Sam Waller
@WallerOne
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Emergent oncologist. Occasional clarinetist. Widower of @itscharliefin , a husband again, and a father now, too. @wallerone @mastodon .world
Veneto, Italy
Joined August 2015
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As I left a patient's room, he called to me, "See you next week." I returned to tell him that I would not be back next week, that I was leaving the country.
"Is it the Brexit thing?"
Yes.
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Today is the 9th anniversary of my wedding to Charlie. Our marriage did not last long, only 4 months till he died. I miss him every day.
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"mid-sized democracies"
You mean like those in the EU?
The EU from which you are so eager to be separated?
Are you playing with a full deck?
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Yesterday was the 51st anniversary of the death of Igor Stravinsky. I visited his grave.
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We shared each other's stories and some tears. She told me she still has her husband's piano and wished someone would play it. "I was looking for a piano on which to practice." "Please come to my apartment. I want you to play my piano."
So now, I have a piano to practice on.
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I've been overwhelmed by Twitter. My number of followers has quadrupled in one day. Please give me some time to adjust.
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Guards at the train station who check permits for travel know me and no longer ask to see my ID. However, today one of them stopped me. As I reached for my ID he said, "No, I only want to thank you for the work you are doing." I almost broke into tears.
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I've spent some of my last days in England practicing a piece of English music that intensely expresses my feelings on leaving: a sorrowful nostalgia for the way I once thought about this country and a profound yearning for that country to return.
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While I was in the garden today, an elderly lady joined me. (The garden is shared among 4 apartments.) "Are you the boy ("ragazzo", thank you dear) whose clarinet I hear through my bedroom window?" "Yes. I hope I'm not disturbing you." "Oh no, I love to hear a musician play."
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@WFKARS
This law does not protect the conscience of any health care worker, because anyone who would deny care on the basis of "ethical, moral, or religious beliefs" has no conscience.
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@nytimes
This sort of thing becomes more common when politicians exploit people's baser impulses for political gain.
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Today is the fourth anniversary of the day Tom and I met. Each of us went to the theater alone. Fate seated us next to each other. We did not leave the theater alone.
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@highbrow_nobrow
@Variety
"If someone says it's raining and another person says it's dry, it's not your job to quote them both," goes a quote often attributed to journalism professor Jonathan Foster. "Your job is to look out of the f**king window and find out which is true."
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A few days ago we had a minor episode of Acqua Alta. It resulted in a little inconvenience, but also in a beautiful visual effect in Piazza San Marco.
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Reflecting on events of the past decade:
earned bachelor’s degree, doctor of medicine, Ph.D.
met a brilliant man, married him, lost him to cancer
worked at 5 different hospitals
resumed performing music
met another brilliant man.
The dawning decade promises to be as eventful.
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A hospital chaplain has been offering to show me Frari, which has been closed to visitors for months. I accepted his offer this morning. It was thrilling to see Titian's masterpieces in the space for which they were created.
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Today is my birthday. By the calendar, I am turning 31. However, during the last few months, it feels that several years have passed. I feel like I'm turning 35 or 36.
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Both US Republicans and UK Conservatives use this technique effectively.
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To manage my life, I rely on a multitude of individuals, family, friends, colleagues, but no one so much as the man who had this ready for dinner when I got home.
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Three days ago I had about 200 followers. Then I tweeted this. Now I have over 2000. I was not expecting that. This must have struck a chord.
As I left a patient's room, he called to me, "See you next week." I returned to tell him that I would not be back next week, that I was leaving the country.
"Is it the Brexit thing?"
Yes.
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Before I was allowed to board the train, a police officer asked for my identification. I gave him my hospital ID and my passport. He examined them, handed them back, and thanked me for remaining in Italy to help during the epidemic.
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Another golden sunset. I hope these are not becoming cliché. They aren't for me.
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In the evening, when I look through the window and see the domes of Santa Maria della Salute, I am reminded that Venice has seen plague before, and she has survived.
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I wish you could have been here. It was a magnificent Sunday afternoon.
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Another glorious sunny day. Venice is doing all she can to lift my spirits on this Good Friday - and it's working.
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Being confined to the apartment is not too bad when through the window we can observe the quiet canal and, appropriately, Santa Maria della Salute (Saint Mary of Health).
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On my Saturday afternoon walk, I crossed Piazza San Marco. Today, I was not alone. There were maybe a dozen others in the Piazza. When I went around the corner to cross Ponte della Paglia, I stopped to take this picture of one of the most photographed sights in Venice.
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The last morning of September. No, it never loses its charm. Every day I walk out the door, I pause, sigh, and say to myself, "I must be dreaming."
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I talked with my brother today. He spoke with Dad yesterday. He says the only thing Dad wanted to talk about is me. He said Dad is very worried about me, but also "bursting" with pride. Mike added, "And so am I." But why? I'm just doing the only thing I can, as is everyone else.
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Today is Charlie's birthday. He would be 33 years old. Instead, he is 25 forever.
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Sitting at the dining room table and looking out through the window as the setting sun gives the domes of Salute a golden glow, I wonder to myself if there is a more beautiful place to be tonight. I cannot think of any.
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It is profoundly unsettling to stand in a space normally occupied by hundreds, known to millions, and be completely alone and know why.
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November is Pancreatic Cancer Awareness month. At this time, I am particularly aware that pancreatic cancer stole him from me when he was only 25 years old.
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This evening concluded with one of the radiant sunsets that cast a golden glow on the old buildings of the city. I went out to surround myself with the effect, and I found this, not golden walls but golden sky.
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Charlie was an inveterate keeper of his journal. Today I read his entry for the day we met. The enormity of conflicting feelings it brings forth: joy, sadness, amusement, grief, pleasure, heartbreak, nostalgia, love. I am alive.
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@HRC
Overturning the Hippocratic Oath, the most sacred pledge of every physician. This is disgusting. (It is also, ironically, antiChristian.)
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A view into the courtyard of the Palazzo Ducale with San Marco beyond
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Working at hospital this Christmas Day, and that is good. The mood is festive with abundant decorations and a multitude of family and friends bearing gifts for their invalids. A beautiful and Merry Christmas to all!
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@illuminatemics
I'm glad you said "poems" in the plural, because I have so many. Here is one.
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Rufus is wearing his bandana, dressed to travel. Just waiting for all the paperwork to clear.
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I can't help it. They die. I cry. I've been crying a lot.
Good night.
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We brought my parents from the airport by water taxi. My mother has never before been to Venice. It was cute to hear her gasps and exclamations as we entered the grand canal. "This is real! This is real! It's not a picture! It's really real!"
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Today it is five years since, as I sat in the garden room of my parents home holding his hand, his cold hand, Charlie died.
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5 July 2015. It is the day of his last entry into his journal. He scratched in a shaky hand some lines. The scratches contain insertions and deletions. I have tried to discern his intentions in this transcription. It is not addressed to me. It may have been addressed to himself.
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Another rainy day. A compensation for the rain is the way the pavement glistens in the lights.
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A 12-hour day. Walking home alone in the dark. Time to contemplate.
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As I entered the hospital door, a man across the canal called to me, "Grazie mille, dottore."
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It has taken me a while to realize that a building across the canal from our apartment, the Palazzo Dario, is the subject of a Monet painting at the Art Institute in Chicago.
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My mother thinks she is cheering me up by sending images of paintings I made in high school.
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Today is Charlie's birthday. He would be turning 30. Thirty! I cannot imagine it. In my imagination he is now and will forever be 25.
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With Czerny etudes in my arms, I went to the neighbor's apartment to practice. As I played, she sat across the room smiling, eyes twinkling, and swaying in time with my unsteady playing. I think she was seeing and hearing someone else. I love her for that.
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A lesson from Venice. Do not be discouraged by what appears to be a closed door, a dead end. Explore and you may find a way. This is not a dead end. Exploring the passage to the door reveals a passageway to the side.
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Each evening I follow a different path from hospital to home. Each path reveals new beauties, new wonders. With each step I feel the fears of the the day fall away, to be replaced by enchantment with this place, this magic city, la Serenissima.
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