Fragile Life

The story of journalist Alessandra Comazzi and her illness. A message of hope...

"It was January 7, 2023—a Saturday. At 8 p.m. I was eating spaghetti, at 9 p.m. I was watching a movie, and by 6 a.m. I was tetraplegic." A life suddenly transformed by acute neuropathy. This is the story of Alessandra Comazzi, a journalist and television critic who has since embarked on an arduous yet illuminating journey of rebirth—and, above all, of self-acceptance.

What do you remember about that day?
Everything. Essentially, while fighting off a virus, my immune system attacked my myelin sheaths, causing total muscle paralysis. I was fully conscious, yet trapped as if inside a sarcophagus. I could feel the distinction between my soul and a body that no longer responded to any impulses. My new life began with a five-month hospital stay. It happened so suddenly... It wasn't easy for someone like me—someone who had always been energetic, tireless, and constantly active. It marked the start of a journey that was not only medical but also psychological. The blow was so sudden and severe that I barely had time to process what was happening. Recovery was incredibly slow; for months, I was unable to care for myself and was totally dependent on others. The hardest moment was returning home effectively disabled. Through a long process, I learned to accept my body and, in a sense, to grieve for the person I used to be and the life I once had.

What have the words "hope" and "faith" meant to you?
During this period of illness, I received a great deal—especially in terms of affection from my family, colleagues, and doctors. I felt closeness and warmth, like waves of love. I want to give back what I received by sharing my experience with others. I am a bit damaged, but I can put this fragility of mine to good use. Perhaps there is a reason I survived and remained on this earth. My faith is rooted in this realization. Hope was harder; it is a dimension that must be earned—sometimes through the people you meet, who help you see what you cannot perceive yourself. How does one prepare for fragility? Today, we are immersed in a different kind of culture... That’s true. We live in a culture that constantly insists on performance—on always doing better. We want to remain eternally young because we don’t want to age, viewing advancing years solely as a sign of weakness. We refuse to accept our own limitations. I also reject the rhetoric that frames illness as a battle and the patient as a fighter—partly because, with that kind of language, you always end up losing. We need to look at things differently...

How can we stand by those who are suffering?
The key is affection for the person who is suffering. During my rehabilitation, I saw that people can truly help the sick when they treat them as such—rather than pretending they are healthy, acting as if everything is normal and nothing has changed. That is true inclusion. For me, "caring" takes the form of a nurse named Roberto; he understood that I was unable to do anything myself, so he devised a way to provide me with a device I could use to signal for help whenever I needed it.

Have you ever asked yourself why?
You do ask yourself questions. You wonder why, though I never asked myself, "Why me?" Certainly, my perspective on life has inevitably changed today. I was preparing for old age by pursuing university studies—I had gone back to studying history—and training my body through dance. Then came the blow that changed everything. Today, I have chosen a new rhythm. I continue to write, but in a different way; I cannot chase the news, but I can write about what has happened, allowing for deeper reflection.

Have you gained any further insight into the healthcare system?
Undergoing treatment is one thing; rehabilitation is another... The public health system does a lot, but it cannot do everything. It provides the initial care, but then it is up to you to become "solvent"—that is, capable of paying for what the State can no longer cover. Unfortunately, falling ill is expensive, and the costs are not sustainable for everyone. Everything costs money; even a simple supplement can be difficult to afford. We really need to reflect on these aspects. For instance, what it means to face architectural barriers, potholes in the road, or the lack of an elevator...

What have you learned from this experience?
Certainly, the beauty of connecting with people, the value of love from those around you and of kindness, and the rediscovery of our humanity—the only thing that can truly make a difference.

By the editorial staff
Focus
NP March 2026