Dear Guido, early on Wednesday afternoon I was delighted by the news that you were better and heaved a sigh of relief that, as agreed some time ago, you would be available to open our international Dermatology Congress this October.
Alas, it was not to be and you are now in pastures greener out of all suffering but what a lot, an awful lot, the Maltese nation owes you. In our Hall of Heroes, still virtual at present, you must surely rank in the front line. Much is being written about you, dear Guido, but to me a number of qualities stand out like shining beacons that will not be extinguished by your leaving us but rather nurtured and treasured:
Conviction, courage, diplomacy, and simple joie de vivre
Without the convictions and lion hearted courage demonstrated so amply and repeatedly by you and others, our little island could well be far worse off today. You tenaciously held on when the odds seemed unbeatable, you encouraged us to soldier on, leading from the front line, and simultaneously utilised your great gift of diplomacy to bring a return to commonsense and decency to a situation that was in the process of losing both! In many a conversation you expressed your deep pride in our tiny country and all it has managed to achieve, not least in the medical sphere.
I had the honour to be your physician and the privilege of a friendship that I treasured immensely. During your serious illness around 30 years ago, I and the rest of your medical team never failed to be astounded at the bravery of this man who, suffering from an often fatal illness being treated with massive doses of powerful medication with serious side effects, simply came out with this response: “While you get me better, there is no way I will let this ‘inconvenience’ rule my life and I intend to get on with my daily work with the least fuss possible.”
It was only with dire threats and your dear wife’s imploring (plus prayers) that your splendid staff managed to move your Ministry to Ħamrun for a very few days where work continued very much as usual. For the rest of us mortals, this condition would have meant several months off work and a long convalescence so I was the proudest of men when a few weeks later I listened attentively to you back in action at a meeting on the Granaries. Months later on a flight to Rome the plane we were both on was hit by lightning and the cabin filled with a burning smell for a few seconds – among the moans of worry, white faces and sudden recitation of prayers, one man stood tall and reassured the rest of us that all would be well – that was you, dear friend.
Your cherished friendship meant a great deal to me and many a time I would call for a chat and advice on this or that matter – doors opened without delay and you were always there for me. Your advice and support was always invaluable be it on a personal matter or in relation to medical leadership matters both local and international. You taught me much in the way of diplomacy not least always to act with the courage of one’s convictions and to allow an opponent an honourable way out.
Finally, your joie de vivre that has become legendary. Through all the inconveniences of a serious chronic illness that necessitated regular uncomfortable visits to hospital, you insisted that life should go on and be lived to the full. When most of us would have called it a day and rested on their laurels, you carried on, and enjoyed doing it. Although illness did not make you more punctual, you continued to accept invitations to lecture here and abroad, found time to attend practically all the social engagements you were invited to, and most recently the Calleja concert on the Granaries you knew so well.
Goodbye, dear friend, and my deepest condolences to your dear family who have stood behind you so steadfastly through these years.
Rest in peace.