Lessons from the hospital in Cuiaba'

I still think a lot about the hospital in Cuiabá. That place changed me a lot.

I used to be quick to become irritated with the smallest thing, but that doesn't happen anymore, because there were so many disappointments when I was at my weakest and I had no strength left for anything other than survival. I learned to leave anger behind.

Also, anger and irritation are not acceptable in the repertoire of Brazilian social protocol, and when I demonstrated either emotion, the nurses' eyes would go blank, and they would agree with me and promise the world. But then they would disappear for days while I waited and hoped.

Rosana, my 24 hour-a-day keeper, told me that I was only hurting my own situation when I became sharp with someone, but it took a long time for me to learn. Apparently, the lesson stuck, since nothing really bothers me anymore, and I used to search for things that would allow me to show disapproval and gain a small sense of superiority.

I had been there for two weeks and was at my lowest. The room was full of people one afternoon - some massaging my swollen feet and others putting more needles in my arm to feed me more of the mysterious liquid that was making my feet swell.

And they all were full of advice: "You have to eat more, Sr. Ricardo, or you'll never get well." "You have to get some exercise, Sr. Ricardo, or you'll never walk again."

There was no end to it, so I decided to die just to be free of my condition and the noisy people that surrounded me.

I was too weak to roll over, so I turned my head away from the throng, closed my eyes and waited. It was peaceful, and there was no apprehension. It was the only ten minutes of genuine peace I got in that place.

I was starting to doze off to my death, but just then, someone brought me some fresh coffee. Fresh Brazilian coffee is much better than any serene death, so I came back to life and faced the noisy mob again. I was a caffeinated Lazarus.

Rosana and GOOGLE caused some of the tumult in my hospital stay. She and I were visiting one morning and I mentioned that I wrote for a few newspapers back in the US. Rosana asked a couple questions and I told her to run my name through GOOGLE and she could see my picture, plus a number of columns I had written.

It took her only a minute to find me on her cell phone, and then she was out the door and up and down the halls, showing the hospital staff what a celebrity they had dying in room 114. That got me some more attention, but no respect, and that is what I wanted. But, still, I was famous for 15 minutes. Andy Warhol was right, I guess.

Rosana was my savior. We barely knew each other, but she spent three weeks, helping me to the bathroom, lifting me off of the toilet, bathing me, and helping me to walk again. If it weren't for her I'd have died in that madhouse.

She allowed me one cigarette a day, but she was an easy touch, and I could always talk her out of a couple more if we weren't expecting any visits from the hospital staff.

Rosana would help me into the bathroom, sit me on the toilet, give me one cigarette and her lighter. Then she blocked the door with a heavy chair and left me alone to find a modicum of peace for the time it took to smoke the cigarette.

I cherished those few moments, and treated the lighted tobacco like a talisman. My version of heaven during those rare times was to be sitting on an outside stairway in the silence of the mountain sun and enjoying a solitary smoke. I was able to do that this summer, and treasured every unhealthy moment. Still do.

I only became enamored of one person on the hospital staff. Every evening I would beg for some type of calming agent that would allow me to sleep. They always promised me that it was coming right up, but it never appeared.

Finally, an older nurses aide took notice of my need and started sneaking me a gigantic red pill that knocked me out, allowing me to sleep an entire night for the first time in years. Like my Rosana, she was a wonderful, understanding person.

Rosana and I visit via FACEBOOK a few times a week, and I get teary every time. Through the magic of the cyber world we can see each other in real time as we visit.

The pneumonia and the hospital were rough experiences, but at least I don't wake up angry any more. That's a huge gain for me and those who have to me around me.

And I still have Rosana and the ancient nurses' aide who sneaked me drugs.