To my daughter Melanie (September 2025)

 01/09 Chapter 441 A Thousand Needles Later

My sister had to take me to the appointment because my mom had a commitment. I even tried to reschedule for Wednesday—just two days later—since I’d have to go back then anyway to have the drain removed. But the secretary insisted the doctor wanted to see me today no matter what.

So off we went. Thank God for my support system; without them, this whole phase would have been so much harder.

I felt nauseous the entire way there, though I didn’t think it was related to the surgery anymore. After all, the day before I’d felt fine, so I blamed the glass of milk I’d had earlier. Maybe my body just wasn’t ready for that yet.

When the doctor walked in, he wasn’t angry. Or maybe he was pretending to be, in a playful way—telling my sister that I hadn’t let him sleep all weekend, and that he’d called me in mostly to calm my anxiety so I could leave feeling more at ease.

Despite bracing myself for a scolding, he was actually attentive. He checked my incisions, said everything looked fine, and just told me to keep applying ointment on the red areas of my abdomen.

I mentioned the nausea, and they explained the clinic had something called a post-surgery protocol—an IV drip with vitamins and iron that supposedly helped with symptoms like that. For a moment, I assumed it was complimentary. Still, I politely declined. I was pretty sure it was the milk—something the doctor agreed with—and besides, I’ve always hated needles. My blood pressure drops, I panic, and after all the poking and prodding of the last few days, I figured I’d had enough needles to last me the next five years.

On the way back home, the nausea never left. It lingered from the moment I drank that glass of milk until the moment I went to bed.

As if that weren’t enough, I now had a whole new battle to fight—with your dad. We were arguing about the vaccine.

After your last hospitalization, I’ve been desperately searching for alternatives—anything that might keep you from ending up in the hospital again. We’ve already seen the pulmonologist, you had all nine doses of the injections last year, and every time you start getting sick, we follow the whole routine: steroids, inhalers, nasal washes. You’ve had surgery, I’ve bought imported immune-boosting candies—literally everything within my reach, I’ve done.

Then a friend mentioned salt therapy. Curious, I started researching.

To my surprise, it looked incredible for people with respiratory problems. Halotherapy, as it’s officially called, uses environments with high concentrations of tiny salt particles in the air to help the respiratory system and even the skin. It originated in Europe, after noticing that workers in salt mines had fewer respiratory illnesses than the general population.

These salt rooms—known as halotherapy chambers—are designed to mimic those mines. The air is saturated with microscopic salt particles, which have antiseptic, anti-inflammatory, and mucus-clearing properties. Supposedly, they can:

• Reduce inflammation in the airways

• Help clear out mucus

• Decrease microorganisms that worsen infections

During each session, a device called a halogenerator grinds the salt into fine particles and disperses it into the room, creating the same environment as a natural salt cave.

Studies—and countless personal stories—suggest it can help people with asthma, bronchitis, sinusitis, allergies, even COPD. Many report relief from coughing, wheezing, congestion, and difficulty breathing.

I was so excited I immediately searched for clinics here in São Paulo. And guess what? Both of them had shut down.

I found one in Campinas—about an hour and a half away—and thought maybe we could go there for the recommended sessions. But then I discovered they had closed too.

The only place left in the entire country was in Brasília. And that would mean a plane trip.

I contacted the clinic, and they said the full treatment lasts four weeks—an entire month living in Brasília to attend the sessions. I’m seriously considering it because it really does seem amazing. It’s such a shame it doesn’t exist widely in Brazil. But apparently, in countries like ours, you can’t have too many good things—things that actually improve people’s health.

If it works so well, why isn’t it everywhere? Why isn’t it common knowledge? Could it be because healthier people mean fewer hospitalizations… fewer medications… less profit for the industry?

If it were just once in a lifetime, or a few occasional sessions, I’d be ready to go. But if it’s something that has to be repeated regularly, then flying to Brasília over and over wouldn’t be possible.

Anyway, back to the vaccine. We also spoke with our longtime family doctor, the one who’s treated all of us, and he strongly recommended a vaccine called VERIC. It’s a six-month treatment, but results are seen almost immediately after the first doses.

He said it greatly boosts immunity and has been around since the 1980s. The only downside? Weekly injections. I hate it for you—I really do—but I also know hospitalizations are so much worse than a few seconds of pain once a week. I get it because I went through the same thing—weekly injections for my bronchitis. I still remember: every Tuesday.

But as soon as the idea came from me, your dad started digging into it, and I knew right away he’d be against it. Lately, he’s been leaning anti-vaccine in general.

And so, the fight began.

He doesn’t want me to give it; I, along with my entire family, am in favor. But I’ve made up my mind: I will follow medical advice, not his opinion. I will do everything necessary—and safe—for you, no matter what it takes.