It's a sombre way to phrase things, and as a usually healthy 38-year-old it doesn't make much sense to dramatize, but this week I have had to face up to my own mortality far more sharply than before.
On Tuesday I was feeling a little ashamed of myself because I went to the dentist's office for persistent headaches and weird feelings of percolating liquid and alternating coolness/warmth also in the ears that I thought might be connected to a tooth infection I used to have. They couldn't find anything and were able to rule out a reinfection at the exact location because of the lack of redness, fever, or pain when pressure was applied. Going to a Hausarzt, they agreed, was a good idea; and consulting an otolaryngologist after that. But after conferring with the surgeon who'd originally vanquished the infection, and who's still on maternity leave, they called me back for a thorough x-ray.
Little Miss Hypochondriac then went out for lunch with Uncle Pu, who was visiting Berlin. I did feel a bit limp and like a poor conversationalist, which in retrospect sounds like another symptom.
Then, in the evening, the dress rehearsal of the choir was supposed to happen. I carefully plotted out my route to circumvent road blocks due to the Ukraine recovery conference, and set off on my bicycle.
I do remember perfectly well turning from the Fasanenstraße into the Kantstraße. Then a construction fence coming up on the sidewalk so that the bicycle path was re-drawn a bit to the left, no cars nearby, my trying to overtake a cyclist who was going at a relaxed pace, and then I thought someone behind me trying to overtake us both.
The next thing: floating to the ground. My brains feeling as if they'd been shaken violently, like raw eggs in a frying pan. A bruised feeling at my cheek, slight trickling feeling as if of blood at my nose. The concerned faces of two white-haired men in their 50s or 60s, one behind me and the other in front. A woman in the doorway of a restaurant, a sidewalk table, a turquoise plastic chair in square form. My picking up my bicycle right away and moving to the sidewalk. Someone pulling out the chair and advising me to sit down. Stinging palms on my hands, but no bad scrapes. Taking out my smartphone, switching to the selfie camera, and checking if I had any visible signs of damage on my face that might require medical attention. (None; and definitely no blood.)
One or both of the cyclists said sorry, although the one behind me said 'Sorry, although I didn't cause the accident.' And I apologized as well because I hadn't given a hand signal before beginning to overtake.
I was determined to wait for 2 minutes to see if I felt weird afterward, but didn't want to take too long because I would run late to the choir rehearsal. For some reason I didn't fully realize then the implication that seeing the people around me as if in a kind of round frame with faded edges was a sign of something bad. The word 'concussion' didn't come to mind either.
After the 2 minutes were up, I went back on the bicycle. And after the point where I must have reached the construction fence a few seconds later, there's a bit of a haze. I remember seeing the green trees, a traffic light, and a lady wanting to cross at Savignyplatz, but am not sure now if this was before or after my accident.
I remember a grey blur, maybe seeing a clock and wondering what time it was, thinking of the Suárezstraße but knowing it was further away, and kind of feeling as if I were going west when I wanted to go east.
(In retrospect I feel that I put many lives at risk, as it's not clear if I was fully aware of traffic lights or cars or anything aside from buildings and intersections; and feel badly about it.)
Then I felt that my having foggily wondered whether it was already the choir concert or just the dress rehearsal, was a bad sign. Maybe I felt unsteady. I got off my bicycle, wheeled it to a stand and locked it there, and noted with relief that a restaurant was open and that the waiters could see me and react if something was wrong.
I didn't remember the bicycle accident directly, aside from the sense that it was unsafe to remain on the bicycle. I just remembered going to the dentist and worrying that the headaches would lead to brain damage if the cause wasn't found. And the memory of my father and his stroke returned very strongly. So I thought that whatever caused the headaches had worsened.
I thought that I was lastingly mentally incapacitated. In a space of I don't know how many minutes, I kind of said goodbye to my career, my independence, any romantic relationship; and said hello to potential decades of my family needing to provide health care for me. I wondered how elderly people who reach this point can find the strength to face it.
Then I wanted to do the best I could with the thought power at hand. I looked at the street names at the intersection. Going to the choir rehearsal was no longer an option, as seeing the names didn't orientate me. Going home was best. I went to the doorway of the restaurant and told the waiter behind the reception that I thought I'd had a stroke, guessing correctly that he'd speak English, and asked if I could sit down. And I texted to my mother, using the street names and the restaurant name, if someone could come and get me.
Ge. also texted me. We agreed that it would be better to call an ambulance. I checked again, I think, if my bicycle was locked: I could no longer remember doing so, but was kind of impressed by my common sense of a few minutes ago.
When I went into the restaurant while I made the call, the waiters were very kind. They ushered me to a chair. They brought me a glass of water, which I sipped only sparingly, as I remembered that I'd been advised not to give my father anything to eat or drink if he came to after he had his stroke.
They went to doublecheck that my bicycle was really properly locked up. When I made the call to emergency services, they gently took the phone from me when I'd trotted over to the awning to read the restaurant name, to make sure the dispatcher knew the exact address.
In case I lost more lucidity before the ambulance came, I started to write down what I remembered (going to the dentist, having headaches, wanting to go to choir practice) into my reporter's notebook. I still hadn't fully remembered the bicycle accident, nor did I remember going out to lunch. But I did remember the streets being blocked off due to the Ukraine conference.
Anyway, for the next three hours I was checked by paramedics, brought by ambulance to the hospital because I felt it would be safer (no sirens or speed needed), and then kept in a triage room with an IV drip while my blood sample was analyzed and I was briefly fetched out for a CT scan. It turned out in the blood tests that I had anaemia. A few indicators were off, but most telling apparently was that my hemoglobin was at 5.2 units, when the expected range goes from 7.1 to 9.9. But the CT scan was clear.
The doctors and nurses were friendly, I think also especially after I'd asked if I could reassure my family about my condition. Two of them patted the bed near my shoulder to encourage me, and another smiled as she ushered me over to the room for the CT.
The time glided smoothly, because I was still in a haze and I was piecing together the memories that were coming back. My hands were still stinging, and small bruises on my legs reminded me of the bicycle accident. A bruised feeling on my cheek reminded me later that I had actually fallen with my helmeted head onto the pavement. Then I remembered the faces of the other cyclists, etc.
When not trying to puzzle that out, I was freaking out a little bit when the IV drip bag emptied and I wondered if I was going to get an air bubble in my bloodstream, before repeatedly telling myself that there would be safety mechanisms to prevent it.
I also tried not to stare at new admissions to the emergency room. But every time the chime of "Oranges and Lemons"(?) sounded at the entrance, I was anxious that someone terribly injured and distraught would be ferried in. Patient privacy was pretty much non-existent, and when I'd been admitted it was also quite weird to hear my own case summarized in loud tones.
There was a drunk person, a repeat visitor, who had downed 2 bottles of wine. One or two other cases: people who came in on their own steam, with a concerned family member or partner, who were really unhappy and stressed as they answered the question: 'So, what happened to you today?'
I was so relieved when I heard someone come in who drawled, 'I had a joint of marijuana and now everything is very slow.' I wouldn't have wanted to be in their shoes... but it sounded like they'd be perfectly fine later. I shamelessly followed every detail. And I struggled to keep from giggling at moments, for example when the doctor told the patient, 'I'm afraid there's no antidote for weed.'
Through the doorway I watched as they gradually seemed to get better.
The doctor chatted about the lab results as he got them, relieved to have gotten an explanation for my bicycle accident. He also riffed enthusiastically on nutritional counter-measures against anaemia: this was what I asked about when he wanted to know if I had any questions.
He emphasized that it must be found out what's causing the anaemia, for example if it's internal bleeding. If I stayed in the hospital for two days, I could get a gastroscopy and a colonoscopy. Or I could go home, and then arrange these procedures with a Hausarzt. (It's also necessary to do more extensive blood tests.) I begged to go home.
Hindsight is 20/20: when I called the doctor's practice I've been to twice before, the receptionist made an appointment for next Thursday. As the emergency room doctor had written 'urgent' (dringend) in my notes, I am wondering if I'm being a bit negligent by not finding a speedier alternative.
Anyway, the taxi driver who brought me home listened to RBB24 on his radio. But he interrupted it now and then to ask whether I had to go back to the hospital or whether I was home free. I asked him about what it's like picking up people from the hospital. He agreed with the suggestion that sometimes it is sad. Then I asked about Euro Cup traffic, and he explained how hooligans have been detained at borders so the games will be safer, although he still expects drama. He complained about the cost of the BER airport.
Finally I was dropped off near home, and I trotted to the apartment under his watchful eyes. (He was worried I might keel over again.) It was so good to be home again, and give and receive hugs from the family.
For the past 2 days, I've been eating carefully and incorporating iron where I can, while Ge. has bought more meat and berries. My calcium values were also a little low, so more cheese is on the menu. Because the IV drip seemed to help me feel better, I've also been drinking glasses of water with a pinch of salt, half teaspoon of sugar, and a few drops of lemon juice to hopefully make a more isotonic refreshment.
And I am obsessing about wanting to recover my bicycle, retrace my accident to see if any more memories return and where it took place exactly, and visit the restaurant where I found a safe harbour as my concussion(?) cleared up to thank the waiters and waitress.
*
But I am also scared, thinking dramatic thoughts, and evaluating everything I say or do after I say or do it in terms of cognitive functionality. I feel a bit too addled to do Greek homework, although somehow doing journalistic stuff is OK. The headaches are persisting. Now I know there's something serious going on, but not what's causing it. So I'm also exploring the idea that this might be the end of the road for me. Two weeks ago I'd never have believed this: but I don't find the thought so awful. Not because I want to die, and not because I want family and friends to have a horrible time. But just because I have suddenly realized that my ambitions in life are smaller than I thought, and to have loved people and loved the world, and to receive love in return, is already enough. The answer to the existentialist question of 'What do you do, if it doesn't matter what you do?' is a little simpler than I expected, since unlike a Sartre character no broader political ripple effect hangs on it for me. And I don't mind making way for another generation, to try again and do better.
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