When the editorial staff of Vanity Fair he came to interview me and Stefano in our house in Perugia, we were barely there veterans of months of activism for the referendum on legal euthanasia and we were, as they say, a little deflated. I was expecting the usual questions about my severe multiple sclerosis, about what it means to live a neurodegenerative disease as a couple, about end-of-life choices. Those were dark days for us, due to the rejection of the referendum. And so, I confess, I was tired.
Nothing more unexpected, the morning of service went like a bomb. You know when we talk about traveling on a train or having a cheerful dinner with strangers? And release your inhibitions, ready to make fun of every memory, mania, anecdote? Here it is, the interview with Veronica Bianchini. «How did you meet?», «The first time you declared yourselves?», «And the marriage? Was Laura really dressed in jeans? ‘ “Laura, when and how did you tell him that you had multiple sclerosis, and how did he take it?” A crazy morning, of laughter and memories, but also of tears. «Stefano, I want you to tell me, at a guess, how many times you lift Laura to dead weight. During the day and even at night? »,« And how do you manage with assistance, when Stefano has to direct away? Who helps you? In short, the state. Does he help you? ». Not Stefano, dear sensitive journalist. He is a ghost to the state. Like all caregivers in Italy. Yet if they weren’t there, the entire welfare would collapse.
In short, a lot of life (we were, we are, even more!), But also, a lot of anger. Because the routine of the days has become merciless, and when you tell it to others, their eyes widen: “But it’s impossible, how do you go on?”. Yeah, how do we do it?
From that particular morning, from the reactions of friends and readers in the service of Vanity Fair and from the reflections with Veronica the idea was born to tell us, with the ambition to tell through us what all the people live every day … Ghosts of Italy, caregivers: their immense effort, their relentless dedication, in the end, their love. I don’t even know if I deserve it anymore. But I’m still here. And I will be with you every two weeks.
No more for now, because the disease bites ferociously.
Source: Vanity Fair

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