Two cases of water or a medium-sized Labrador

Two cases of water or a medium-sized Labrador weigh 34 kg.

At 34 kg, I was discharged from the hospital after a spinal surgery.

April 14, 1998

I will never forget this date, even though I have no memory of the day itself. I was 14 years old. A week earlier, I had been admitted to the hospital for a major spinal surgery. Due to my scoliosis, my spine had become so severely curved that I couldn’t sit up straight anymore, and there was a risk that it could compress and displace other organs. The surgery involved straightening the spine as much as possible and fusing it with two rods and screws from the 4th thoracic vertebra to the 4th lumbar vertebra. https://www.glueckshummeln.com/skoliose

I don’t recall being particularly scared or what I was thinking at the time. I probably have memory gaps due to the numerous traumatic experiences that have accompanied me throughout my life. I have no recollection of the day before the surgery or at least the first week afterward.

From what I’ve been told, the originally planned surgery took place, lasted 6 hours, and was successful. It wasn’t a simple or minor procedure, especially not at that time. During the surgery, my lung was injured, which led to blood and fluid in the lung afterward. I had a drain placed and had to do breathing exercises for weeks. Additionally, I developed severe colic, pancreatitis, and kidney stones.

Initially, I spent a week in the intensive care unit. Due to the colic, I experienced such severe pain that they had to sit me up at one point. This was good for the digestive system but a real challenge right after such a major spinal surgery. I apparently made remarks like, “The nurse is an a**hole,” or “Open the window, I’m going to jump out of the 14th floor.” I also insisted on having a TV in my room for so long that eventually, they brought one in. Of course, I couldn’t see anything, as I had to lie flat and was heavily medicated.

The first memory I have of coming out of that fog was being wheeled into my room on the general ward. It was a four-bed room shared with three other kids. Despite everything, we had our fun. We thought the military service volunteer was super cute (14-year-old girls). None of us could get up out of bed. Pancreatitis is life-threatening, but I wasn’t aware of that at the time. My meal tray always had a label saying "gastroenterological basic diet." I still remember that sticker vividly. I had endless debates with the nursing staff about when I could finally chew gum or have a candy. I’m quite good at arguing when I’m hungry.

Since I was still of school age, I was also given school lessons. Yes, you get lessons even when you’re in the hospital. A teacher would come to the bedside. I don’t remember much about that except that I had absolutely no interest in it. The hospital was 600 km away from our home. For the first four weeks, my parents took their annual vacation and stayed near the hospital. After that, they had to go back home. The next memory I have is being in a hospital gown, with my grandpa visiting, and taking my first steps again. From that day on, I had to practice walking daily. I would circle the nursing station, constantly veering to the side or walking as if I’d had a few glasses of Prosecco. Well, I was suddenly 5 cm taller, and my sense of balance was a bit off. You wouldn’t believe how much 5 cm can make a difference. Even long after, I would often land awkwardly on the toilet seat because I misjudged my height.

After seven weeks, I was discharged, even though the doctors really didn’t want to let me go. It wasn’t because of the spinal surgery but because I had lost so much weight due to the pancreatitis and diet. I had always been underweight before, but this time I left the hospital weighing just 34 kg at a height of 1.69 m. But I already had a shopping list of what I would eat once I was allowed to eat again.

A very balanced diet.

I was so excited to be going home. An ambulance took me back, accompanied by two paramedics. The highlight: We stopped at McDonald’s. The best meal after seven weeks on a gastroenterological basic diet. It took a while for me to regain weight, and four weeks later, I was readmitted to a nearby hospital to monitor my calorie intake. The doctors suddenly went wild, insisting that I was suffering from anorexia. A serious condition, no doubt, but it wasn’t my problem. In so many medical reports, it was noted that my father often discharged me against medical advice or did not engage in those discussions. For that, I am very grateful. I had enough other things to deal with. Still, I wanted to return to school as quickly as possible. But the next school year was spent like this: two hours in the classroom, two hours lying in the sickroom, and then two more hours in the classroom. I always marched into the classroom in the morning with my pillow. Dressed in the loosest shirt I could find, as I looked very, very thin.

Until my mid-20s, I wrote many diaries. In them, I never mentioned how burdensome it all was for me, how bad I felt at times, or what challenges I had to overcome. I packed everything neatly into my “box” and stopped consciously acknowledging it. I still have that box today, 36 years later. Since the first diagnosis and the corset. What’s in that box, how I keep adding more to it, and how I manage to close it up – I’m currently trying to figure out and take a small peek inside. But I haven’t found the beginning yet.