People keep asking me about my daughter. That's what happens when you do not simply enter and exit from a hospital.
Today is the turn of Mrs. Gina
wearing a pretty dress cornflower blue. The falls well, if it were not for those long folds that always end up stuck under the tires of his wheelchair. He has played
eighty, and I know a third of his life. He lives down the street.
I can still remember walking in the garden, watering the orchids. A real treat for the eyes. He does not long ago, and orchids are wilted.
always asks Deborah. All
ask Deborah.
"You fell down the stairs," I reply.
"We been gouged out with twelve stitches."
Everyone is calling, nobody really listens.
is a little unfortunate, Deborah. The
always something going on.
The last time was in November. It was raining hard, and Francesca, my wife was away for a conference. Deborah stood quiet in the room. She played with her dolls.
His favorite is named Rita. It has two long braids and a red dress with peasant. Every time I hear them talking from the living room.
I can never understand what you say, but I do think that they speak of the mother. That's because Rita is an orphan, and Deborah decided to adopt it.
seemed a day like any other. A typical winter day.
Then a big thud, came from her room.
I found her passed out, head to head with Rita. The
immediately wrapped in a bundle. It was frozen. Outside it was cold, very cold.
The streets were deserted, and my Audi reached the hospital in no time.
Dr. Ponticelli, after a thorough examination, he told me that he had a low blood sugar. Laboratory tests ruled out immediately for signs of juvenile diabetes.
is the best hospital in the city, the Misericordia e Dolce, the harbor always there when something happens.
"Please keep her under control."
We returned home the same day.
happens often. Now I've got used to. A bit ' everyone has done. Deborah now wonders when nothing happens.
This was the night of Christmas Eve. Deborah had come back recently, he was fine in its way. We dined in
family. All the relatives gathered.
not talking about anything else.
My brother brought her a teddy bear. Deborah plunged us into. It was immense. All you care about her.
I had to give up the job. Deborah can not go to school. I have to provide teaching, just as did my mother.
is a very obedient child. I never ever scold her.
I tell them all, makes me proud.
Everyone helps me in his way. These are the people
around me, give me the strength to continue.
"It's brave, Mr. Carlesi, hold hard."
Sometimes it is more difficult than usual.
Like the time she thrust her hand into the blender. Did nothing but cry, and blood was everywhere. It took almost six months to reconstruct the hand.
At that time I spent my days in the hospital.
In the corridors of the Hall of plastic surgery, I ask everyone to Deborah. Even strangers. It's a lucky girl, has many people around. I hope that one day will understand how important this is and how much it cost me. All
ask Deborah.
But they do the wrong questions.
This is because, in reality, no one wants to know her, even though everyone keeps asking.
There is a clinical hospital of the city where I was born. She says I am suffering from Münchhausen Syndrome. But no one knows. No one has ever heard of. All
ask Deborah.
But they should ask me.
Then I would know that I pushed down the stairs, that I gave the insulin to make it faint, and that was only when I found the courage to break his hand in the blender. All
ask Deborah. But no one knows his history, our history. We become guilty when we stop to ask why of things. Indifference condemns us all.
There is an invisible wall between us and others. In a matter of trying to overthrow it: instead of asking all of Deborah.
Exactly as before, asked me.
I also had a teddy bear. His name was Eddy. I spoke with him was when his mother did nothing but repeat myself to shut up ..
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