To my daughter Melanie (February 2024)

 02/02 - Chapter 192: Where words collide

Today was supposed to be an ordinary day, a day without many surprises. Unfortunately, there was a situation that greatly affected my mental and emotional well-being. In the building where we live, there is a 39-year-old man with intellectual disabilities. Talking to his mother, she explained to me that the doctor took a long time to deliver him, and that's how this issue in his brain occurred. This used to happen a lot in the past, and believe it or not, it still happens today. That's why my doctor said she would induce labor at the latest by the 39th week, beyond that, she wouldn't recommend it. Many people, in their desire for a natural birth, wait until the 40th or 41st week, but this can be dangerous for the baby, as was the case with Marquinhos, whom I just mentioned.

So, he is a man, but with the mind and mentality of a child. He never evolved and matured; he remained stuck in that age range within his mind and body. So, you see an adult, but you are talking and conversing with a small child.

Today, the term 'retarded' may seem very unkind, but it is a legitimate term used in medicine. Unfortunately, Marquinhos exhibits this retardation.

He speaks very loudly, he shouts, he has a very limited vocabulary, and he repeats things endlessly. Patience is required, as if you were talking to a small child, but always setting boundaries and teaching.

But I never, under any circumstances, mistreated him. And I never would.

Since elementary school, I was the one who always approached the excluded children, who were usually feeling lonely, just entering a new school and staying isolated, shy. And I always approached these kids, offered my hand. There was also a child who had an apparent retardation, not as strong as Marquinhos, but there was also something wrong with her. And I started to befriend her, include her in class. I have always been like that, friends with the nerds, talking to everyone. I could never see someone being mistreated or alone. It's part of my character and my heart. So, with Marquinhos, it was no different.

Your dad at first felt a bit uncomfortable, probably because he had never dealt with someone close with any kind of similar problem. But I quickly cut those discomforts off and said that empathy and patience were necessary. He is such a good person; he needed to try to understand a little more. After that, I never had any problems. Not that your dad mistreated him, never, because I would never live with someone like this. But you could see that he had a certain apprehension, I would even say fear, of Marquinhos' actions. Which is understandable. But I think he understood that he poses no kind of danger, and I am a person who really presents a difficulty and needs affection and empathy.

Marquinhos has always talked to my parents, memorized my and my mother's birthdays. He loves my mother, and my dad really likes him. My dad was the one who suggested inviting Marquinhos to sing 'Happy Birthday' to you on the 19th of your birthday. Not only did my father suggest it, but he insisted. He really wanted Marquinhos to come and have a piece of cake because he knew it would make me happy. My father has a huge heart.

I don't even know if I mentioned to you when he came to have cake on your birthday. I don't remember everything I write, mainly because I would have to recall my entire daily life, as I have to write to you regularly. But if I wrote to you on your last birthday, you already know who he is.

Anyway, on Friday, as I entered the garage, he was there and started talking to me. He said that 'Flávia' called him an idiot and a jerk. I genuinely asked who Flávia was, and he replied: 'Otávio's wife.' Otávio is our neighbor. They are very strange, especially him, as he only cares about condominium matters. He is obsessed with it all day. He made everyone's life hell to remove the former condo manager; he actually seems like the manager himself. One day, your father and I opened the elevator door, and there he was, cleaning the elevator as if he were a janitor. As soon as he saw us, he said the elevator was very dirty. We have a cleaning lady every day in the building; couldn't he wait until the next day? Sometimes he comes to the group complaining that someone threw something in the trash that shouldn't be thrown, etc., etc.

He seems like one of those people who don't have much to do in life and therefore are idle, wasting time on stupid things. But no, as I told you, they have two children. If life is already busy with one child, I can hardly imagine with two. But still, they find enough time to care about these trivial matters. Anyway, I asked Marquinho if Otávio mistreated him too, and he answered yes, that he, Otávio's wife, and someone named Adriano, whom I don't know, don't like him. Well, I told him not to care and just go on with his life, that ignorant people exist all over the world.

I went up to my apartment with this thought, but soon forgot about it. Until about half an hour later, when I was working in the living room, I heard Marquinho crying piteously on my floor. Screaming, crying, and lamenting, shouting that his grandmother had died. My heart broke because in three days, it would be his birthday, and he had been so excited about his birthday for months. He was talking to a girl named Helen, and she was trying to calm him down, asking where his mother was and if his mother was okay. And he just cried and said that his grandmother had died.

It broke my heart in a way...

When I finally gathered the courage to open the door to try to comfort him and see if everything was okay, he was no longer there. At the same time I opened the door, the elderly neighbor in front of me also opened hers, and at the same time, the neighbor Flávia arrived, the one Marquinhos had mentioned. She arrived with a disgusted, mocking face, I can't explain... and the elderly neighbor here opened the door and, seeing her sour face, said:

• Have patience, my daughter. At that moment, I knew: Marquinhos wasn't making it up, this crazy woman really doesn't like him and mistreats him. I discreetly closed the door while adrenaline pulsed through my veins. I was very nervous about the situation, firstly, seeing someone suffering, and secondly, seeing someone mocking. My desire was to say a lot of things I thought to her, but I restrained myself. As I told you, daughter, there are things in life we can't say. In fact, many things we think in life we can't say. I had to think that she is my neighbor, literally living next to me. You don't want to stir up trouble with these people, believe me.
• 
  
• But I was very nervous and upset, so I sent a message to a woman in the building named Sheila, with whom I have a bit of contact. I asked her if she knew if anyone mistreated Marquinhos, specifically Flávia and Otávio. She said that in the building, there are some people who have prejudice against him, and that Flávia always has a bad face for everyone. In fact, she always had a bad face for me too, except last week when she smiled and treated me very well. I believe it's because of your story in the ICU... It was the first time I saw her since then.
• 
  

Continuing, Sheila said that there are people who mistreat him, and they do have a problem with Marquinhos. So, I vented and told her everything I thought. That I couldn't understand how a mother could treat a child like that. And that if God exists, I hope she doesn't have her karma and has, for example, a third child with a disability. I bet if she had a child with a disability, she would never want someone to treat her child that way. In fact, if I had a son or daughter with a disability and someone spoke to my child like that, I might be shy and afraid to say many things, but I think I would punch the person who mistreated my child.

Marquinhos indeed has a condition, a delay, but believe it or not, he can be more intelligent than those people who lack the capacity to understand that he doesn't do it on purpose and that he has a problem. These people consider themselves better and superior, but they prove day by day that their kindness is well below expectations. Because how can you not understand that this person was born with a problem? He doesn't do it because he wants to; the mother is not living this situation because she wants to. Why is it so difficult to put yourself in the other mother's shoes? What if it were your child? If they mistreated your child? Mothers, more than anything, should understand each other, should unite, should respect each other. And above all, they should help each other.

I know it was very difficult for me to see an adult being so prejudiced and so foolish in treating someone like that. She calls him an idiot, a jerk, as if he were really an adult, doing something funny and disrespectful. He is not an adult; he has an adult body, you fool! But she treats him like an adult, and her intelligence can't comprehend that he has a disability. I don't know if it's stupidity, if it's prejudice, or if it's a mix of both. I just know it's sad. And this is a lesson she is passing on to her children. While I'm here, writing to you, and begging you never to do this to another human being! Not that you need to intervene, defend. Because these days, the world is so crazy and malicious that if we end up defending and behaving correctly, we might suffer consequences for something that wasn't even our problem. But subtly, you can help. In this situation, you could check on the person later, see if everything is okay... Now there are people who get involved, speak up, and defend. These are admirable because they often risk their own lives. Because you don't know who you're dealing with, you don't know who you're creating new problems with. People's lives today are not worth much. And the world is so malicious that for trivial things, people lose their lives. So, we do have to make this world a better place, help, but always with caution and always respecting others, even if others are not respecting us or what is around us.

Evil exists in various forms and degrees. For example, the malice of a thief is not the same as that of someone committing a homicide. The malice of someone like Alexandre de Moraes, involving ethics and corruption, is not the same as the malice of a rapist. The malice of a racist is not the same as the malice of a pedophile. The malice of a robber is not the same as the malice of my neighbor, who openly discriminates against a person with a disability. Sometimes it's not even prejudice, he just may not understand that that person doesn't comprehend or live in the same way as him. But he still is committing an evil act by talking to him in a certain way. They may consider themselves a good human being or superior to others, thinking they have no malice like a robber, criminal, or a person involved in corruption, but they are malicious in their own way. A different kind of malice, but still malice. And they are not seeking to evolve as a human being, to learn, or mature. Because sometimes we know we make mistakes but want to improve and evolve. However, this doesn't seem to be their scenario. So, in a way, they are a bad person. If we take it strictly, all of us are bad people because we make mistakes and have our sins. But the big secret is to take pride in these mistakes and sins or know where we are going wrong and want to improve. I think that's the big secret of life—trying to rid ourselves of the malicious parts within us and continuing to build ourselves to be better human beings. But some people forget to work on these mistakes and flaws and on this part of malice within us. I believe that all of us have a malicious part within us, but some people are so good, so charitable; they are filled with light, which ends up overshadowing that side and not allowing it to come to life. And there lies the big challenge, the big secret. So, my daughter, don't forget, malice can come in different intensities and ways, which means that from time to time, we might indeed be bad people and not even realize it. And perhaps in many cases, the person realizes it and doesn't care. But don't be one of those people. Try to eliminate all the malice within you, whether it's small or even large. No one should pay for what we have within ourselves.

05/02 - Chapter 193: Not so old for back pain

Today, after dropping you off at school, I returned to the apartment to quickly take care of some things and got ready to visit the orthopedic doctor. Lately, I've been experiencing a lot of back pain, especially when sleeping. Every time I sleep on my stomach, I get a lot of pain, and I have to change positions. Sometimes it's difficult to change positions because I get stuck in bed. However, lying on my back or on my side helps a lot. Sometimes, when walking, my back suddenly locks up. I'm not as young as I used to be, but I'm not too old to have these back pains. But before going to the doctor, I did what I promised not to forget: I left three wrapped presents at Marquinhos' door and rang the bell. I left two boxes of chocolates that he had been asking for, and a toy truck. I bought the chocolate boxes he had sent a photo of. I thought about getting different chocolates, but I was afraid he wouldn't like it or would be upset that I gave a different box than he asked for, so I went with the safer route.

Even before leaving the garage with the car, Marquinhos called me through the camera to thank me for the present along with his mother. He was very happy and thanked me greatly. This is the best kind of reward when you do something good for others – gratitude, joy in the person's eyes that you temporarily changed the mood of, or in more significant cases, even the week, month, or year. It's very rewarding.

After that, I went to the doctor, who was close to home, and fortunately, he saw me quickly. I love it when doctors see you at the scheduled time, and you don't have to wait for hours in the waiting room. That already gains a lot of points with me for that doctor or that clinic. The doctor evaluated me a bit and requested an MRI, saying I need to do physical therapy. I've already scheduled the MRI, now I have to arrange for the physical therapy, which I really need. Afterward, we went to pick you up from school, and the teachers mentioned that you didn't nap at all, meaning you hadn't taken a nap since you woke up, and it was almost nighttime. We figured you would go to bed early as you must have been very tired.

And to our surprise, at dinner around eight, while you were sitting in your high chair eating, we noticed after a while that you were very quiet. We went to check on you, and you were sleeping in the high chair with your head turned to the side. At first, I was a bit startled because you had never done that before. I didn't know if you had felt unwell, fainted, or if you were really just sleeping. But you were indeed just sleeping, so it turned into a funny moment, and we ended up laughing. It was only for a few seconds, but then we took you for a bath. I delayed it a bit until around 8:40 so that you could sleep around nine. If you went to sleep before 9:00 PM, you might not only wake up very early but also confuse it with a nap time and wake up in the middle of the night. Since you always sleep between 9:00 and 10:30 PM at home, we thought putting you to bed before nine would be counterproductive, even though you were so sleepy.

Well, I managed to give you milk at nine, and you fell asleep around 9:15, more or less. But you were waking up a lot, and the night before, when we were sleeping at your grandparents' house, it was the same thing. You were waking up all the time. Your dad thought it was because you were congested with mucus and couldn't breathe, but I found it strange and thought it could be something more than that, for example, a stomach ache. And tonight was the same; you didn't seem to have mucus, so we suspected the tooth because throughout the day you were putting your hand in your mouth. The only times you didn't sleep well were exactly when you were teething or had colic, the very rare times. So most likely, it was your tooth. But on one of those times you woke up, around midnight, you couldn't sleep anymore, you kind of woke up as I mentioned earlier. And it was quite complicated... I think we only managed to make you go back to sleep around 3:00 AM, and that's because I gave you medication to be able to sleep. I don't know if without the medication, it would have had the same effect. And I felt very overwhelmed because that night I was extremely impatient with you, extremely impatient with the situation.

I wasn't giving my best, not being my best. I was arguing with you, not understanding the situation, crying, tired, and you didn't deserve that, my love, because you've always been perfect in the sleep department. Very few times have you given us trouble to sleep, something that many parents face daily for years; we hardly ever went through that with you. And the few times it happened, was I angry? I don't remember ever being angry like this before, but this time I was, and without patience. Even your dad noticed.

But when we're at that limit without patience, nothing others say makes us snap out of it, rewind the tape, and return to our normal selves. I want to apologize to you. I am flawed, will be flawed for a long time, will never achieve perfection. But I promise that when I feel I am wrong, I've crossed the limits, I will always ask for your forgiveness.

And try to improve in the future so that the same doesn't happen again. I hope you do the same with the people you love, with those you make mistakes with, be it me, your dad, siblings, friends. We need to be humble. I'm here being humble, asking for your forgiveness, I won't always be a perfect mother, but for you, I'll always try! It's normal that once in a while, you don't sleep like an angel, and I should be thankful that it's a rare thing, not something routine. And when it happens, I should think that it almost never happens, so I have no right or reason to be upset with you.

06/02 - Chapter 194: Is it too soon to do this yet?

Today, after picking you up from daycare, we had a visit from Grandma and Pietra. Pietra has been wanting to spend time with you since her time in Caraguá. Apparently, she spent quite a while with you there and missed you afterwards. Every time she sees you, my dad is around and you don't pay attention to her. But you're quite shy, sweetheart. Except for us in your immediate family, you always seem a bit embarrassed or shy around everyone, even those you're more used to, like Aunt Rosane, for example.

Pietra went home because she was going to paint my toe and fingernails, as well as my mom's. Some years ago, my mom invested in and paid for a manicure course for her, and it turned out great. Now she's working in the field and earning a good little income. She has several clients and is now working in a professional salon. I'm very proud of my mom for helping her niece, providing the encouragement and tools for her to make a profession out of it. Pietra won't actually make a career out of this because she's currently studying IT in college. But for now, this temporary profession is really helping with the bills.

They left the house after 11:00 PM because it takes time to do four nails in total. But we had a lot of fun, ordered pizza. But this time you didn't eat pizza because you had already eaten recently with my friends. During the pizza time, Pietra shared fantastic news with us that almost no one knows yet: everything went well with the psychiatrist, psychologist, nutritionist, and doctor appointments, and she finally managed to have her bariatric surgery. Pietra is significantly overweight, and she's only 19 years old... The tests requested by the doctor revealed that she has grade three liver fat, the same grade as her father who is over 50. Liver fat only goes up to grade four, meaning she's in a serious health situation. So, because of this, it's likely that her surgery will go through. She'll probably choose a date at the end of February, and I'm really hoping it works out. However, if everything goes well, she'll need to readjust and change her entire routine, especially her eating habits. It's no use having surgery and going back to the same eating habits, as it will likely lead to the same issues all over again. But I think at her age, a person becomes so enamored with their new body, being slim, that they end up being careful and taking good care of themselves in that department. I hope so.

The surgeon has already told her that if she gains weight again, they won't perform a second surgery, so she has to be attentive to that. I know two people who had bariatric surgery and still maintain a perfectly beautiful body to this day, even after a long time since the surgery. So I believe it's also a matter of willpower. As she's going to have her stomach stapled, that, in a way, helps control hunger because, otherwise, drastically changing her eating habits of many years would likely be a very tough task.

Pietra already had a tendency to gain weight because her entire family is obese. Genetics, as I told you before, has a significant impact on everyone's life and is important. Not only in the case of adoption, as I mentioned, but also in terms of diseases, habits, personality... And she inherited this genetic predisposition from her mother. I believe that compulsive eating is a disease, and besides being a disease, it's also an addiction. Like any addiction, it's very difficult to overcome. People judge those who eat too much, who are obese, but forget that it's an addiction just like smoking, drinking – it's as hard to overcome as the others. Every addiction is incredibly difficult to quit, so the best we can do is try to live a life without any addiction, because undoing these habits we build is a challenging and painful task for the person trying to break free from them, whatever they may be. So I was genuinely very happy for her. Pietra is already beautiful, and being slim will surely cause quite a stir.

Today, something funny happened. While my mom and Pietra were taking a while, your dad showered with you to speed up your bedtime. When he called me to take you out of the bath, I was just finishing my slice of pizza, only a tiny piece left. I quickly dried you off and left you without a diaper for just a moment while I finished that last bit of pizza. It was a mistake I won't make again. As I was finishing my pizza, my mom mentioned she saw something coming out of you. When we looked at you, you were having a massive poop on the floor – a large, adult-sized poop. It was a horrible yet funny scene. I had to clean up your mess, but that image will never leave my mind. You've also been experiencing constant diarrhea. Today, however, it seemed like you were no longer having it, judging by what happened on my poor floor. If the diarrhea persists, I'll try to buy the essential diarrhea medicine, as the ones for respiratory immunity seem to have worked.

Another thing I'm not sure if I mentioned is that you're obsessed with shoes. Every time you see any type of shoe, be it any kind, even adult shoes, you want to put them on. And when you can't, it's a struggle because you start getting frustrated, screaming, and crying. So we have to try to keep all shoes away from you.

08/02 - Chapter 195: Spinning out of control from the fall

Today was a tough day for me. It started with me getting almost no sleep, which can be quite exhausting. However, I believe my fatigue is more emotional than physical. We were trying to apply for a specific visa with an immigration lawyer, but for this visa, a job offer is required. So, we were attempting to reach your father's former boss to see if he could sponsor him again in his company. After a few days of waiting, he responded to your father's email, but when your father asked if he was available to talk this week, he didn't reply. It's been almost a week with no response, and with that, hope is slowly fading.

The process is already challenging because even if he manages to apply, the chance of the application being accepted is only 12%. In other words, we have to be realistic; the odds are slim. So, we have to rely on someone else to provide us with this opportunity and then hope for luck. Relying on luck is not very favorable. Depending on others or third parties for something in our lives is never a good thing. If we can't depend on anyone, it's better. Depending on others can cause anxiety, stress, and many other emotions that I can't describe.

I think all of this has been affecting my mental state, my anxiety, and it reached a point where it exploded today. After dropping you off at school, I went back home, marked my appointments for the day, and tried to sleep and rest. I lay down in bed around 3:00 PM and got up around 5:17 PM, more or less. But it was that kind of half-asleep where I don't even know if I slept or not because I was so tired. I had the impression that I hadn't slept at all, and I ended up feeling more tired than when I lay down.

When I woke up, I tried to call my mom, but her phone was going straight to voicemail. It kept going to voicemail. My mom never turns off her phone or lets the battery run out; she even leaves the charger in the car to charge it when the battery is low. She knows how concerned I am about this, so she's very careful not to worry me. And her phone kept going to voicemail, and then I started thinking that something might have happened to her. I can't handle living like this, always in a state of panic. With that, I had a panic attack, a very intense emotional crisis. I started crying uncontrollably, and my eyes were swollen from crying so much.

I was trembling, had no control over my body, and just wanted to disappear. I was having a crisis in the car on the way to pick you up from school, and I knew I needed to keep it together, especially with you in the car. I breathed, tried to calm myself, and did my best, but the only thing that truly calmed me was when I picked you up, feeling your little heart, your energy, and your love.

Instantly, you did what the most powerful anxiety medication could do – you relaxed me and temporarily alleviated all the discomfort I was feeling. It was like a rapid morphine injection directly into my veins. Instant relief.

After that, I calmed down. Even so, my mom came by later to check on me and ended up taking me to the pizzeria I like so much to make me happy. And the best part is that she enjoyed it too, so we savored the pizza together. Going out with my mom, even for a short time to get some fresh air, made me feel even better.

But only I know what I felt during that crisis. Desperation, helplessness, a sense of feeling so small, a lack of control, a lack of air, a lack of everything... I feel my body so numbed by the sadness I feel and the despair of not finding a way out.

Now, my next step is to try to attend college abroad, study IT. Let's see how this plan unfolds, as all the others have gone wrong until now.

11/02 - Chapter 196: This is never ending

Today, I invited a friend of mine named Camila to go to Serra. My friendship with Camila actually began after the 2022 elections. She has been a customer of my sales group for many years and is also a member of the 'Corrente do Bem' group, but we had never had deep conversations before.

After the elections, when I saw some of her posts expressing dissatisfaction with the results, I took the opportunity to share with her the anxiety I was feeling about the political scenario. Since then, we became friends! We talk a lot through voice messages. She sends me several long audio messages, and I respond with the same intensity, but at my own pace.

I enjoy talking but not over the phone because, during a phone call, you have to stop whatever you are doing at that specific moment to talk to the person who called you, on their time. And during that time, you might be busy or simply not in the mood to answer. With voice messages, you listen when you want, at the time you want, and respond in your own time. That's exactly what we do.

She and I became very close, and she also attended your first birthday. I invited her, her husband, and their 10-year-old daughter (a very polite and charming girl, by the way) to have an afternoon barbecue in the mountains.

They arrived almost at 5 p.m., but we still had a great time, enjoying food and conversation. Her daughter, Maria Fernanda, joined me, you, and grandma in the pool. It was a very enjoyable afternoon.

However, since the moment you woke up, we all noticed that you were quite congested, with a constantly runny nose. Your father - already traumatized by your hospitalization in December - was on high alert, extremely worried about what this cold could develop into. On the other hand, I try to reassure him as much as possible because I prefer to believe that not every cold you have will escalate into something so drastic. If I maintain this kind of thinking – that every time you have a runny nose, we'll end up in the ICU – I'll simply become neurotic, stop living, and make you stop living too, and that's not the goal.

It's my defense mechanism, believing that everything will be fine because I simply cannot relive the horrors I experienced with you in the ICU in December. So, I refuse to entertain the thought that it might happen again, and that we can't put you in a bubble.

Despite all the mucus and congested nose, you played remarkably well in the afternoon. You enjoyed the pool, ate plenty of cheese, and even played with your toys and dolls with Maria Fernanda until late at night.

It was only after they left, at bedtime, that we noticed you were a bit more feverish. Still, I thought everything was normal. However, in the middle of the night, the surprise hit: your breathing started to weaken, just like the last time. In desperation, we used your crisis inhaler (unused since your hospital discharge, as it can only be administered during crises), and apparently, your breathing improved. But an hour later, you were in crisis again. So, the bitter truth is, despite my attempts to push away bad thoughts, now with you breathing like this, I was in dispair again, afraid of what could come next and all I can think was: "Is this never ending?"

12/02 - Chapter 197: Wake me up when it's all over

February 12, 2024. Another date etched into the scar tissue of my heart, just as December 5, 2023.

After noticing your labored breathing in the early hours, we decided to rush you to the hospital immediately. This time, the right hospital, the same one where you were last admitted. Your breathing in the car remained strained, which heightened my concern.

Upon arriving at the hospital, luckily, due to it being a carnival holiday and the city being deserted, there was a parking space right at the hospital's entrance. We parked there, and as soon as I looked at the hospital, memories flooded in, and I felt as if I were being pricked with a thousand needles all over my head. The image spun for a few seconds, and it felt like everything was going black. I knew I was going to faint, so I yelled for my mom, and indeed, I fainted, but only for a few brief seconds. Those seconds were enough to scare everyone, especially you, who started crying, concerned about mommy.

But no one had time to think about mommy now; the priority was you! I asked them to take you into the hospital until I composed myself and could enter. And that's what we did. It took me a few minutes to shake off the dizziness, and I rushed into the hospital.

To my surprise, it was empty, and you were called in quickly. However, they put a red bracelet on you. The red bracelet signifies an emergency state, and immediate attention is required. So, in a wheelchair, you and I were promptly taken to the emergency ward, which made me even more nervous.

This couldn't be happening again, could it?

I guess it could.

We went to an emergency room where they were trying to check your blood pressure, measure your oxygen levels, and monitor your heart rate. You were already very nervous at that moment, but everything got even worse when they took your blood sample and inserted an IV into your vein. At that point, your breathing was very weak, you were inhaling deeply with your entire abdomen, and it was frightening how prominently your ribs were visible. It seemed like they were only making the situation worse. We felt helpless because we simply couldn't take you away; we couldn't, and you were also sick, needing assistance to breathe. What torment and suffering for all of us. For me, your grandmother, and your father.

After that, we went to a private room in the ward where we waited for a few hours to go up to the ICU. Going up to the ICU this time, we were on the 11th floor, not the 8th like last time, which already got me a bit concerned because the 8th floor was simply wonderful in everything they did for you. I wanted the same place and the same treatment.

You used the Vapotherm high flow treatment machine for a short period, but it wasn't proving effective for you. You still experienced a lot of respiratory discomfort. I also believe that the environment wasn't conducive. The constant interventions by the nurses, poking and administering medication, made you very anxious. Your heart rate would beat so fast, worsening your breathing and causing more respiratory discomfort, which affected your overall condition.

You know, I don't remember much because I'm writing all this days later, a bit more recovered. Everything was very heavy and intense for me. What I recall from that fateful December 12th was that you quickly transitioned from the vapotherm high flow treatment machine to the ICU mask machine, something that took days to progress during your December hospitalization. In other words, this time your condition was deteriorating much, much faster.

I remember the first doctor was very nice. We asked her about Dr. Marina, and she didn't take offense. Dr. Marina had taken care of your case during your first hospitalization and practically visited you every day. I'll never forget her. But she mentioned that Dr. Marina was from another department (the 8th floor), and doctors couldn't intervene with patients from different floors. However, this doctor was very attentive too; upon seeing my despair, she hugged me. But she didn't sugarcoat the truth. She affirmed that your case was serious. And those words, those phrases, are very, very difficult for a mother to hear. Hope fades, and despair grows.

I remember the 2nd dr was really calming; she was younger but seemed experienced. However, things changed at night. Everything started when you lost several IV accesses since the last doctor, at least 4 that I remember. And with each new attempt, it became more difficult because they couldn't find veins to insert the IV. Not to mention several that burst.

Then the nightmare and terror began. Multiple nurses trying to find an available vein to insert an IV in you. They pricked you more than 15 times, and each time was a psychological torture for me and your father. I could only cry, feeling tiny for not being able to protect you. You looked at us as if asking for help, and there was absolutely nothing we could do. At some point, your father couldn't take it anymore and said that all of that was torture. One of the nurses, offended by what he said, mentioned that this "torture" (and she emphasized the word with quotation marks) could prevent intubation. If they couldn't find an available vein, you would need intubation, leading to even more severe problems. Fucking hell... even though you may take offense at something so innocent, don't say that to parents who are already suffering from that situation and the adrenaline in their bodies. We are just lost, scared, suffering...

It's nothing personal, and we don't want to offend. In fact, your father was questioning a lot, asking first before his last statement if there was a nurse who specialized in baby veins. The nurse also took offense, saying that they were all specialists. Well, it didn't seem like it... And this doesn't have to be offensive either; nurses should consider the scenario and the situation those parents are in and witnessing. It's about empathy, you know?

After the nurse mentioned intubation, on your 1ST DAY OF HOSPITALIZATION (something that took a while to be mentioned in the first hospitalization), I fell apart. I just cried. I couldn't do or say anything, just think about the worst-case scenario again: losing you.

The scenario kept getting worse, and your breathing worsened too with all the stress you were going through. After much trauma and psychological terror, they found two accesses, one in each hand. However, the doctor, not very optimistic anymore, and I could sense more pessimism, said that if you lost either IV access again - which was very likely given that your veins were tiny and you had already lost several - she would have to intubate you.

We even discussed the PICC line, but apparently, at that time, there was no nurse available to insert it. The PICC line you used last time, when Dr. Marina came to explain that it would spare you from being pricked every time you needed it. Another option was to find a large central vein, either in the neck or thigh, but for that, intubation would also be necessary. My world crumbled... if the doctor herself was saying that intubation was very likely, I could only despair. I felt nauseous and wanted to die... I went to the bathroom and called my parents, screaming in desperation that you would be intubated and hitting myself while saying it. I couldn't bear it. I wanted to bash my head against the wall several times until my brains came out. I needed to calm down; I needed an anxiolytic, a muscle relaxant; I no longer had any control over my body. At the same time I wanted to be there with you, I wouldn't be able to see what would happen next. I wanted to take a hit, be completely numb, and have them wake me up only when there was good news. And if there wasn't, they could leave me sedated forever until my heart stopped beating. I really wanted to disappear, faint, die, not see what would happen next because I wouldn't have the strength. But at the same time, I hated myself and felt useless, a horrible mother because I didn't have the strength to stay with you, to hold your hand, whisper in your ear, calm you down... because I'm weak!!! I'm weak and always have been!!!!!!

I called my parents DESPERATED, hitting myself and crying in the bathroom, saying that you would be intubated. They left Serra in the middle of the night and went straight to the hospital. But to our surprise, when they arrived, not only did you not lose the access this time, but you also calmed down, and the vital signs, as well as the respiratory distress, seemed to be improving. So, they went home a little more relieved.

As for your father and me, we had a very desperate night, constantly watching over you. We only remember that at some point, we managed to fall asleep, even with a storm outside. What woke us up was the hospital's power outage. It made such a loud noise. We immediately woke up in desperation, and your father shouted: YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDIN' ME! Your mask stopped for a few seconds, enough to wake you up, and then came back with the generator, which also made an annoying noise. But we were startled when the lights went out... oh my! After that, you didn't sleep again until morning; you lost your sleep.

13-17/02 - Chapter 198: All I can do is watch and cry

In the early morning, another doctor came in. The challenging aspect of the ICU/hospital is that every day brings a new doctor. In fact, each day, you encounter three different doctors due to the shift change, at least two. If you do the math, during the last hospitalization of around 10 days, there were approximately 30 different doctors, a bit fewer...

And some you grow fond of, gain confidence in, only to be disappointed when another person replaces the doctor you liked.

Anyway, the doctor evaluated you and came to talk to me and your father on the couch, starting with: "Look, she did indeed have a better night, but she still needs a lot of assistance and support to breathe..." When she said that, my heart stopped because we were so happy that you stabilized a bit during the night and didn't lose the IV access in your hands... And starting with that sentence, I was sure she would say that you needed to be intubated to improve breathing. But no. She said that the PICC line would be necessary again.

However, this time, we were more pessimistic because your apparent condition was worse. And Dr. Marina (an angel on Earth) from your December hospitalization didn't frighten us at all regarding the PICC line; we felt a lot of confidence. This doctor, on the other hand, mentioned that the problem would be that anesthesia would be required to insert the catheter, and anesthesia could further impair your breathing, which could lead to intubation. But you needed the catheter because you still required many medications, and your veins wouldn't withstand the accesses you had. Without the medications, your respiratory state would worsen. In other words, if we didn't authorize the PICC line, you would probably end up being intubated anyway, but likely in a worse condition than you were in now.

With the PICC line, there was still a chance of avoiding intubation, as you didn't need it the last time (although your condition was slightly less severe then).

So, your father and I found ourselves in a very difficult and delicate situation. Either we waited and hoped that you continued to improve and didn't lose the access and didn't need the PICC line. However, if you did need it, you would be intubated in an even more delicate state. Or we authorized the PICC line, hoped for the best, or you would be intubated, but not in such a delicate situation...

We agreed on the PICC because we knew it was necessary.

It took about an hour and a half for the PICC line procedure to happen, and that hour and a half were agonizing for me and your father because during that time, we knew you could be intubated. After a while, your father went upstairs to see what was happening, and they said the the procedure went well, they were just finalizing some details, and they would fetch us once it was done. When he told me, I felt such relief, such great joy... Just knowing that you had avoided a second intubation, I was so proud of you, of your strength...

Later, when we went up, they mentioned that during the access, you lost a little blood, there was some bleeding with this procedure, but now everything was okay. Even so, our hearts ached to learn about the bleeding. You were going through so much this time. As I told you, you were sedated for three days, but even with sedation, whenever they touched you or performed any procedure, you would wake up. However, when they removed the sedation on the third day, at night, you experienced withdrawal from the medication, from the anesthetic. I've never seen anything like it; you gritted your teeth as if you had bruxism, you trembled, especially your little leg. You were spacey, not normal, as if, I can't explain, looking into nothing, focusing on nothing. Very strange. And your heart rate was very fast. All of this indicated withdrawal from the sedative. So, in addition to all the suffering you went through, you were also going through sedative withdrawal. For us, having witnessed all of this was very heart-wrenching.

The experience was different from the first time. First, the care, which, as I told you on the eighth floor, had a significant difference from the 11th floor, then the severity of the situation that escalated much faster the second time. There was also the difference that the first time, despite being a bit limp, and the doctor saying that it was concerning, you were not sedated. I believe that since the RSV and adenovirus are much stronger viruses, they kind of knocked you down in the sense of making you very still. But you were not anesthetized at any moment, only for the catheter on that December 5th. This time, however, you spent a long time under anesthesia, and as a result, you also experienced withdrawal from the sedative, a different experience from what we had the first time.

I believe that this time you suffered more from the needle pricks, the massages because you were already traumatized from two previous hospitalizations, and now you were on edge. Everything was very difficult. Thankfully, we have my parents, your maternal grandparents, who helped us so much. Sometimes they stayed at the hospital for hours while your father and I managed to rest a bit. There was a day when you were much better, without any more risks, and your grandma spent a night at the hospital with you. I allowed it because I knew you were no longer at risk. And this time, I was mentally destroyed.

Gradually, you improved until you could remove the ICU mask machine and go back to the vapotherm high flow machine. But it was very challenging until then. You removed the feeding tube around -3 times, once you pulled it partially out, so they took an X-ray to check if the tube was still in your stomach, and it showed that it was. Still, I was so afraid it might not be, and they could be seeing something wrong because this is a very serious matter. If the tube wasn't in your stomach, and you received nutrition through your nose, you could aspirate the food into your bronchial tubes, which could lead to death. So every day brought a new concern. It seemed that as soon as something improved or good news arrived, something else bad or worrisome happened.

Although this time it's true that you left the hospital in less time (after six days, unlike in December when you stayed for 10 day), I believe that this time your situation is much worse. Something doesn't make sense, daughter. First, it's not common to get bronchiolitis so many times in such a short period. Second, bronchiolitis is more common up to a year of age, and after that, it's much less common. Your three times were when you were over 12 months old. There are many cases up to two years, but when it happens, bronchiolitis tends to be milder, precisely because of the child's age. The older the child, the stronger their immune system is against bronchiolitis. They say that even if you get it, which is rare more than once, it tends to be milder. However, from the beginning, you were the opposite. Your first bronchiolitis was mild, the second was dangerous, and the third even worse. It's getting stronger each time. So something doesn't add up. We need to find a pulmonologist who investigates, takes care of this part, and is concerned enough about you to understand what's happening.

When you transitioned from the ICU mask to the high-flow, you spent one or two days on high-flow, and there was a day when you pulled the oxygen from your nose. I'll remember that day forever. Before removing the oxygen, a male nurse entered, the first and only male nurse who attended to you to administer an oral medication. But giving you oral medication is always a nightmare because you refuse it. In the hospital, it was even worse because they were unknown people administering medication, making you very nervous. When he tried to give you the medication, you twisted your whole body, your heart rate reached 208, and you ended up pulling the oxygen from your nose. It took about 10 minutes for him to put the oxygen back in your nose. Those were 10 terrifying minutes because he simply couldn't put it back, and you were very nervous, with a rapidly beating heart. But you needed the oxygen.

After that incident, your father and I almost took you out of the hospital because you were already improving. We believed you didn't need to be on the machine anymore since your saturation was good without oxygen. We thought they were mistreating you and worsening your condition. So we came very close to taking you out of the hospital. However, it's a huge responsibility.

After he finally managed to put the oxygen on you, after five minutes, you removed it again. Your father and I refused to call him to put it back; we couldn't bear to witness that scene again. So you stayed in my arms for about half an hour, calming down, without any oxygen, which proved that your saturation was good without any support. But when the doctor appeared, she asked to put it back because she was concerned that if you stayed without oxygen for too long, your saturation might drop again, and we would regress from the progress we had made. So I put you on my lap and quickly put the oxygen back on you. It was a very brief torture, but it was much better for me. After that, at night, you removed the high-flow catheter to switch to oxygen. However, you were so fine without oxygen that the physiotherapist decided to release simple oxygen to see how you would fare, and you did well, just as your father and I imagined.

After that, everything was scheduled for your discharge to the room the next day, but you were doing so well that in the morning, I asked the doctor if it was possible to release you home directly from the ICU. She said it was always a possibility, but she needed to check upon you first. After evaluating you, she mentioned that you were indeed much better, but you would still need physiotherapy for at least two more days. If I could arrange for a physiotherapist to come to the house and work with you for those two days, she would authorize your release. I spoke with Thuane, the physiotherapist who took care of you in December, and she confirmed that she could attend you on those two days as the doctor had mentioned. The consultation was a bit pricey, at $280 per physio session, which typically lasted around 10 minutes. However, it was necessary, and we were determined to get you out of the hospital. So, we found it very prudent, and that's how you were discharged directly from the ICU to home.

Everything was terrile. For everyone. I know that in the first few days, minutes seemed like hours, and hours felt like days. Time dragged on slowly, as if we were stuck in a video game or an alternate reality. Daughter, I couldn't imagine living without you. This time it really f* my head; it was quite traumatic for both me and your father. And for your grandparents as well. I don't know why all of us are going through this. Certainly, you, your father, and your grandparents don't deserve it. This time, we didn't even tell your great-grandparents what was happening because we knew it would be hard for them. It could have raised their blood pressure, and they might have had some health issues upon learning about your hospital situation. So, we spared them. They only found out the true situation when you were about to be discharged. Seeing you in that state, pleading for help with your eyes and being unable to do anything, is a feeling I wouldn't wish upon anyone.

18/02 - Chapter 199: I can't bear this time

The day you were discharged was a Sunday night. We went straight to my parents' house, and now a new life and routine were about to begin.

However, this new life we're about to face is making me anxious. And with that, I'm feeling a mix of emotions beyond anxiety, such as sadness, lack of motivation, despair, worry... And I feel guilty for feeling these emotions because I think I should feel relief and happiness, as you were in critical condition in an ICU, and the outcome could have been disastrous, but it wasn't; you came out alive, and that should be enough to make me happy and move on, like I did in December, right? However, unlike December, this time I feel like I'm hanging by a thread. I can't shake off these negative feelings. And with this, I've realized that little by little, in these days since you were discharged, my depression has returned to knock on the door.

Depression has always been with me since 2009 - or maybe even earlier and I never noticed - but it was actually in 2009 that everything unfolded in a very complicated way. From 2009 to 2011, I suffered a lot with depression, but gradually, I managed to recover with the help of professionals and medication. I was fine for a long time, but I always had some relapses when a more serious problem arose or when there was a trigger. That's the problem for people with depression - for us, it's as if everything is viewed through a magnifying glass, an enlarged lens. So what may be a relatively small thing for someone becomes a seven-headed monster for someone with depression. Because everything is magnified, everything in very close detail.

So despite being fine for a while, whenever a more serious problem arose, I would start to feel bad again, but I never relapsed in the way I did in 2009. I never felt as bad as I did back then. Sometimes I went back to taking medication for a short period, but I always managed to recover. But this time, I'm feeling all the symptoms of 2009. In fact, do you remember in your diary in 2023 when I mentioned that depression was coming back? It passed, without the help of medication or professionals, but as I was going through a tough time with your father at that time, it was enough for depression to want to grab hold of me again.

But luckily, last year, I managed to resolve the situation on my own without the help of others. However, now, the situation is different. The trigger of Barcelona, of you being hospitalized there, would have been enough for my depression to return, and it didn't happen. I am considering that what happened in Barcelona was not anything severe. However, when you were hospitalized in December in critical condition, I was certain that given the state I was in at the hospital, my depression would return upon leaving. But the opposite happened. I was so grateful that you came out alive, healthy, and that my prayers were answered that I only felt gratitude, happiness, and hope that you had caught a severe virus, but that everything would be fine now. Miraculously, I didn't find myself in that depressive state that I thought I would, I only felt gratitude and happiness, and couldn't wait for our life to restart in January.

Now, I believe that this time has been too much for my mind. Seeing your son hospitalized three times in less than four months, twice in critical condition, is extremely difficult even for someone without depression, it's difficult enough and can be a trigger to start a depression. Now, for someone who already has this condition, it's way worse. In fact, I couldn't process it. This time, I didn't leave the hospital feeling joyful, relieved, and grateful like last time. No. This time, I felt a lot of anger. Anger at having seen you suffer for the third time in a row. Anger at going through this again, not only your parents suffering but you suffering a lot too. Anger because most children really come home from daycare with common illnesses like a fever and a strong cold. But for you, every time there's a cold, it escalates to a severe case in the ICU. So, it's a lot for a mother to process, understand, and comprehend. Now, instead of being grateful, I was angry for having gone through this situation so many times. And I think this anger was also crucial for my depression to embrace me again.

All I know is that every time I took the elevator in the hospital and saw the floor of the morgue, my head spun, and I felt the urge to vomit at the thought that I entered with my daughter in the hospital and could leave without her. That word 'morgue' blinked in my mind stubbornly, sharpening the negative thoughts. I couldn't lose you.

After all the weight on my mind, despite your discharge, I felt unwell. All I feel is extreme fatigue, I have no energy whatsoever, as if it's physically impossible for me to stand, pick you up, play, and entertain you... I feel weak. I just want to sleep, and this brings me back to 2009 when sleep was my refuge. I feel nervous, stressed, even with you, over trivial and small things. Later, I pick you up, hug you, apologize. But my irritability is very high. Which is also part of depression. On top of all this, there's pressure from the external environment. Your grandparents, your father, and I are all nervous, not knowing what to do. And everyone insists that now you can't see anyone, that you have to spend time isolated as if in quarantine. In addition to leaving daycare, we can't go to enclosed places anymore. Finding something to do with you in this city is already very difficult, and now that enclosed places are prohibited, and contact with people too, honestly, I don't know how our life will be.

On one hand, we can stay at my parents' house because there is space, you play more there, there's more greenery... However, when we are at my parents' house, your father and I disconnect as a couple in an absurd way. First, because the house is very large, each one stays on one side, and second, because we lose some of our freedom; this cannot help but be affected. So for us as a couple, it's very challenging to spend a long time at my parents' house.

19-24/02 - Chapter 200: How can you be sure?

I don't even know where to start; I'm so lost in time... so spacey. So psychologically wounded.

We went to see the pulmonologist who handled your case at the Sabará Hospital in her private practice. She doesn't accept health insurance, and it's on the other side of the city, but we went with hope. Upon arrival, we noticed that the doctor was quite young. At the hospital, I couldn't say for sure because she was always wearing a mask. She saw us for an hour, was very friendly, and explained a lot. She even mentioned that we couldn't raise you in a bubble, as it wouldn't be ideal. We would need to treat you to keep you strong, and we could even consider enrolling you in daycare after some time. Your grandmother was very upset about this; she kept saying the whole way how irresponsible it was, and that she was too young, didn't have much experience... Anyway, I thought your grandmother was exaggerating, but as the days went by, I started to think that this doctor could have prescribed more medications, even if it was just something to boost your immunity, or tests to investigate if there's something wrong with you because three hospitalizations in four months are not normal. No tests for investigation? I needed a second opinion...

My goal since we left the hospital was now to find a pulmonologist to monitor you regularly but also an immunologist. Since I didn't have any other recommendations for a pulmonologist, I searched for an immunologist and found one nearby with good reviews. One of the comments mentioned a case similar to yours, saying that this doctor was the only one who correctly treated the daughter who always had a runny nose, mucus, and when she caught a virus, it turned into something serious... Hits close to home, huh?! So, hopeful, I scheduled an appointment with the immunologist.

R$500 for the first pulmonologist and now R$400 for the immunologist, as none of them accept health insurance. The first doctor provided an invoice, so the insurance reimburses R$250; now, the second doctor was so amazing that she issued two invoices of R$200 each. In other words, despite being private doctors, and despite it taking a bit longer, in the future, we would have a full refund of the consultation fees.

But it turns out that this Immunologist was worth every penny. Her recommendations and online reviews were indeed spot on. When we arrived, the doctor's office had some toys that you enjoyed playing with. We spent about an hour in her consultation, and these toys helped distract you. She explained everything thoroughly and said that it's not beneficial to keep you in a bubble because when you come out, you'll be even more fragile and susceptible to catching colds. The ideal approach, she mentioned, is to treat so that if you do catch something, it doesn't escalate into a severe condition. This aligned closely with what the first pulmonologist advised. However, the difference with her compared to pulmonology is that she prescribed several preventive medications, medications to boost your immunity, and on top of everything, she requested investigative tests. One of them is for reflux, which has always been a concern for us. We think the chances of you having reflux are quite high. Therefore, she ordered an investigative exam called esophageal scintigraphy to study reflux, a chest tomography with sedation (which is the most challenging for us as parents because we're very afraid of you undergoing sedation), but she wants to see if you have any malformations. She also requested a complete blood count, mainly to investigate your immunity. I really liked the tests she ordered, despite the fear of sedation, because I believe we need to investigate what's happening with you.

But as we weren't confident with the last pulmonologist we visited, we sought another one recommended by my friend from San Diego. Camila's sister took her kids to this doctor named Bernardo, and we went there. The consultation fee initially startled me: R$ 680.00. However, they provided two receipts as well, which made it easier and helped us a lot.

The first impression I had wasn't the best because he seemed very old-fashioned and conservative in his views. He mentioned that school was out of the question and that you couldn't take a plane until around 4 years old. With your father's family living abroad, what would we do? Not to mention that I don't want to live in this hellhole for more than 2 and a half years. Especially in a prison without being able to travel. Other things like being against nasal lavage with the syringe, etc. However, to our surprise, he introduced us to a medication called "Gamunex," which is an intravenous immunoglobulin designed to boost your immunity so that if in the future you were to have other bronchiolitis episodes or viruses, it wouldn't worsen as much. There would be 10 applications of this medication every 10 days. And the treatment would cost a little over 3,000 reais. Of course, we didn't focus on the cost; after all, it's your health at stake, but we're also concerned about what it is because we're unfamiliar with it. But our greatest concern was when he said to stop all other medications, not just those from the immunologist but also the ones from the hospital, including the inhalers. He administered the first dose in your buttocks, and we went home.

Leaving there, I told your father and your grandmother that I was completely against stopping the inhalers. We needed the opinion of another pulmonologist to advise us on this; it would be too much responsibility to remove these medications and trust only this treatment we don't know.

I know that with every doctor we go to, we come out more confused than we came in. All of this is worsening my depressive and anxious state. Every day I become more confused, more lost, not knowing what to do and the right way to help you. It's a lot, a lot of responsibility.

That said, as we needed to distract ourselves, I finally rented a beach house and was eager for us to leave for a few days and try to forget these problems.

25-29/02 - Chapter 201: When the pain cuts you deep

Days went by, and I still found myself in a hole. I had no energy, no enthusiasm, and just wanted to sleep... And I know that when I reach this state, it's concerning. Well, I scheduled an online session with my old psychiatrist, but believe it or not, he forgot about me that day and rescheduled for the next day. I like him, always have, find him funny, but a bit eccentric.

Well, he said that, due to my depression, it's normal to find myself in this state after everything I've been through. He mentioned that I would need to start taking a medication called Venlift twice a day and a prescription drug called Alprazolam, which I had actually never heard of. But upon researching, we found that it's as strong as Diazepam and just as addictive. Despite the doctor saying it wasn't addictive... I became extremely concerned about this because taking a prescription drug during crises and very occasionally is one thing; like in the hospital when I felt my body exploding from the inside and even had muscle spasms, then yes, it's an excellent moment, an opportune moment. Now, taking it every day, three times a day, and then going through withdrawal and all these things, I find worrying... Because deep down, I believe I have an addictive personality. Despite my entire history of depression, I've never had to take prescription drugs daily. I'm very afraid of getting addicted to the medication and instead of fixing one problem, only adding yet another to my life.

Oh, how I wish I were strong enough and a normal person who deals with problems naturally. Your father went through this nightmare just like me and doesn't need to take medication. I hate the fact that everything in my life is magnified disproportionately with this illness. And no one can stand a depressed person for long; complaining, sleeping all the time, always with pessimistic thoughts, anyway... I know it's not healthy for me or the people around me, not even for you. So, I want and need to get better. But would taking prescription drugs daily be the solution? I don't know!

I'm also in this state after another blow I took. Right after you left the hospital, your father's boss responded and agreed to be his sponsor again. Everything was set for us to participate in the lottery visa. And guess what? We couldn't even compete because the immigration lawyer said the offered salesman job wouldn't work... He didn't tell us that before. He only communicated that we needed a job offer, ONLY. We pursued that, and then he added more information when our hopes were already sky-high. I can't honestly take another defeat.