Living in Italy has given me the opportunity to experience things that I never imagined.  Some experiences were awesome, while others, not so much!  One of those *not so great* experiences occurred on a day like any other.  It started out as a typical summer, Sunday afternoon.  It also happened to be during the “Tour De France” and a “Formula 1″ race day which meant the usual day to day routine at my parents house was altered a bit.  My usual Sunday here in Italy would go a little like this.  I would wake up later than usual, do a little cleaning, shower, and then head over to my favorite bar for an aperitivo with friends before heading to my parents house for Sunday dinner.  On Formula 1 race days, I would stay after dinner to watch the race with my dad, otherwise after dinner I would head out to do whatever I had planned for the day and my father would head over to the farm and stay there until the sun went down.  But when you couple Formula 1 with the Tour De France my father becomes a true couch potato…and thank God for that!

On this day, after watching Ferrari lose *again*, I decided to get out and take a drive of my own.  I left my parents house and drove up the mountain.  About 10 minutes after leaving the house I noticed a missed call from my dad.  I tried to call him back but reception in these parts is always sketchy so I drove towards the bar where I knew I could get a good signal.  As I got out of my car to go get a coffee and call my dad I received another call from my dad.  This time I was able to answer but all I heard was fear.  ”Come home” he cried, “Mommy fell!”.  Hearing my dad cry while referring to my mom as ‘mommy’ was enough to put me in panic mode, but somehow I remained calm.  ”What?”  I said, “did you call the ambulance?”  He responded with a “yes, they are on their way!”  Before turning to head back to my car I was able to tell a friend who was standing outside of the bar that if an ambulance past they needed to be directed to my parents house.  The 45 seconds it took me to get to the house seemed like forever.  Seeing the crowd of people standing outside, watching and whispering, made me want to runaway.  Instead, I pushed through the panic and made my way to my mom.

On the landing between 2nd and 3rd floors my mom laid in a pool of blood.  Her eyes open but vacant.  She just stared off as I spoke to her, as if her words were trapped in her mind.  People were coming in and out of the house.  Neighbors who were first to respond to my dad’s cry for help were keeping the onlookers at bay.  Some had made a human trail from the Piazza to the house to assist the EMT’s in finding us.  It was horrifying yet amazing at the same time.  Finally, help arrived.   At that point I can’t even recall how things went…I was completely detached.  My defense mechanisms had kicked into high gear, and probably for the best.  My mom was triaged in the tiny 2 foot x 2 foot area that she lay in, then out of the house by stretcher.  I can not forget the scene of my mom being taken down the road by stretcher to the ambulance parked in the piazza.  It was surreal.

My dad and I arrived at the hospital right behind the ambulance.  We saw when my mother was taken into the hospital that she appeared to be alert, and somewhat more oriented.  It was a relief for us.  They took my mother back to be evaluated and we were told that no one could be with her and it would be at least a couple of hours before we would know anything.  We waited, and waited, and waited.  Finally, we were told that due to the severity of my mothers head injury she would need to be transferred to another hospital, a one hour drive away.  It was midnight when we finally saw my mother again.  She was awake but had no memory of what happened.  She was also in a lot of pain due to a dislocated shoulder that the doctors did not want to re-set until they were clear on the extent of her head injury.  We left my mother as she was being put back into the ambulance to be transported to the other hospital and didn’t see her again until the following day.

From that day on my father and I traveled to the hospital every day to visit with my mother and the doctors.  MRI’s, CAT Scans, X-Rays, and blood tests became a part of her daily routine.  Finally, after 13 days, we were told that the head injury was healing and all hemorrhaging had stopped, and was slowly being absorbed.  My mother’s shoulder, unfortunately, did’t fare so well.  It seems as though the wrong brace was used by the first hospital prior to transporting her to the second hospital.  For the 13 days that it took to clear her head injury, her shoulder remained dis-located and began to heal that way.  When she was finally cleared to see the orthopedist, it was too late, her shoulder had already began to set.  A small price to pay for life.

Overall, this whole experience was physically, emotionally, and mentally draining for my mother, my father, and myself  yet somehow we’ve all come out of this stronger, and most importantly, closer.  It is experiences like this that give true significance to the saying ‘every grey cloud has a silver lining’…we just need to be willing to see it.

One of my biggest concerns when I moved to Italy was my health care… in fact, it was a lot of people’s concerns.   Despite this, I forged ahead and did what I never imagined I would do…I left security of my existing network of family, friends, and physicians.  I know that most people my age don’t have to worry about health issues until much later in life.  I’m not one of those people.  I had to do a lot of research to be sure that my needs could be met, and I was scared to death.  What made it all even more difficult was that I was having one of the ’unhealthiest’ years of my life, but maybe that’s where my strength came from.  Whenever I questioned myself as to why I was making such a major life change my only thought was, “if not now, when?”

I always believed that we are guaranteed very little in life, and some are guaranteed even less.  There have been many times in my life when I didn’t know which applied to me, but as I grew older, it all became a little clearer.  You see, when I was nine months old, I was diagnosed with a genetic blood disorder known as Beta Thalassemia.  The day that diagnosis was confirmed my parents were told that it would be a miracle if I lived to be twenty years old.  Since diagnosis I have been transfusion dependent and have been receiving red cell transfusions every three weeks.  One of the most significant side effects of these blood transfusions is iron overload which has led to further health issues.  When I was 11 years old I had to have my spleen removed which has left me immuno-compromised.  When I was 19 years old I began to develop recurring Pericarditis which led to another surgery at the age of 23, a procedure called a Pericardial Window.   In between, I developed gall stones and had to have my gall bladder removed, and I have had several ports implanted because my veins are shot, and I’ve had those same ports removed when my body decide to reject them by becomming infected.   Overall, I have spent a lot of time in and out of hospitals.  Sometimes the reasons behind the hospitalizations were clear, sometimes they were just medical mysteries, either way, they were always traced back to being a Thalassemic.  

As I have gotten older, Thalassemia continues to influence my day to day health, both physically and emotionally.  My organs become more damaged with each transfusion I receive, and I have Osteoporosis, Arthritis, and Fibromyalgia.  There are days were I have no mental clarity due to my bodies inability to process toxins efficiently.  Emotionally I have very little range, making me feel very one dimensional.  I am aware of the medications that exist for most of these problems and have tried them all.  When I feel like the benefits outweigh the costs I stick with them, the rest I leave behind.

“Woe is me” is not what I am putting out there, that is not to say that I don’t feel that way sometimes, it’s just not where I’m at at this point in my life.  I mean seriously, what’s a girl to do, this is my life and it really could be much worse…I mean, really!   So maybe that is the most important gift that Thalassemia has given me…the ability to be grateful. 

By the way, I have just celebrated my 40th birthday…who’d of thunk it!!!

I stepped back onto American soil on March 26th, 2007.  It had been nine months since I left everything and everyone to move to Italy.  On the one hand, I couldn’t wait to come visit everyone, to return to the life that I knew for so long, but on the other hand, I was very anxious and uncertain.  Of course none of this really mattered because I was here for a two month visit.  My sister picked me up at the airport and it felt as if she had just dropped me off a couple weeks before.  She took me back to her house and as we pulled into the driveway I was greeted by my nephew’s hugs and kisses.  It was amazing and my feelings of anxiety and uncertainty were quickly squashed when I heard two very simple words come out of my nephew’s mouths…”Auntie G”. 

On July 7, 2007, I boarded a flight to Italy to see what life in the bel paese was really about.  I was about to leave behind any possessions I hadn’t sold, my career, my friends, and most importantly, my family.   You see, I had spent the better part of the last 18 years living within 1 mile of my sister and her three children.  There was even a period of 2 years where we lived together because she was getting divorced and we wanted the children’s lives to have some semblance of balance, and we wanted them to still have the security of living in a household with two adults.  I was there to get them off to school in the mornings, I would prepare meals if I came home before my sister, I disciplined, and I even became a member of the city’s recreational hockey program because my oldest nephew played.  I was a parent…and I loved it.  Even after my sister and I moved into two different residences we were within walking distance of each other.  Some people said it was unhealthy, they said we were too enmeshed…we said it worked.  So, it’s not that hard to see why my family was the biggest concern when I decided to move to Italy.  I felt like I was abandoning them and for some the feeling was mutual.  Although the decision to leave Florida was killing me inside I knew it was something I had to do for me.  A lot of time was spent talking to the kids about their feelings, no holds barred.  Some of it was good, some of it was bad, and some of it was down right ugly.   The time eventually came for me to leave and my goodbyes were filled with uncertainty.  When I boarded the plane I had no idea what I would find when I reached my destination, but I didn’t care.  The only thought on my mind was what would find when I returned.

Five dings, three dongs, and one “dang”. That makes it 5:45 a.m. here in Montefalcone nel Sannio. I guess you could say I figured out the church bell system. I never realized there really was a method to the madness. Of course, it would have been nice to figure this out at maybe nine dings and two dongs, but what can you do? I am still adjusting to the change in time, but am really grateful for the ability to be here in this beautiful country, despite the dings and the dongs.

As I roamed the house waiting for signs of life from my parents, I familiarized myself with the espresso machine. I think we’re going to have a beautiful relationship. Finally, after hours of drinking espresso and watching MTV Italia, my father came downstairs and told me it was time to hit the road. In my car, of course. He wanted to take me to pick it up at his friends garage so I could take it for ride. The first thought that came to mind was “are you crazy, I can’t drive on these crazy mountain roads!” Then I realized that I had no choice if I ever planned on leaving the mountain…which I do. So, off we went to see my car.

The car is really nice. It has all the toys I need, and will be fitted with a natural gas fuel tank in the fall. I figured out the radio, very important, and I actually drove the car back from the garage, into town. Best of all…no casualties. I didn’t hit any walls either…this is a big deal considering these streets were really made for people and their donkeys. Anyway, my first real Italian driving experience was a complete success, and it was completely liberating. My fears of being trapped in the “village” disappeared and I was feeling nothing but good.

Carpe Diem!

A couple of days ago I decided it was time to start doing some sort of packing. I did an eyeball inventory of my stuff and knew some of the things my niece and nephews wanted. I put some boxes together for my sister and the kids and brought them to her today. I also took down all of my family photographs and my smaller pieces of framed art and boxed them as well. Now I didn’t actually “pack” them because I don’t know if I want to ship them or just store them at a friends for a while. None the less, they are off of the walls, and in boxes. I also threw out a lot of stuff that was really not worth the energy to pack.

I had taken a break for a while in the late afternoon and decided to watch some Sopranos…God I’m going to miss them. Anyway, later that evening I sat down in front of a cabinet with a box at my side and got ready for round two of my packing (I use the term loosely). As I opened up the cabinet doors and looked at all of the stuff inside, it happened…and it was scary. The panic set in!

“I can’t do this” I said aloud. My heart felt as if it were going to explode out of my chest. The tears were flowing and the words “I can’t do this” played over and over in my head. I was done. I shut the cabinet, put the box back in the corner, and walked around like a lunatic talking to myself about anything not related to moving, packing, or Italy. I finally decided a nice long shower with lots of humming and singing would help, and it did. After about 30 minutes of total, self induced, schizophrenic distraction, it was gone, and all was right with the world.

Yesterday pretty much came and went with very little packing getting done. I sat and spoke with a friend of mine about my panic episode the night before. She asked why I didn’t call her. For me the answer was quite simple…I couldn’t allow myself to say those words to another person, because I couldn’t make it real. You see, I know fear, anxiety, and panic very well as they have been a part of my life since I was around 20. I am well aware that most of the triggers to my anxiety are based in irrational thoughts 98% of the time. However, knowing this doesn’t just stop the anxiety from happening, it just gives me a better handle on how to deal with it when it does. Validation of irrational fears just gives your fear more power, and I’ve come too far in life to give up my power now.

So, as a result of ‘the dysfunction of G’ my packing is coming along at a snails pace, but it’s OK because I know it’s not a result of me thinking “I can’t do this”. Quite the contrary, I know “I can do this”, and I will, in my time. No worries here for the moment. It will get done, and I will go, and this is just part of my journey.