Mauro Ranallo lays supine in a white gown, on white sheets, in a white sterile room, and yet he feels the darkness creeping up on the edges of his face. His heart beats its way up his throat, as his heavy eyelids blink at the ceiling and he wonders if it is strong enough to hold him. The extreme tells his mind to slow down, to ease up and breathe, and a chill overwhelms him. The cursing echoes, thankfully, have been heard: “You’re a real son of a bitch, a coward, for taking the easy way out. How can you do that to your family?
Mauro Ranallo: Battling a Stigma
