Dear manager,
I don’t know what the CTS decided. I don’t know if a new Council of Ministers has been held. I go blind, because I write while everything is still in the making. And for once, after a year of graphs and figures, I take the liberty of using this space to tell you a little about myself. Briefly, rest assured. But I am sure that, gradually, you will understand why.
Let’s start from the substantial fact, at least in times of apartheid: I’m not vaccinated. Not even a dose. And not because it is no vax, on the contrary. I received all the immunizations as a child and if I had children, I would do the same with them. Trusting me blindly. Those who follow me know that four years ago, just around this time, I had serious health problems. Let’s face it, they got me by the hair. A pancreatic cyst – which turned out to be benign thanks to Heaven, after two days of waiting for a biopsy that I do not wish even for my worst enemy – left me with secondary diabetes with attached insulin addiction, a heart attack and two stents in a coronary artery.
That said, I am alive. And I do not accept that the State decides whether I can remain so or not, let alone by decree and without even the decency of a debate in the Chamber. Because no doctor I consulted has totally excluded risks connected with my heart condition. No one has totally advised against or forbidden it, mind you. But he didn’t even push me to do it with my eyes closed. Put simply, I looked in the mirror and had to decide for myself. Because in the end, at least until Minister Brunetta also has the power of life and death over his subjects, what risks to take for my life, I decide. Because I have seen death in the face for a few weeks. And it’s ugly.
On the other hand, I have been living for two years under absolute caution. Ffp2 mask always. Even outdoors. Also during the summer of 2020, that of the first free all. Hand gel always in your pocket. Absolute distancing, in fact the only positive side of Covid for a total misanthrope like myself. Stop the use of elevators, given that the vaccinated Supermans – the same ones who now stand in line in front of pharmacies for tampons – no longer wear masks when they use it. So much for closed environments and air exchange.
Social life? The maximum of subversion for me has become going to Esselunga. Or in the bank. I used public transport, because as much as I love to walk, diabetes has the unpleasant contraindication of hypoglycemia, if you overdo it with exercise. So, the undersigned walks but always with a good supply of sweets in his pocket. And gentlemen, I do not wish anyone a hypo in the middle of the street. Nor the deprivation of freedom of a worry-free walk in my mountains.
Now, by law, I no longer use public transport. Because I don’t have the super-fanta-mega-green pass. And although I consider most of the measures taken in recent months totally harmful to my personal freedom, at the limit of the complaint to the European Court in The Hague, the undersigned respects the rules. Even when they are wrong. Even when you live in the limbo of a health condition straddling the principle of throwing the dice, between risk and benefit. Forced to make a choice. He is unable to enjoy an exemption. Because my condition is extra. I’ve always been an original guy. Even in pathologies. I am not transplanted, nor immunosuppressed. Just loser. All right, in short. Because I’m alive.
However, I would like some answers. For example, I would like to know why my primary care doctor dumped me. I sent her an email asking for the drugs I need as usual and in response she made it known that she could not do it, as I had relieved her from that service. Colossal dance. Never done, as I systematically need drugs. And, indeed, to my request to produce proof of what I was going to do, the response was pathetically evasive. I tried to call her to clarify. He did not reply. Then I thought I disliked you. Then I remembered the last meeting: she had been very generous in prescriptions, more than usual. And he had anticipated that he would open a studio elsewhere in Milan, in a very prestigious area of the center. So, he felt it was right to warn me, in case I wanted to look for a closer alternative. Let’s say it was a divorce notice. Then, confirm it. First my pharmacist, now traffic policeman for users abandoned by the mutual who tries to direct towards doctors in the area who can still accept patients.
And it was not pleasant to discover that I am not the only one, that this now represents the practice and that, when I broke out with purposes of public denunciation to the Medical Association, to the WHO and the UN, his gaze was softened as in front of a having less just landed from Mars: “And what do you think you get, that something happens?”
Then the mayor Beppe Sala, furious precisely with the general practitioners of the city, where entire neighborhoods are totally devoid of that fundamental garrison. Today (indeed, for two years now) more and more.
Sorry, wasn’t Covid supposed to make us better? And, above all, shouldn’t it have made public health, basic and territorial, better, more efficient and closer to the citizen? Or maybe I dreamed it? Or maybe the only thing you care about is vaccinating on a continuous cycle, like an assembly line?
I can also accept the restrictions that my choice imposes on me, because everyone pays the consequences of what they do. But the state? Because, for example, the national health system – which I have financed for at least 25 years with my taxes, always regularly paid with deduction at source – deigns to pass me only three packs of 50 pieces of strips for the detection and control of the rate per month. blood glucose? On balance, it means I can only test my blood sugar 3 times a day. Little even for those who have had the misfortune of being born diabetic and do not know any other lifestyle. Imagine someone who, up to the age of 45, didn’t even know what diabetes was. It is not nice to tell your relatives, at Christmas or on your birthday, not to give a gift with a lot of surprise and bow but to put something on Amazon’s account. Because the evil e-commerce giant sells those strips at exactly half the price I would pay at the pharmacy, obviously having to supplement the meager supply of the health insurance. The goal. But still a figure that travels around 25-26 euros per pack. And with my salary, an abundant hundred euros a month just for that luxury item they weigh. They weigh a lot. So, I try at least to remedy. But I assure you, I would prefer a package with a bow. And a note to keep as a souvenir.
Would this Sanity, this State, really have the courage to come and communicate my status as a smearer to my face, therefore the recipient of isolation and public mockery? Minister Speranza, even in light of the disservice I am suffering with the case of the general practitioner (which I need, since without insulin I go to the Creator), what does he have to tell me? Formally he should be a left-wing man and a staunch defender of public health: what he answers to me and what he answers to the anything but veiled accusation of lack of professionalism and ethics made against the Milanese medical class by another leftist man and politician like the mayor , Beppe Sala?
I accept the limitations, so now my evenings are in the company of a book or a film. Alone. Honestly, I lived enough until I was 45. Too much, perhaps. An early third age I accept it. I’m alive, after all. And that’s the only thing that matters. Ghetto me as well. Forbid me to take public transport. Maybe even take away from me the possibility to work, even though I do it in perfect solitude from my home and risking to infect only the computer screen. But then stop. And have the courage to give me an answer. Because I have the privilege of doing a job that allows me to denounce injustices, exactly as I am doing in these lines. 99% of people have to undergo them in silence. Although still, I do not dare to predict it. Because unlike you, I live outside the Palaces. And the thermometer of anger is rising. Dizzyingly. Even among the vaccinated, those to whom the Palace had promised the return to freedom. And who diligently stand in line in front of the pharmacy, 15 euros in hand, to be able to celebrate New Year’s Eve. In home.
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