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translated by Ingrid Rowland – Professor at Notre Dame University, USA
To the people who saved me
“When the storm is over, probably not even you will know how you went through it and came out alive.
No, you won’t even be sure that it’s really over. But about one point there is no doubt.
And that is that when you emerge from this tempest you won’t be the same person who entered it.”
Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Beach, 2002
Thank you for inviting me to share the experience I lived early in the pandemic before and during my illness with Covid-19.
I had no idea what would happen. From the beginning of the emergency, my state of mind was calm. Aware of the developing situation, and careful about correct behavior, I lived with a kind of omnipotent conviction that I would never be infected, that my job would be to protect others and provide a good example. I’d begun to gather some notes about how it felt at work, urged on by Sergio, a younger colleague, interested in the world outside as well as inside. A sort of healthy emergency routine.
I had no inkling that February 15 and 16, 2020 would be my last weekend of freedom. Invited to hold a seminar in Bologna, I’d had some good times with my friend Daniele and our wives, Anna and Cristina, peaceful and happy to explore the city and its excellent food.
On Thursday, February 20, shortly before the COVID-19 emergency exploded, Cristina rushed off to London. Emma, our beloved granddaughter, had had an accident and needed an operation. At the same time, our daughter’s second pregnancy had come to term. The pleasure of that meeting and the birth were set between two sad if distinct events. The day before, a dear friend had begun to feel ill and I directed her to the Policlinico: a cerebral hemorrhage. The next day another friend died. He had been sick for some time, but was still vital, brilliant, energetic. We had said our goodbyes awhile ago.
In London, life continued peacefully, as if nothing were happening. I returned to Milan Sunday