I always had the dream of flying in a helicopter. And over the Dolomites?
A dream come true.
But this flight was neither planned nor magical.
July 10, 2020
The pressure in my head increased, my eyes hurt, and I could no longer see properly. I was back in that 30-minute window—that brief timeframe before the pain would become so intense that I could only sit in one position. Ahead of me were 6 to 18 hours of hoping it wouldn’t get too severe.
But I was in the Dolomites, alone, about 20 minutes away from my car, which was parked on a mountain pasture. 1,670 meters above sea level, surrounded by breathtaking landscapes—but I could hardly enjoy any of it, as the attack continued to spread.
It was "just" a migraine, "just" a headache, as I had been told for about 25 years. The doctors simply couldn’t find anything. Today I know: it’s increased intracranial pressure, which can be life-threatening in the worst case.
I gently pressed on my eyes—that confirmed the attack.
Routine.
I immediately turned around and walked as fast as I could, but slow enough not to worsen the pressure in my head, back to the parking lot. By the time I arrived, the intense headache had already begun. I reached for my medication and sat in the car. But it got worse. Nausea set in, and the pressure in my head became unbearable. I wanted to go to the lodge next to the parking lot, but I couldn’t stand up anymore. It would have been just a few steps.
Meanwhile, I messaged my friend on WhatsApp. She immediately asked for my location and called the lodge. The owner came to check on me and brought me inside. As soon as I arrived, I rushed to the bathroom and sank to the floor. The nausea, the head pressure, the vision disturbances—I couldn’t tell which was worse. The staff repeatedly asked if they should call a doctor. At some point, I finally said, "Yes, please."
Just five minutes later, I heard the roar of a helicopter over the lodge.
“Oh no,” I thought, “That can’t be for me, can it?”
But it was.
Two paramedics helped me to the helicopter, which was anything but easy. Every movement and every change in altitude made the pressure in my head worse. They grabbed me by the arms and dragged me through the tall grass. Time and again, I collapsed from the pain. "We have to keep going, we don't have much time. Pull yourself together," they said. Finally, we reached the helicopter. I tried to explain, "I can’t lie down." But half-lying, we took off, and with the change in altitude, the pain became even more unbearable.
It was almost impossible to endure.
It’s hard to describe.
They flew me to Brixen. Was that the smartest decision? Certainly not. There was neither neurology nor neurosurgery there. The doctor on duty was very kind but clearly overwhelmed and unsure of what to do. She gave me one pain infusion after another—morphine in abundance. I became more and more drowsy, but the pain and pressure remained. So, they decided to transport me by ambulance to Bolzano, where there was a neurology and neurosurgery department.
The next thing I remember is a parking lot. I was transferred from one ambulance to another. I had lost consciousness and was experiencing dissociative seizures. Since there was no emergency doctor present, they stopped in the parking lot and called for an emergency physician and another ambulance. When we arrived in Bolzano, a CT scan was done—without findings. More pain infusions followed until the attack finally subsided.
It was already 2:00 a.m. when they decided to send me back to Brixen. There was no room for me here. Another 45 minutes in the ambulance. When I arrived around 5:00 a.m., suddenly everything became hectic: "We forgot to test you for COVID." A swab was taken, and I was pushed aside. The test was negative. Finally, they brought me to a patient room at 6:00 a.m., where I could finally lie down. But just two hours later, the doctor on rounds said, "You can go now, the attack is over."
My phone battery was dead, and I was only wearing shorts and a tank top. The day before it had been 35 degrees, but now it was pouring rain and much cooler. So where to go? I took a taxi back to the lodge where my car was parked, drove back to my accommodation, and checked in again. I spent two more days mostly in bed—I was that exhausted. I only left my room to eat.
But I made it. Again. And it was "just" a headache, after all.
In the end, I received a bill for 150 euros for the helicopter flight. I was lucky I didn’t have to pay more.
An international health insurance policy? I can’t get one. They exclude almost all pre-existing conditions and any consequences that arise from them.
Now, I try to protect myself as much as possible. I’m a member of the DAV (German Alpine Club), which insures me worldwide if something happens to me in the mountains or if a helicopter is needed. What I didn’t know before: Even in Germany, you can be unlucky and have to pay for the helicopter ride yourself. Rescue, recovery, or blocking—there’s always room for debate. I’m also a supporting member of the Bavarian Red Cross, which ensures I’m picked up and brought home in an emergency, worldwide. It’s the best coverage I can get.
Is it fair? No. But life always happens differently than planned.
Update: Since I’ve received a few questions about how the German Red Cross membership works—it's simple! You support the German Red Cross and its work. You can choose the membership fee yourself. Red Cross members receive a domestic repatriation service and an international repatriation service. Members of the Munich Red Cross, as well as their family members (spouses and children eligible for child benefits, and partners living in the household if named), are insured. The benefit is available as long as the membership fee is paid. Pre-existing conditions are not an issue.
My heart is with the Bavarian Red Cross Augsburg City branch(had a great training there with one awesome colleague and another annoying one :-) ) – here’s more information.
Of course, you can become a member in any district branch of your choice:
https://www.kvaugsburg-stadt.brk.de/spenden/foerdermitgliedschaft/mitglied-werden.html
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