quinta-feira, junho 30, 2016

La Prisonnière, de Marcel Proust


I absolutely love Proust, and it has been a major pleasure to finally read him in French. I don't think I ever found such a truthful depiction of feelings and human relationships, from love to jealousy and how one cares to be judged by others and judge others. And the writing is just SO beautiful I would like it to go on forever - yes, even longer than it already is.

Peste & Choléra, de Patrick Deville


I knew nothing about Yersin's life, just the name of the plague bacteria, Yersinia pestis. So this book was a discovery - what a life! The book is very well written, and the story of Yersin's life is fascinating, and the narrative very cleverly interweaves it with his times' history. This was one of 3 books I was recently given by a good friend, that brought them from France to acquaint me with some of the contemporary French fiction - the others were La Mort du Roi Tsongor and Parles-leur de natailles, de rois et d'éléphants. They are all good, and I just love to find new authors.

quinta-feira, junho 23, 2016

A likeable boy

There are some patients that awake paternal feelings, and we find ourselves caring for them in a somewhat tender way, even if rationally we sometimes feel annoyed by their mistakes or behaviour.

I first met this patient at the ER - a type 1 diabetic in his early twenties, blind from diabetic retinopathy, pale from a hemoglobin under 7 g/dl, swollen from accumulated fluid, vomiting from a urea level above 300 mg/dl, with a sky high blood pressure. A classic case of end-stage renal disease caused by diabetic nephropathy, that for lack of timely treatment had reached an advanced stage we fortunately seldom see today. My first reaction was to feel angry: "how on Earth someone reaches this state nowadays?". Then I talked to him. He came from a lower-class family; his mother had just died a few days before, his father had left them long ago, and he lived with a younger brother. His mother was his caretaker, not a very efficient one, struggling with the depression that drove her to suicide, and his care had been haphazard, he didn't even know he had renal disease. He was combative and argumentative, he didn't want to start dialysis at first - such is the bad reputation this treatment has, even if it's so undeserved and mostly based on ignorance - but of course he yielded, and we started to treat him. He was discharged from the hospital after a few days, slimmed down to his normal weight and mostly asymptomatic.

He has been my patient since then, and a difficult patient. Being blind and living most of the time by himself - his younger brother, though affectionate and caring towards him, is away most of the time, and he stubbornly refuses his father's help, who is not that interested in him anyway - his medication is totally haphazard, not to speak of his diet, and he often comes to dialysis with a 4 or 5 kg weight gain, a glycemia above 300, and a blood pressure in its 200s/100s. No matter how many medication charts we'd send home, we always knew he took his pills or his insulin in a completely aleatory way, and of course his diet was appalling.

But then, even as we nag him, we cannot stop ourselves from liking him. He's a young man from a tough neighbourhood, and he always tries to play the ruffian - he even managed to get himself arrested once, for stealing at a convenience store, which puzzled me, with him being blind and at the time in a wheelchair - he is always combative and argumentative, and sticks small rolls of toilet paper in his ears during dialysis, which make him look like a funny young Yoda. He's terribly resilient, the only diabetic I know to survive a Fournier's gangrene. But even when I joke with him about his getting an ear piercing to look prettier I'm always worried, I'm always waiting for the day he will have a brain bleeding because of his uncontrolled blood pressure, a ravaging sepsis or a fatal hypoglycemia.

So yesterday I was really happy because, after the nth medication change (I always try to make it as simple as I can), his blood pressure was perfect. I heartily congratulated him, and he smiled a proud grin, saying: "yeah, it looks like you got it right this time!", and I somehow felt moved, felt like stroking his head and giving him a fatherly kiss - which of course I didn't. Like so many of my patients, I feel responsible for him, and every therapeutic success, how small or short-lived it may be, feels like a victory. I know this will be short-lived, I know he will die soon, from one of the many complications he is vulnerable to, and I feel angry about my helplessness to help him, as to help so many other of my patients. This kid is old enough to be my son, I would like to protect him, to care for him,but there is so little I can do.

domingo, junho 19, 2016

The Bloody Chamber, by Angela Carter


I had heard very flattering critics of Angela Carter's books, but had never read anything by her. I watched Neil Jordan's movie The Company of Wolves years ago, thought it was nice but didn't move me much. I was surprised and impressed by this book. The writing is absolutely stunning, like a colourful tapestry embroidered with jewels,and the tales are exquisitely rendered, reminding me of Bruno Bettelheim's The Uses of Enchantment, a book I loved when I read it, many years ago. Angela Carter's writing is strong, beautiful and erotic, and a joy to read.

Den Goda Viljan, by Ingmar Bergman


This was the second book I read in Swedish. I watched the series by Bille August before, so I knew the story, which made it easier to read and also made me picture the characters as the actors looked like in the movie. Beautiful story, and beautiful writing; there were many words I didn't understand and had to look up, but I was happy to understand enough to be able to read it pleasantly. I think my next Swedish book will be Lanterna Magica, since I'm now acquainted with Bergman's writing.