The Tummy Owwa

It has been a rather unpleasant couple of weeks, and this is not a blog post I would recommend reading while dining. I woke up in the early hours of the Tuesday before last with terrible stomach pain, thinking that I had caught the stomach flu that Wolfram had the week before. I spent most of the days that week resting in bed and drinking stomach-ease tea until I had to go pick up the kids, waiting for the bug to run its course. As the weekend approached it seemed to be getting better and I had a fairly normal weekend. Sunday night I went to a goodbye party for a friend of mine, but only stuck around for a few hours and two beers, before heading home around 11. A few hours later I awoke to the horrible cramps and pains I thought were now gone, but were now, in fact, accompanied with a disturbing amount of blood. I went to the doctor first thing in the morning, trudging through windy and rainy weather, and was then quickly a referral for the emergency room of the nearby hospital, St. Hedwig's. After blood tests and an ultrasound I was told (in German) by the doctor that I had an inflamed large intestine and colon, as well as enlarged lymph nodes in my lower abdomen. The young, tall doctor with thick, black-framed glasses and neatly parted hair said that they did not yet know the cause, most probably a bacterial infection but that I should prepare myself for the possibility of it being cancer, and would now be checked into a room in the hospital so I could be prepared for my colonoscopy the next day. 


Needless to say I was shocked and dismayed, when I went to bed the previous night, this is not the day I was expecting to have. German doctors do not receive much in the way of sensitivity training, and even though I knew that at age 25 the chances of me having colon cancer were extremely small, no one likes having the big C-word dropped on them with an empty stomach. I had left the apartment in such a rush that I hadn't even taken time to get something to eat, and was now being told that I would not be eating today, in preparation for the next days procedure, which was the second shock. I did not plan on having a colonoscopy for at least another two decades. I also did not realize that you have to drink a liter of a very disgusting liquid that is essentially Mr. Plumber for your Gastrointestinal Tract, twice. So I called Maeve to let her know that I was terribly sorry, but would not be able to pick up the kids that day, and probably not the next. She then had to have the kids with her during a serious and confidential meeting with the Irish Ambassador, during which little 18 month-old Caoimhe prattled away and threw things at his legs, but apparently he showed remarkable grace under fire. 

The view from my room in the hospital

I then met my roommate, Georg (pronounced "gay-org"), a stout little man of about 70 who was having similar tests as I, insisted on busing both his dishes as well as mine, and enjoyed watching courtroom TV shows, which are slightly more entertaining in German because of the language; I often think Germans are at their funniest when arguing with one another. He chuckled as he watched me drinking my Tummy Plumber, as well as every time I had to get up and use the restroom. The rush to the restroom is really annoying when you have an IV station to drag along, as is the nurses yelling at you for carrying it instead of rolling it. That night at dinner, I enjoyed a filling cup of broth while Georg ate a pork chop with mashed potatoes. I had a hard time getting to bed with the stomach pain, finally falling asleep around midnight. I was awoken the next morning at 5 for my second liter of Tummy Plumber, being told that I would have my colonoscopy later in the morning. It was December 6th, St. Nicolas Day in Germany, which means people usually get a little chocolate Santa, including me. I, however, was not allowed to eat mine, I just had to lay there looking at it while he stared back with a mocking little smirk on on his face. I thought to myself, "just you wait, fat boy, we will see who is smiling at the end of the day." 


Finally at quarter past one in the afternoon, 36 hours since I had last eaten, the nurses rolled me down to the internal medicine ward of the hospital. Thankfully I was being put under for the procedure with propofol, nowadays known as the "Michael Jackson Special." Unfortunately, they do not do it before you see the device used for the procedure, which looks like a four-foot black garden hose attached to a remote control for a Predator Drone. The doctor was named Merkel, but I did not get a chance to ask him if he was related to the Chancellor before a fuzzy wave accompanied by white noise swept over me as the propofol coursed through my veins. I woke a little more than an hour later in the hallway, next to a poster showing the various kinds of cancerous growths that can exist in the abdomen. I was still disoriented but grabbed the chart that was tucked in behind the pillow to read the results, it was short but had some key words that I was not familiar with which made it hard for me to fully understand what was being said about my large intestine and colon. I did understand that Dr. Merkel wrote they were verrottet meaning "dilapidated." Normally that would have been very concerning, but considering my toxicological state I just loudly said "fuck it" and tucked the chart back behind my pillow and closed my eyes, dreaming of the little chocolate Santa. I awoke a half hour later as I was being brought back up to my ward, but now into my own room where my things had already been moved. Dr. Merkel came in shortly thereafter and told me that the blood tests confirmed what he found, that I essentially had a very bad case of food poisoning, a bacterial infection that had inflamed my lower digestive system, and would need to stay in the hospital for a few days, isolated in my own room. I could go for walks in the hall, but only if I wore the green smock and latex gloves that the nurses wore every time they came into my room (which I declined to do). He said the fact that I had not transmitted the illness to anyone else, especially the small children I take care of, was a testament to my personal hygiene. I told him that was great, but I hadn't eaten in a day and half and wanted food NOW. He said they would bring me some in a bit but that I would have to work my way up to full meals. He left and there was only myself and the chocolate Santa, on whom I proceeded to exact my delicious revenge for his smirking.

The room where I was isolated like Quasimodo 

While waiting for the elevator on the way to my procedure, I looked out at one of the internal walls of the hospital that had purposefully not been renovated. Its read brick was badly pock-marked with bullet holes, a reminder of the battle for Berlin. After enduring a terrible bombing campaign, the ruins of the city were then the site of a weeks-long street battle that cost hundreds of thousands of lives. When allied observers first came to the city, it was so badly damaged that they thought it would have to be abandoned and rebuilt on another site, left as a ruinous monument to the folly of National Socialism. The German people had other ideas; once the bullets stopped flying and the looting of the Red Army stopped, they simply began rebuilding. Long lines of common people, handing bricks and stones off to one another, sorting and piling, formed across the city and the country. Among all the rubble there was a feeling that they could finally look to the future, that they had survived, and there was work to be done: etwas muss getan, "something must be done." From that feeling of hopefulness amid apocalyptic devastation I drew strength, which I needed because at that point I was as weak as a newborn puppy. I encourage you to Google images of Berlin at the end of the war, that it could be rebuilt is a testament to the gumption of the German people. 

"Parking Forbidden" not relevant to the post but
something I found amusing

The next four days were pretty quiet, mostly spent resting and getting IV infusions. I was alone in my room, decorated only with a crucifix, with Jesus looking at me as if to say, "you think you've got problems." I used the time as an opportunity to practice my German, I watched TV in German, spoke German with my nurses, and read a book in German that had been a birthday gift. It is called "Papanoia" a play on the word paranoia and is about an American who falls in love with a German woman, and then moves to Berlin with her in the same district as where I live, Prenzlauerberg. Looking forward to living the cool bohemian lifestyle of a young couple in Berlin, they instead soon have a baby on the way. Having recently lost his job, he has to become a stay at home dad to a precocious little girl, finding himself to be an unwelcome outsider among all the organic food obsessed yoga-moms that are his new peers. As the only male Au Pair I know, I found the story very easy to relate to. I also became a fan of a TV program about zookeepers and the animals they take care of. The best part was the narrator who sometimes voiced the assumed opinions of the animals, usually slightly sarcastically contradicting or making fun of what the zookeeper was saying in a low, slow tone of voice. Most of the people seemed to be fairly normal, except for those who worked with birds, I noticed the bird-people were odd without fail. For example, the guy taking care of the penguins who was trying to reason with the dominant penguin named Fritz, so that it would stop pushing off other penguins when they tried to climb up to the highest rock, where apparently only he and his mate Babe were allowed to stand. Other highlights included elephants enjoying being bathed with power washers because it feels like a light massage, and then get rewarded for sitting still with a snack in the form of a wheel barrow full of food. I also gained new appreciation for the term "going ape shit" after seeing what happens when you stand too close to the cage where a mother monkey has a newborn baby.

A taste of home: a chicken pot pie I made
(not the culprit of my illness)

Luckily, because I was in a smaller hospital, the food was actually pretty good and the nurses were attentive and nice, for German nurses, who tend to have a reputation for being fairly mean. They were pretty good about keeping my thermos full of tea, and would bring me extra cookies in the evening if I asked nicely, which I always do since I come from a long line of cookie scoundrels (that means you Grandpa). The worst part of the hospital stay was the daily discussion of a chart I had to fill out every time I went to the bathroom with the cute nurses who got me up in the morning. There are two dates I definitely won't have to worry about, ever. 


Finally on Friday the doctors said my blood work looked much better and agreed to let me go home and continue my recovery from there. Looking forward to a quiet evening, I received a call about an hour after getting home that some friends of ours had their apartment broken into, and that they, their Au Pair, and two little boys would be staying with us that night and would be over within 45 minutes. Just my luck...


I am doing much better now, and am almost eating normally again, I should be myself again in another week. I just have to drink lots of fluids and try to not over exert myself, not an easy thing to do with two kids whose combined age is less than 5. It was good to come back and find that I was missed, I had a panicked thought one night in the hospital that the family would figure out in my absence that they didn't really need me and I would be promptly fired upon my return. That was not the case, and tomorrow life goes back to normal. So here's too good health, washed hands, and thoroughly cooked chicken!