sexta-feira, 22 de novembro de 2013

Anestesia






“Pode entrar e se preparar para a cirurgia. É só vestir a camisola e se deitar. Em cinco minutos volto pra aplicar a anestesia”.
“Obrigado”.
Ela fechou a porta e deixou Paulo sozinho. Ele examinou o recinto. A sala era fria e branca. Tirou sua roupa, vestiu sua camisola e ficou sentado na beirada da maca. Olhou em volta, tentando achar algum objeto para focar sua atenção. Mas não obteve êxito.
Pensou no Pedro. Pensou nele, da mesma forma como tinha feito nos últimos seis meses. Desde que terminaram, ele não conseguia tirar Pedro de sua cabeça. Na verdade, Pedro estava mais presente no seu dia a dia do que quando estavam juntos. Era sua companhia pro café da manha e pro jantar. Quando Paulo tomava banho, Pedro lhe assistia. Quando Paulo passeava com o cachorro, Pedro o seguia. Quando Paulo tentava trabalhar, Pedro decidia lembrá-lo de todos os aspectos do relacionamento que tinham causado o termino. Até mesmo quando dormia Pedro era tudo que existia em sua mente.
Os amigos diziam que isso ia passar. Era só ter paciência. Um dia passaria. Mas Paulo sabia que com ele era diferente. Isso não era apenas uma dor de cotovelo.
Por suspeitar ser algo físico, Paulo havia ido ao médico semanas atrás. O doutor, após escutar o relato, pediu vários exames e constatou. Pedro havia se transformado em um tumor. Um tumor no cérebro de Paulo, para ser mais exato. E o interessante é que esse tumor estava em uma área de seu cérebro que, segundo o doutor garantiu, era a responsável pelos pensamentos imediatos.
“Então, pode ser isso que tem me causado o pensamento fixo no Pedro, Doutor?”
“Olha, não quero fazer uma afirmação tão forte, mas… sim. Penso que se retirarmos o tumor, você estará livre para voltar a se preocupar com as coisas ordinárias do dia a dia…”
“Então, quer dizer que ficarei com raiva do trânsito de novo? E… e acharei graça nas piadas sem graça que meus amigos me contam na mesa do bar?” perguntou esperançoso.
“Precisamente. Tenho minhas apostas de que, com a retirada do tumor, você poderá ter as preocupações mais comezinhas da vida. Sem Pedro”
“Então, Doutor, eu preciso fazer essa cirurgia” concluiu Paulo melancolicamente.
“Que bom que se decidiu tão prontamente, rapaz. Mas, antes não quer ouvir dos riscos? Ou compreender como se deu a formação do tumor?”
“Ah sim, claro.”
“Pois bem, quando você e Pedro terminaram, você passou por um trauma muito forte. Seu cérebro, então, fugiu da dor e do sentimento ruim que isso causava. Foi aí que, como um mecanismo de defesa, seu cérebro realocou todas as células que guardavam essas memórias  específicas em um só local. E as isolou.”
“Nunca escutei nada parecido.”
“Eu já tinha lido sobre isso, mas nunca havia realmente tido um caso deste em meu consultório. Na verdade, é mais comum do que se imagina. Pode acontecer com qualquer um. Por isso que conseguimos ver pessoas que amaram intensamente, mas que deixam de amar de uma hora pra outra. O cérebro delas faz esse mesmo procedimento. Mas geralmente isso não causa o tumor. E sem tumor, ninguém se preocupa em analisar isso…”
“E porque o senhor acha que isso aconteceu comigo?”
“Não sei dizer ao certo. Mas talvez você tenha muitas memórias boas – estas ocupam muito mais espaço do que as ruins. Ou talvez o seu cérebro tenha entendido essas lembranças como muito relevantes. Isso é o que as pessoas costumam chamar de ‘um grande amor’. O interessante no seu caso, é que houve uma ‘rebelião’ dessas células. Elas saíram do casulo e foram se multiplicando. Se multiplicando justamente na área do seu pensamento imediato. É por isso que ele, o Pedro, está em todos os seus pensamentos.”
Paulo ficou quieto. Tentava digerir aquelas informações novas.
“Está tudo bem?” Perguntou o doutor, um pouco preocupado.
“Sim, claro... Acredito, então, que essa cirurgia é minha melhor opção”
“Pois é. Tenho que falar sobre a contraindicação, ou melhor, os efeitos colaterais dessa cirurgia. Lembra-se como expliquei ao senhor sobre o ajuntamento das células que guardavam as memórias do Pedro que o seu cérebro fez?”
“Sim. O que tem?”
“Isso significa que todas as suas lembranças do Pedro estão reunidas no tumor.”
“Não compreendo bem…”
“Isso quer dizer que, ao remover o tumor, removeremos as memórias do Pedro da sua vida. Em última instância removeremos ele inteiramente de sua memória.”
“Não me lembrarei dele? Como se fosse apagado da minha vida?”
“Exatamente. O apagaremos da sua vida. Mas lembre-se: a literatura médica indica que você poderá seguir com sua vida logo após a cirurgia.”
Paulo permaneceu quieto, com uma expressão quase solene.
“Preciso pensar sobre isso, doutor. Posso ligar em alguns dias com a resposta?”
“Fique à vontade.”
Paulo foi pra casa e tentou pensar no assunto. No entanto, Pedro povoava todos seus pensamentos. Qualquer filme que assistia lhe lembrava de Pedro. Qualquer conversa com seus amigos tinha Pedro como principal assunto. Nada que ele fizesse lhe ajudava em ter uma mente mais calma para pensar sobre a sua decisão.
Ante a impossibilidade de pensar, compreendeu que a única opção viável seria fazer a cirurgia. Foi obrigado a isso, para seguir em frente e continuar com sua vida.
“Posso entrar?” perguntou a enfermeira do outro lado da porta.
Paulo permaneceu quieto. Silenciosamente pensando em Pedro.
Ela abriu a porta e perguntou “O senhor já esta pronto?”
“Sim.”
O médico entrou e começou a lavar suas mãos. Paulo olhava pela janela, enquanto a enfermeira limpava seu braço com álcool. O dia estava nublado e o céu estava branco. Bem parecido com o dia em que eles se conheceram, há três anos. Depois do álcool veio a agulha. Doeu um pouco.
“Por favor, Senhor Paulo, conte de dez a um em voz alta.”
“Dez, nove, oito, sete, seis…”
E finalmente descansou em paz.

segunda-feira, 18 de novembro de 2013

Anesthesia






“Mr. Grey? You may come in and start getting ready for surgery. Just dress the gown and wait for the doctor. He will be here in five minutes to give you the anesthesia.”
“Thank you”.
She left Paul alone. He looked around. The room was white and cold. He took off his clothes and put the gown on. Then he sat down on the hospital bed and searched with his eyes for any object interesting enough to focus his mind on. But he did not succeed.
His mind flew back to Peter. He thought of him, the same way he has been doing in the past six months. Since they broke up, Paul can’t manage to get Peter off his head. Actually, Peter was more present to his everyday life now than when they were together. He was his company for breakfast and dinner. When Paul was showering, Peter watched him. When Paul walked the dog, Peter followed him. When Paul tried to work, Peter wanted to remind him of every aspect of their relationship that went wrong. And even when Paul slept, all he did was dream of Peter. Over and over again.
His friends told him that he needed more patience. That it was normal. And that it would soon be gone. But Paul knew that with him it was different. It was more than a regular heartbreak.       
Paul suspected that he was suffering of a physical condition, so he went to the hospital some weeks before. The doctor, after listening carefully to all he had to say, came up with a diagnosis. Paul had a brain tumor. More specifically, all the memories from Peter had become a tumor inside Paul’s brain. And the tumor was located in the region where he storaged his immediate memory.
“So this is why I can’t stop thinking about Peter, Doctor?”
“Well, don’t tell anyone that I told you this, but… Precisely! All we need to do is to extract this tumor from your brain and you will be back to your everyday life.”
“And then I will be able to think of normal things? Like, complain about the bad quality of Sunday TV? Or laugh of the stupid jokes my friends make in a bar table?” asked Paul, hopefully. 
“Indeed. I am sure that, once we get rid of this tumor, you will be back to your life. Peter-free.”
“So I need to do this surgery, Doctor,” concluded Paul, melancholically.
“I am happy you are so decided to be cured, young man. But don’t you want to know more about your condition and how are we going to help you?” asked the doctor.
“Oh, sure.”
“You see, when you and Peter broke up, you suffered intensely. Your body understood this as a trauma and tried to get rid of all the pain and suffering the fastest it could. So, as a defense mechanism, your brain gathered all the brain cells that contained your memories of Peter and kept it hidden in a specific region. You know, so it would be easier to handle them. It tried to isolate those memories.”
“Really?” asked Paul, “I’ve never heard of anything like this…”
“It is very rare,” explained the doctor, “but more common than you would imagine. There are several cases registered in the medical literature. I am sure even you already saw this happening. Let me give you an example… Have you ever met a couple that seemed perfectly in love, but after breaking up they just kept going on with their lives? As if they never loved each other?” Paul nodded, thinking about how Peter had asked someone else in marriage before meeting him, and that he was just fine when they met. “In those cases, their brain did the same procedure, but successfully. I mean, there was no tumor” clarified the doctor.
“Hmmm. And why do you think I have a tumor?”
“We can’t really tell, but… You seem to have a great amount of good memories… That is for sure. And everybody knows that those memories use more space than the bad ones. Another hypothesis would be that your brain understood that those were very relevant memories to you. They are what common people would call “a great love”. But what is specially interesting in your case is that your cells did not accept the isolation and started to reproduce uncontrollably. They left their area and multiplied incessantly. And they did it in the region where you keep your recent memories. And this is why Peter is present in every single thought you have.”
Paul stood there quiet. It was a lot to digest.
“Are you ok?” asked the doctor, a little worried.
“I am,” said Paul coldly, “So I believe surgery would be my best option, right?”
“Yes. But you must know that there are side effects, or better saying, consequences to this surgery. Do you remember that all your Peter memories are gathered in this tumor?”
“Yes…”
“This means that all the memories you have of him will be in the tumor.”
“I see… And?”
“The same tumor we will get rid of,” explained patiently the doctor.
“I don’t understand.”
“This means that, when we remove the tumor, you will lose all your memories related to Peter. The good and the bad ones. You will forget you ever met him.”
“I will not remember I met him? Like if you could literally erase him from my mind?”
“Exactly. We will remove him entirely from your life. But remember, all medical literature about this indicates that patients are ready to go back to their normal lives after the procedure.”
Paul became even more serious.
“I need to think, doctor. Can I call you back about this?”
“Take your time, son.”
Paul went home and tried to think about the decision. However, Peter was in all of his thoughts. Anything he tried to do came back to Peter. Every conversation with his friends came back to Peter. Every movie reminded him of Peter.
Since he could not think straight, he understood that the only viable option was to undertake the surgery. It was not his choice. But the necessary condition to go on with his life.
“May I come in?” asked the nurse from the other side of the door.
Paul stood still. Silently thinking of Peter.
She opened the door and asked, “Are you ready, Mr. Grey?”
“Yes.”
The doctor came in and started washing his hands. Paul laid down. As the nurse cleaned his arm with alcohol, Paul looked outside. The day was cloudy and the sky was white. Just like it was when he first met Peter three years ago. After the alcohol came the needle. It hurt a little.
“Please, Mr. Grey, count backwards from ten to one.”
“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…”
And he finally rested.

sábado, 2 de novembro de 2013

Breakfast




It is a cold day. And as usually, it was hard for me to get up this morning. But now I am here, sitting alone in my kitchen. Enjoying the morning solitude. I have just prepared myself some fresh coffee and the smell fills the kitchen. It helps me to feel awake for one more day. You know, this is one of my favorite parts of coffee, the aroma. It is just that, as I hold my coffee mug with both my hands, and feel the heat, the smell fulfills me. It is the smell of the coffee break from my first job. The smell of my home kitchen, which is far away, in Brazil. Of "please mom, can't I sleep for just 5 more minutes?"
Before taking my first sip of coffee, I look inside the mug and there it is another of my favorite things of coffee: the color. I know I can almost sound ridiculous, but I will say it anyway. I'm fascinated by the blackness of coffee. It does not resemble at all the artificial color of a coca-cola, with its stressed bubles. No... With coffee it's different. He just lays there, quiet, releasing a discrete mist, like if he were just waiting for me. I stare at my cup of coffee, but he just stares back. He keeps looking back deeply into my eyes, challeging me. I can almost hear "are you gonna face another day?" I try to object, but he ignores me. He ignores and keeps staring at me. And like it usually happens in those imaginary eye battles, one part must lose. So I look away. I close my eyes pretending it will make me enjoy better the fragrance. But then, I realize that, instead of running away from the darkness, now I am inside it. It is not dark only inside my coffee mug, but everything around me becomes dark
I keep my eyes shut for a moment. The scent and the darkness play tricks with my mind. While the aroma takes me back to several familiar memories, with pleasant colors I already know, the darkness leads me to a world of colors I have never imagined before. Colors that are waiting for me in this unknown future. And then I catch myself feeling amazed by their beauty and hardness. They are the hidden colors inside my dark coffee. This journey lasts only for a moment, because I quickly open my eyes and find myself again alone in my kitchen. Outside my gray window a raven sings sadly in the Berliner sky.
And Berlin's melancholic sky reminds me of my third favorite part of coffee. I like how bitter it tastes. I have stopped adding suggar to my coffee for a while now. I must confess that I don't miss it anymore. Maybe I'm getting old, but with time I've learned that sweetness can make you sick. One cannot rely on a blue sky everyday. There isn't such a thing as a life of only happiness. And this is fine. What we understand as undesirable can also hold a hidden beauty. Bitter and sour also play an important part in life. And it would be unbearable to have an entire life where you only know the obvious tastes. 
Only then I take my first sip of coffee, receiving this black bitter liquid, that carries in it memories, fears and amazing possibilities.
Good morning.