A flight home in an induced coma, an island in the Atlantic, a broken nose.

My happy bumblebees have brought me home again.

Thanks to my body. Thanks to my strength.

For this blog post, even I am still at a loss for the right words.

After a very long time, I finally went on vacation again. Madeira was the destination. Islands – oh, I love them. By now, everyone who knows me even a little is aware of that. If the island also has mountains, I’d love to move there right away. When the plane landed on Madeira, I cried. The woman sitting next to me asked if everything was alright, and I said:

“Oh yes – absolutely!” I was happy.

On the evening of the second day, it was already dark, and unfortunately, I walked straight into a closed glass door – the result: a broken nose.

Okay – that’s bad luck. Typical Julia. But not exactly the end of the world.

To ensure that everything was fine with my VP shunt system, I went to an urgent care clinic. They immediately referred me to the emergency room.

Because it was a holiday weekend, I didn't really get treated and was sent back and forth between the private and public hospitals. Both told me to return on Monday (the accident happened on Thursday). I explained my diagnoses, but they simply said they couldn't imagine it being a problem.

A day later, I felt unwell, and at the accommodation, the right side of my face started twitching more and more uncontrollably. So, I went back to the emergency room. They made me wait the entire day. I had to argue with my insurance company, even though the cost coverage confirmation was already there.

My last memory of that day is being admitted in the evening and told I would be hospitalized. Then my memory stops.

It stopped because, apparently, I had already suffered multiple seizures in the ER. As soon as they admitted me, they put me into an induced coma because they didn't know what was wrong with me.

When I stopped contacting anyone, everyone tried to find out where I was.

Saturday, November 2nd: First day in an induced coma.

The private clinic remained clueless and administered far too many and incorrect medications. It wasn't until Monday, November 4th, that they ordered an MRI. However, since the private clinic did not have an MRI machine, I was transferred to the public hospital. But even there, they didn't know how to proceed. The coma was maintained, and the heavy medication continued.

I was given epilepsy medication, even though I did not have epilepsy – something that could have been ruled out with an EEG. In the initial medical reports, it was stated that an MRI could not be performed because I was intubated, sedated, and in an induced coma.

As always, I was well-prepared for my travels; I had all important diagnoses and medical reports translated and with me. I handed over printed copies at the emergency room, had them saved in my emergency pass on my phone, in my wallet documents, and even wore a bracelet labeled "Health Info." Behind a QR code on the bracelet were all essential details, including an MRI image.

But unfortunately, none of this was taken into consideration. Instead, they continued treating me with very strong medications, and the coma lasted longer and longer.

At this point, my parents, together with my doctor from Heidelberg, arranged my transport back to Germany.

The plane was ready immediately, but bureaucracy took several more days.

November 11th: I finally landed in Germany in the evening. Everyone was ready and wanted to wake me from the induced coma as soon as possible.

But it was no longer that simple. I wasn’t responding; I wouldn’t wake up. At this point, I had transitioned into a comatose state on my own, and it became life-threatening. The doctors consulted other specialists who had treated me for years and decided that my body now had to manage on its own.

I had received far too many medications in Portugal, and the prolonged coma was also harmful. Now, I was gradually taken off all medications.

Friday, November 15th:

My uncle visited me. I don’t remember it; I just saw a picture of it for the first time today.

Saturday, November 16th:

I showed my first reaction and blinked. A slow-motion blink – but still, a reaction.

Sunday, November 17th:

I spoke for the first time.

But I didn't understand the world anymore.

My first memories: I was strapped to the bed; I didn't understand what had happened or why I was suddenly in Heidelberg. I wasn't only weaned off the medications from Madeira but also from my regular medications. I felt extremely restless, and my memories exist only in scattered fragments.

I have no memory of the coma itself. But I’m convinced that our subconscious absorbs more than we realize. Since then, I've felt a deep inner restlessness whenever I try to sleep.

With this post, I don't just want to process what happened, but also thank so many people who fought for me when I couldn’t fight for myself.

My parents tried to find out across the Atlantic where I was and why I was no longer responding. Petra, the owner of the (by the way, incredibly beautiful) accommodation, and her staff pulled out all the stops to get more information. Miguel flew to Madeira and took over communication on-site, as the available information was scarce. It was by no means a given that he would fly there. My doctor from Heidelberg once again made the impossible possible. I wish there were more doctors like him.

From the moment I landed back in Germany, my parents were in Heidelberg with me. There were so many lifelong friends and family members who provided immense support in the background.

Then there were all sorts of "Ms. Marple" detective tasks on the side:

My car was still parked at Munich airport. My brother and dad first had to figure out where exactly, but they managed to retrieve it from the parking garage and drive it home in time.

While I was in a coma, the court had to appoint a guardian because I had not yet designated anyone for such an emergency. Someone had to make decisions for me when I no longer could. I didn’t have a power of attorney. But I still had rights as human being. This was the only missing puzzle piece I hadn't fully prepared for.

Even though I've experienced so many truly crazy stories – I hadn't thought of something like this.

How much can go wrong in just a few days.

Now, of course, I keep asking myself: What actually happened? I think it's almost impossible to fully reconstruct it.

There are some assumptions. For example, it’s possible that I developed an infection in my shunt system due to the broken nose. Since no CT/MRI was done for several days, it might have gone undetected. At the very least, I had high infection markers right from the first days.

On top of everything, I have developed PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) due to the traumas of recent years. I have had many very bad experiences with medical staff, doctors, paramedics, and caregivers. For years, I was repeatedly not treated properly, not given adequate pain relief when it was necessary. I was often not believed.

I am very grateful that, despite all this, I have always found the strength to get up and keep fighting. To fight for myself. But all of this has left its marks.

How does PTSD manifest in me?

Fortunately, not in a way that severely restricts me in my daily life. But I sometimes react more intensely than the situation actually warrants.

If something triggers me – for example, if I feel unfairly treated – my subconscious "pings" past experiences, and I start crying. It may have nothing to do with the current situation, but the old feeling resurfaces unconsciously.

Or if I’m not taken seriously despite being in pain. In such cases, the brain's pain center can amplify the pain even further. It’s a vicious cycle.

Perhaps the PTSD was triggered during the situation in Madeira.

I was once again not treated, I was sent away. That could have led to a dissociative seizure. The symptoms closely resemble epileptic seizures. I have no control over my body; I convulse. But an EEG would clearly show that it wasn’t an epileptic seizure. Therefore, it should certainly not have been treated with epilepsy medication.

Yes, I have complex diagnoses. But that wasn’t the reason why it suddenly became life-threatening. A VP shunt system should be basic knowledge for any neurosurgeon. There should also be standardized medical procedures in place for someone who walks into a glass door – such as checking the eyes with lights, checking for a concussion.

None of this happened in those hospitals. The healthcare system is shaky. Very shaky.

I wasn't in Germany, but I was still in Europe.

I was so well-prepared. But maybe not well enough.

I was on such a good path. The last surgery and the VP shunt hold so much promise. It’s very frustrating to be set back again. Starting over a few steps behind once more.

But it’s okay.

I am grateful that I had the strength to get through this, to wake up again – without any damage, without anything being permanently lost.

So, I will linger here for a while and take a break.

Then I’ll take off again.