to take care of myself and I came down the stairs 8, passing each of the rooms and I ended up finding Marcia, who slept, eyes open, quite dejected. So depressed that I was frightened. She was also startled by the sudden arrival of a person and woke up. We talked.
Fatigue… .. I know it
There was not much to say. I didn't believe in anything else… and she said to me like 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 long as I could, but I had to leave, it was a Friday and life was calling me outside, charging me with obligations and commitments…
One last look
When I was leaving she hugged me and said:
Thanks for everything Claudius.
I cried (as I cry now) and had no words ... It was the last time I saw her alive, on Earth ... She died at home, with her family, who felt immensely relieved (...).
It is a normal story, common to any hospital in this world. Only one detail in this story tells me:
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 are you like this? You know, you, people with HIV and people living with AIDS, always end up like this ...
I was, for a second, about to throw it from the fourth floor, but I gave it to itself ...
I never spoke to her again. It seems to me completely absurd today that a health professional can be so insensitive ...