BRAVE HEART

PROFILES

By: Sylvia Davila M/Bogotá
www.pipolmagazine.com
Copyright
December 21/2012

VERSION EN ESPAñOL
http://www.pipolmagazine.com/p/podra-la-cu-nos-ensenan-subir-pero-son.html

It was December, before Christmas, the last time I saw my brother standing on his feet. He died in January three years ago. He was especial to me, of course, but his very special character helped him to deal with his illness - cancer - in a way that led him to beat world statistics. He was given two years but lived eleven good years. Who knows, may be his experience may give tips, ideas, inspiration or courage to other people in similar circumstances in this 2012 Christmas time. Here is his story.

A pain on his right shoulder while changing a car tire launched a medical research that ended in the much feared diagnosis: cancer. Not just any cancer, a rare blood disease that science continues to investigate. The first thing Alfredo Davila Morales, born in Bogotá, Colombia, did was to engage in a thorough review of the information about it worldwide. Stats were devastating: an average of two-year life expectancy, and no cure in sight. The monthly report on survivors appeared blank.

Upon facing death – life on hold – an untamed spirit surfaced, a serene determination, a unique strength that beat all statistics: he survived eleven years. At the time when his disease was found, he had three sons: two in college and a nine-year-old in school. He made a pact with God: “You help me, and I will help myself until my youngest graduates”. Having made the pact, he assumed his illness as a project that would be driven by his unique personality.

He began by declaring himself healthy. During the various stages of his illness he was never treated by anyone as a sick person because he did not seem like one. He gave the worst of daily battles – getting out of bed when his body did not and could not do it – early in the morning and it was never lost. At eight, every day, he was bathed, dressed, and ready to begin the journey. Chemo became, in his agenda, an appointment that he would attend to on his own. Soon, he learned to cope with its side effects and manage them. He would stay cooped-up at home for twenty-four hours and, the next day, he would emerge again as if nothing had happened.

Another decision he made was to choose a physician and trust him without question. It happened to be a she, an expert in that kind of cancer that became his scientific battle partner and his friend to the last day. At home he arranged an office in the mezzanine from where he handled his business – flowers – and his personal agenda. In a family of thirty, among adults and children, Alfredo was the one to be always updated about every one’s daily life matters. When he died, his siblings were surprised to find out that every one of them was certain to be his or her favorite. While working at home, the comings and goings of his three children became a priority in his agenda.

During his free time, he would unleash his passions onto a variety of personal projects stamped on small papers that he hung on his office wall:  to paint an oil on canvas, even though he had never handled a brush (easel and pinafore); to carve a barracuda on a stone (graver and hammer); to build in his garden a huge cage for a couple of birds which, four months later, became forty; or to organize trips to places he wanted to visit.

He also kept busy by researching issues that interested him. Such as enquiring about an old piano which had been inherited from his wife’s family and whose origin nobody knew. The day he found inside the instrument an inscription in a language he did not understand, he launched a research that led him to the manufacturer that had built it two centuries ago. Dozens of E-mails, throughout a period of nine months, traced the piano to a factory in Russia, then through Paris and Madrid, to its arrival in Peru in 1800. He had the ability to draw fun out of everything and always found something to do. Unable to see an owl that hooted on his home roof because it would disappear whenever he stepped out into the garden, he bought cardboard, lenses and pulleys to build a periscope. He actually built it, assisted by Clemencia, his life companion – a serene, strong-hearted, keen-headed personality – who shared with him the good and the bad times for thirty-five years.

He ignored sickness and death by keeping physically and mentally active, always in motion, under all circumstances. The lowest point of his physical strength came with a medulla transplant, which gave him some extra time but from which he came out battered. After the procedure, though pale, bald, slow and weak, he would carry a ladder to the garden to remove leaves from his home roof. In that same condition, he walked his youngest son all over Disney World because he did not even consider such a trip happening without him. Both experiences gave him strength.                                                                    

In facing death every morning, as he opened his eyes, Alfredo challenged the day with discipline, determination, and joy for life. He once saw on the Web a lake covered by phosphorescent plankton that shone under the moonlight.  Backed up by old school friends that had become his brothers, he got onto a barge surrounded by phosphorescent plankton one unforgettable starry night, with his wife, children, and friends. He checked that off in his agenda.

To a situation that was already difficult – cancer – he interpolated unthinkable projects: rafting was one of them. He arranged the trip between two chemo sessions, filled his pockets with pills, and always with his wife and kids, he launched himself down the river. One year before his death, he joined a group of young climbers and tackled a hundred-meter cascade.

          

He would only keep still while sleeping or watching his favorite TV shows. At home, he would work, read, write, speak over the phone, supervise his meals personally, and spend long hours taking care of his terrace garden. When his wife came back from work and saw the terrace floor carpeted in weeds, leaves and soil, she would calmly say: “Alfredo! Have you been getting rid of stress again?!” He was fortunate to have a family that managed their tragedy with strength, care and  sense of humor because he dictated it so. When the disease resumed its course after being in remission, and his “Benjamin” graduated from High School, he spent a couple of days pondering the best way to explain to God that, when he said “until my youngest son's graduation”, he actually meant: graduation from College.

Death set him an appointment at an intensive care unit. During a family trip to New York at Christmas – another one of his projects in his agenda – a fainting episode sent him to the hospital. Later, he was moved to Bogotá to an intensive care unit. When his doctor was about to allow his transfer to a room and the family thought his unbelievable strength would pull him through once again, an unexpected internal bleeding brought an end to his journey. Eleven years of daily victories were over.

An avid mind fed by curiosity, a steel-made determination that accomplished all purposes, and the ability to care for others, gave Alfredo Davila five times the promised time and a good quality of life. He left behind the painting, the carved stone, his tools, the little handmade angel that used to climb up and down the fireplace at Christmas held by a string hid in his pocket, the periscope, his trips’ photographs, his dog, expressions that was very much his own like: Close that door! I won’t be as stupid as to have multiple myeloma and die of a cold!; his tennis and car racing hobbies, his caring for his family, his laughter, his three children, and the profound trace he left in every one who knew him. During his eleven years of struggling against unfair and cruel enemies, Alfredo Davila exhibited decision, discipline, strength, and courage. But, perhaps, the deepest impact he left in our lives was to show us that when life calls retreat the only sensible thing to do is to live. 

/Sylvia Davila Morales M. (COPYRIGHT) - December 21/2012

ALFREDO DAVILA MORALES  M/ 1948 - 2010
Born and died in Bogotá

We miss you.....a lot