ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMERICA

14.05.04

Today I will go back to 14 years ago! Those are the years that are completed ever since I was leaving for my first trip to the United States of America (Boston), in order to have my first 8 surgeries done. No matter how strange it may seem to you, I have a quite pleasant memory of this trip. I don’t feel nostalgic about it of course.

I remember my primary school’s final class teacher, who, a week before I left, gathered all the children of my class (Hill school) to wish me good luck. They truly wanted to know how I was feeling and how well I had understood the purpose of that trip. I couldn’t make out anything. They asked me if I was sad or worried and I couldn’t understand why I should be the one or the other. I was excited. I would go to America! The surgery was a minor detail for me. I had read somewhere about the then new Children’s Museum of Boston and could hardly wait to visit it (what an idiot!).

The children gave me a T-shirt with Alice Cooper but back then I was too dumb to appreciate it. As soon as they made sure that I was all right, they hugged me, kissed me and gave me a good push to fly over the Atlantic. I was to travel with my best friend, Dimitris, who was a year older than I was (namely 12) and would do more of the same. His mom (Maria) was sobbing at the airport and I still could not understand why everybody was acting so strangely.

During the flight we were having a terrific time. We laughed, shouted and watched ‘Lassie’, who was barking happily and reassured all our enthusiasm. To be honest, nobody other than me was interested in learning what the hell was that sheepdog saying (Dimitris wanted to watch football). After about 14 hours, we finally reached America. At the airport, mr. Thodoros and mrs. Toula were waiting for us. Greeks who lived and still live in America. I have never met people as nice as the Greeks of America.

1st surprise: they were waiting outside for us in a huge white limo with black windows and leather seats. Of course it wasn’t theirs. They had rented it for a few hours in order to welcome us and I never found out how much they paid for this. Dimitris and I needed nothing else to go completely crazy. We were singing with all our strength and our cheeks were turning crimson red with excitement. We were lifting our eyes upward to see the skyscrapers behind the black glasses and the only thing missing was a few cigars to complete the orgy of luxury that we were experiencing. Something had gotten into us and we were laughing like nuts. We had no idea what we were expecting. My father was threatening that if we did not shut up he would beat the hell out of us. Looking like a provincial man who was visiting a metropolis for the very first time, dressed in a suit, he was trying hard to cover our laughter so as to help us avoid making a fool of ourselves to the people.
I saw my father frightened for the first time and I couldn’t understand why.

2nd surprise: we would not stay in a hotel but in a guest house. The Church of Greeks and the other members of the expatriate community supported (and still do so) ‘Philoxenia’ (=hospitality) and the rest of the ‘patients’ who are accommodated there. All of them are Greeks born and bred, they are of various ages and stay there until their odyssey comes finally to an end. They have different problems but are united in their pain, as well as in their desire to go back to their country. This pain was an unfamiliar word. I had two days to adjust to it. On Monday I would have an operation. I would be in hospital from the night before. Dimitris had already started writing to his classmates. He was asking my father if the operation was to be successful. He wanted to announce them the great news a priori, so that they would receive those news on time.

On Monday morning, the nurse came in the room and told us that the time had come. They decided for me to go first and, gradually, they drugged me. I had Benji in my arms, a cuddly little dog that would keep me company until I’d fall asleep. They hurried me in the corridor and I started feeling cold. My nails turned blue. Now I understood why Dimitris’ mother was crying, why my father was scared and why my teacher was asking such questions.

Some hours later, I was about to wake up. My legs were as heavy as cement. I felt something crushing me. I had just opened my eyes and was aching, while trying to think of something to say in horrible English: ‘My legs feel pain, do something.’. The nurse was like: ‘The operation has finished’; she was saying that again and again and I was wondering if she was stupid.

A few minutes later, I was in my room and everybody (even people who I didn’t know), volunteers, comforters, all those kinds of people, were there to welcome me with balloons that said ‘get well soon’ and to give me little gifts (pastels and papers to paint). I was rude. I offered them a different gift. I puked the whole anaesthetic medicine thing right in front of them and, afterwards, I thanked them for their gifts.

I was in serious pain but they were explaining to me that I had to put up with that pain. My mother encouraged me to dream of ‘golden horizons’ and other such rubbish. I was thinking of Dimitris, since it was his turn now. Deep inside, I was relieved that he would soon be suffering too (I was nasty ever since I was a child, I know that). However, things were a bit more complicated, because, after his ‘visit’ to the operation room, Dimitris could not wake up. I was loaded with Valiums and injected with codeine so as to calm down and stop whining. Codeine caused me a terrible itch and hallucinations. I thought my mum looked like a blue African woman, with lips puffed out. I saw water dripping from the ceiling, next to the door.

The nurses’ order was not to give me any more codeine. I wanted to get rid of that itch and yet I couldn’t, because my legs were totally wrapped in cast. Dimitris woke up in the end and was like: ‘Spare me, you guys, what did I miss here?’.
The next morning, Dr. Rosental came too; he started repeating that we should be tough. We felt lucky that we could laugh at him in Greek while the only word he would answer with was ‘yes’. We didn’t understand why we should be tough.

Today we admit that he was right. Nevertheless, we haven’t lost our humour and our good mood. Most important, we haven’t lost the will to return to the old stuff (when needed), respecting our past. We’ve seen much and we’ll see much more. And if you want to know the rest of the story, I will tell it to you in another ‘episode’, because I am tired now. I assume you feel the same way too.