6/16
But in the morning, I feel a bit better, and head out on the train to Munich. At the station, a nice polite man in a uniform comes over and directs me to the proper counter. The man at the counter goes over every detail of the times, the transfer, etc. What a world of difference from southern Europe, where you are lucky to get any sort of assistance whatsoever. Hop on the train, sparsely peopled. A pretty girl pulling the snack cart, innocent smile. Wish I had that smile. She shows it only to the grandmother in front, not to me. That sort of thing is so easy for some people. I got polluted somehow. Ride the train towards Germany, feeling kind of worn out and shitty. Transfer at Salzburg, only eight minutes between trains make it in the nick of time. Find my seat in the cabin. It is a little cold in there, and I put on my fleece. My fever starts coming back, now I am sweating so I take off my fleece but now my forehead is burning. I realize now that there is something seriously wrong. I have never felt a cold like this. My whole body is burning, my eyes are burning, I am getting tunnel vision. Thoughts turn towards getting help. Rational concerns such as insurance coverage in a foreign country quickly fade, as this now begins to feel like a life or death situation. Stories I have heard flash through my mind about fevers running too high and causing blindness, my mind starts playing tricks on me and I start to panic. I count the minutes until the train is due to arrive, I pace back and forth, afraid to sit still. Finally the train slows and comes to a stop. I lumber off to find a train worker at the front. “I need a hospital,” I tell him lethargically. I am having trouble speaking. He looks perplexed, then points me to an Information sign. I look for Information, I do not find it. I ask a man at a stall, he sends me to the ticket counter. I stagger to the counter. “I need a hospital, a doctor.” He directs me to go down that hallway, turn left then right etc. I am tempted to just collapse to prove that I mean it. I feel very close to passing out. I give up on the train station and stumble out into the street. I ask a woman in a shop, she doesn’t know what ‘hospital’ means, I ask a man on the street, he doesn’t know where one is. I am going to die on the street in Munich, and people will just walk over the body. I see a line of taxis, get in one, and he understands and drives me to a nearby hospital finally. I find a man behind a desk, “I need help.” “Make a left, walk for a while then another left…” I am truly barely conscious. I find the proper area, throw myself against the desk in this, the emergency room, lay my head down, panting. There is no one at the desk, and the nurses ten feet away just glance over indifferently. After a few minutes I actually have to motion to one, and then she comes over. “I am sick,” I tell her. She looks at me, apparently she doesn’t believe me despite the fact I am sweating profusely and in mid-collapse. “Well, we don’t have any beds right now, you’ll have to sit in the chair.” So I sit in the chair. She leaves and does some other things for a while. My vision is slipping in and out, I am holding my head. I am just wishing I was at home again, thousands of miles away in my nice comfy bed. I want to see my family and Olga one more time, I never thought I’d die in Europe. It is like Requiem For A Dream, a waking nightmare, I am having trouble believing it is real. After a while, she comes over, puts an IV in me to add some liquids. My mouth is complete cotton, and I feel like I have no fluids left in my body despite having drank water, soup and tea all day. After the IV she takes blood and leaves again. After a couple of x-rays, the doctor comes in. He is about 13 years old. He tells me that the blood tests have been analyzed, and that I have pneumonia. After all the mosquitos and the stagnant water in Venice, I was almost expecting malaria, but not the case, it is pneumonia instead. He gives me a prescription of antibiotics and sends me on my way. By this point, they have given me a full three packets of liquids through the IV and a few hours of rest, and at least I am able to walk again. On the way out, Doc Jr. tells me that the doctors are all on strike in Munich; only the emergency wards are operational. The nurses now make sense – the B team, the skeleton crew. I take a cab to the hotel, and, having discovered my phone card was only valid in Spain (where it never worked either), I brave the hotel charge and make a few calls back home to tell everyone of my trials and tribulations. What a fucking day. The hotel kindly sends out to get my prescription filled for me (but of course not footing the bill). I walk out into the street, weary beyond words, to find some food. I realize I have not eaten solid food for some time now. I grab some sushi from a take-out window. How ironic if, having survived today, I were to die now from eating bad sushi, I kid myself. But the fish goes down easy, and I finish a truly trying day by slowly washing my dirty clothes in the sink.
Tags: europe, germany, munich, Travel
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