Sometimes I'm laughing, but inside I'm crying
Por sete anos, Paulo Gomes tem apresentado o noticiário com um sorriso enquanto carregava, em silêncio, a dor crônica de uma síndrome rara que já o levou à mesa de cirurgia oito vezes. Ao anunciar mais um afastamento para se submeter a um novo procedimento, o apresentador do Cidade Alerta na RIC/Record TV de Curitiba fez algo que a televisão raramente permite: revelou a distância entre o rosto que aparece na tela e o ser humano que existe por trás dele. Sua confissão pública não é apenas um relato de saúde — é um lembrete de que a performance da normalidade tem um custo, e que esse custo, com frequência, é pago em particular.
- Após sete anos e sete cirurgias sem alívio definitivo, Paulo Gomes enfrenta um oitavo procedimento para tratar a síndrome ACNES, uma condição que provoca dor abdominal severa e contínua.
- Em uma publicação nas redes sociais, ele rompeu o silêncio que mantinha há anos, descrevendo o medo de mais anestesia, mais cortes e a incerteza de que desta vez funcionará.
- Gomes expôs a contradição central de sua vida profissional: o público o vê rindo na televisão, enquanto ele acorda e dorme com uma dor que, segundo suas próprias palavras, 'não é fácil de carregar'.
- Ao declarar 'não sou uma máquina', o apresentador desafiou a expectativa de que figuras públicas devem ser impermeáveis ao sofrimento físico e emocional.
- O afastamento está confirmado e a cirurgia, agendada — mas a questão que permanece em aberto é se este procedimento trará o alívio que os sete anteriores não conseguiram oferecer.
Paulo Gomes, apresentador do Cidade Alerta na RIC/Record TV de Curitiba, anunciou que se afastará das telas para se submeter à sua oitava cirurgia desde 2018. O motivo é a síndrome ACNES, uma condição abdominal crônica que produz dor severa e constante, moldando cada aspecto de sua rotina — como acorda, como trabalha, como dorme.
Por anos, o público que o acompanhava no noticiário via apenas o que ele escolhia mostrar: um profissional composto, no controle. Mas ao anunciar o novo procedimento nas redes sociais, Gomes abriu mão dessa compostura. Escreveu sobre o medo que acompanha cada nova rodada de anestesia e incisões, sobre a esperança que se mistura à dúvida, e sobre o cansaço de quem aprendeu a não esperar respostas fáceis. 'Tenho medo de outra cirurgia, mais cortes, mais dor, e sem garantia de que vai funcionar', admitiu.
O que tornou a declaração ainda mais impactante foi o reconhecimento da performance que a televisão exige. 'Muitas vezes vocês me veem na TV rindo, mas isso não reflete a verdade', escreveu. 'Às vezes estou rindo, mas por dentro estou chorando.' Ao afirmar que, antes de apresentador, é uma pessoa física chamada Paulo Gomes, ele nomeou algo que raramente é dito em voz alta no ambiente controlado do jornalismo televisivo.
Sua história ressoa porque é, ao mesmo tempo, singular e universal. Milhões de pessoas vivem com condições crônicas enquanto mantêm empregos, relacionamentos e rostos públicos — sorrindo em reuniões, trabalhando durante crises, aprendendo a compartimentalizar a dor porque abandonar a vida inteiramente parece impossível. Gomes fez isso por sete anos. A diferença agora é que ele decidiu nomear o custo disso. Quando voltar à bancada, será como alguém que tornou visível o que antes ficava escondido.
Paulo Gomes, the anchor of Cidade Alerta on RIC—Record TV's Curitiba affiliate—announced this week that he would step away from his on-air duties to undergo surgery. It is his eighth operation since 2018, each one an attempt to manage the relentless pain of ACNES syndrome, a chronic abdominal condition that has become the defining struggle of his professional life.
For seven years, Gomes has cycled through procedures and recovery periods, each surgery carrying the weight of uncertainty. The condition produces severe, unrelenting pain that shapes his days—how he wakes, how he works, how he sleeps. Yet for most of that time, the audience watching him anchor the news saw only what he chose to show: a composed professional doing his job. The gap between that image and his actual experience has widened with each passing year.
On social media, Gomes broke that silence. He wrote about the fear that accompanies another round of anesthesia, another set of incisions, another period of recovery with no guarantee of relief. "I will be absent again due to health problems," he posted. "This generates terrible pain for me. At the same time that it reopens hope in me with another surgery, I don't know for certain. Fear hits, you know?" The words carried the exhaustion of someone who has learned not to expect easy answers.
What struck harder was what came next. Gomes acknowledged the performance that television demands, the way a camera can flatten a person into a single dimension. "Many times you see me on TV laughing," he wrote, "but that doesn't reflect the truth. Sometimes I'm laughing, but inside I'm crying because waking up and going to sleep with severe pain is not easy. I'm not a machine. Before I'm a presenter and a politician, I'm a physical person named Paulo Gomes. And yes, I'm afraid of another surgery, more cuts, more pain, and no guarantee it will work."
The confession carries weight precisely because it is so ordinary. Millions of people live with chronic conditions while maintaining jobs, relationships, and public faces. They smile through appointments. They work through flare-ups. They learn to compartmentalize suffering because the alternative—stepping out of life entirely—feels impossible. Gomes had done this for years. The difference now is that he named it.
His willingness to speak openly about the psychological toll alongside the physical one—the fear, the doubt, the gap between appearance and reality—touches something that rarely gets discussed in the bright, controlled space of broadcast television. On camera, anchors are supposed to be reliable, steady, present. The machinery of production depends on it. But Gomes is also a person with a body that fails him regularly, and he has decided that acknowledging this is worth the vulnerability.
The surgery is scheduled. He will be absent from the broadcast for a period of recovery. Whether this eighth operation will finally provide the relief he seeks remains unknown. What is certain is that when he returns to the anchor desk, he will do so as someone who has publicly named the cost of showing up, day after day, in pain.
Notable Quotes
I will be absent again due to health problems. This generates terrible pain for me. At the same time that it reopens hope in me with another surgery, I don't know for certain. Fear hits.— Paulo Gomes, on social media
Before I'm a presenter and a politician, I'm a physical person named Paulo Gomes. And yes, I'm afraid of another surgery, more cuts, more pain, and no guarantee it will work.— Paulo Gomes, on social media
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
What made him decide to speak about this now, after seven years of managing it privately?
I think the accumulation matters. You can carry something alone for a while, but by the eighth surgery, the silence becomes its own kind of burden. He wasn't hiding anymore—he was just tired of hiding.
Do you think his audience will see him differently now?
Some will. Some will feel closer to him because he named something true. Others might worry he's not reliable anymore. That's the risk of honesty in a medium built on the illusion of control.
ACNES syndrome—is that a well-known condition?
Not particularly. It's rare enough that most people won't have heard of it. That's part of what makes his disclosure important. He's putting a name and a face to something invisible.
What does it mean that he's both a TV anchor and a politician?
It means he's performing in two arenas at once. The pressure to appear fine, capable, in control—it doubles. You can't show weakness in either space without people questioning whether you can do the job.
Do you think he'll come back to the same role?
Probably. But he'll come back changed, because he's named the thing that was always there. You can't unknow that about someone once they've told you.