Stories of our patients

Short stay in paradise

Pairing paradise with suffering seems an absurdity. Disease, pain, hospital, surgeries are all commonly associated with bad. But what if this concept is considered relatively and bad versus good define each other, always by association and always by comparison? What if bad, good are linked, as it actually happens, by expectations? When, in 1976, on the road from Heidelberg, where I settled after a direct conflict with the “Comrade…..”, to Paris, in an orange Citroen, an immigrant’s first car just two months after obtaining the much longed for “Fuehrerschein”, compound word which in “common” translation means driving licence, but if it were translated “exactly”, word by word, it means “Fuehrer Certificate” (that is, Leader, as Hitler or Antonescu) after, falling asleep at the wheel, I ended up in a concrete pole and, then, having survived, I ended up at the hospital in Nancy where I woke up surrounded by lovely girls and where for lunch and dinner I was getting a glass of red wine, the bad of the accident was for a moment reversed: in the hospital I was fine! When, as a consequence of the break that saved my life but fractured my femoral neck, (again this alternative good/bad), 30 years later the arthrosis generated by the accident seriously settled, it was bad. Bad also through the fact that the advices and stories which I heard regarding possible interventions for treating the bad, predicted even more bad - “worse”: the hospitals of the mother country, which in the meanwhile, became Romania, and the consequences of such an intervention, namely, the perpetual screwing and unscrewing of the prosthesis, predicted by neophytes or people who have passed through miserable experiences, made me decide to constantly postpone the required surgery. When, at the end of my strength the bad became certitude, again the same story, bad turned into good. Good, because, reaching a breaking point because of the pain, I decided to undergo now, the more than necessary intervention. Good helped that, exactly when I have decided, in my desperate research, “where?” and especially “with whom?”, after countless surveys, my friend and wonderful collaborator, costume painter Svetlana Mihăilescu, told me about a clinic “made by Germans”, (Germans again) in Brașov, where her cousin underwent surgery and she had a bad condition, more profound and serious than mine, if I may say so. Svetlana gave me a phone number, of a certain Dr. Balint, “I think he is Hungarian” she told me, physician referenced by her in the most beautiful words. And then, with my last strength, I picked up the telephone and called. A voice answered me, it was Dr. Balint, he set a meeting for me at the Hospital, back then I understood only ICCO, in Brașov, at 8 Scolii Street. I took the chance and went. Arriving in Brasov, an unfamiliar town for me, I had to ask for information to the local people and then I have finally arrived at 8 Scolii Street. Love at first site. The Clinic, I now found out it was correctly named CLINICCO, had something special about it. First of all it didn’t look like a hospital. I would say that it had a warm, humane architecture. When, after some waiting, I’ve discovered a certain place, where even a king goes alone, I was sure: the design of the door, the sink and the toilet were “different”. Enough to make me think that “Germans are still Germans, Mister” (It was obviously false, because there wasn’t any German involved, but I had to discover that only later).

After two Ladies gently put over my street shoes some blue footwear the required radiography followed. It was then the moment when I met Dr. Balint, in person. He hooked my X-ray on the glass wall, gave it a long look and seemed very cheerful. As after a personal victory: “Excellent! Excellent!”, he exclaimed. After the accident you suffered, the bone cured excellently!” and then all of the sudden, he turned to me and said: “When can you come back? I’ll make you a nice leg!”.

Briefly, I returned to Bucharest, not before we’ve set together with the doctor a date: the fatidic date: 18th of May 2010. Since the accident in Nancy had passed 33 years and 5 months now.
At Bucharest began the difficulties: “Why all the way to Brașov? I know a great clinic in Timișoara! Why Brașov, when in Bucharest you have so many clinics at your disposal? And the best of all: You were classmate during high school with Dr. X, who is a celebrity in the field?”

But I became immune: I liked the blue striped building; in the meanwhile I found out its exact name: CLINICCO, and especially, I started believing that Dr. Balint will make a “lad” of me again. And, I have to admit, that at my age, this was more than tempting.

The big day came. Despite of the fact that I prepared from time, the suitcase carefully made by Victoria like for a trip abroad was ready and we set in your mind to be punctual, we arrived with approximately 45 minutes of delay. On the hall we met Dr. Balint. He seemed different ... more severe and he reproached my delay. „You’re late”, he told me. „The Lady Anaesthesiologist will scold you”. He said it with a tone that gave me the creeps ... the Anaesthesiologist! I imagined a commissar woman, as in soviet movies, huge, with a thick and threatening voice! „I started off on the wrong foot!”, I told myself. I spent the rest of the day waiting. Victoria, my wife, who came along to accompany me in the surgery, only later I found out that she wasn’t allowed to do that, except from the waiting room, was also excited. Whenever the door opened, both of us jumped: ”Dr. Anaesthesiologist?”, it wasn’t her! Only after a few hours the door opened and a delicate creature, who inspired tranquillity and calmness entered the room, and in a soft voice, with Moldavian accent she introduced herself: “Dr. Popa, Anaesthesiologist.” She sat near the edge of the bed and in a soft voice began to tell us a story. The story was, in fact, not very poetic... But the way she told it, made it resemble a fairytale. Fairytale in which were heard mysterious words... especially “epidural” appeared very often. I didn’t understand much, but it seemed nice and when, at the end the Lady Doctor asked me how would I prefer to be anesthetized, advising me what would be better, I answered: “Whatever you think is best.“ After the storyteller left, Victoria immediately approved me. I had made the right decision. The next day, in the morning, after awakening, after being dressed in a funny hospital gown, which had only the front part, resembling a big carnival mask I was laid down on a table with wheels...and then….a powerful light ….white corridors ….I entered through a door inscribed with the text “No Entry. Operating Block”. The fact, that against the interdiction, I entered gave me, I confess, a feeling of satisfied ego. All of the sudden I was somebody… Next... I don’t remember much... the storyteller from the previous night was there, smiling... and then a slight sting in my back, and that was it. I woke up in a large room, with many beds, surrounded by many tiny and smiling creatures, who were running around me at each gesture I made, they were approaching and asking me “May I get you something?”.
Another night had passed and other wonderful creatures, this time dressed in white, surrounded me in my new place of residence: room 202. Dr. Balint came too, and he looked at me pleased, at least that was how it seemed. I had the sensation that I didn’t disappoint him. Doctor Longhinescu came too. He seemed to speak only in whispers and he informed me calmly on the “progress”, which apparently, became my partner. After a few more wonderful days in which I was happy to share my luck to Miss Flori, who managed one day, miraculously, to buy the apartment that turned her and her family in real inhabitants of Brasov.
Or of Mrs. Flori, to whom I have dictated the “dissociated diet recipe”, which I still hope will have miraculous effects on me also. Wonderful days followed, you will not believe me! When, finally, Atilla, the envoy of my fried from Sighișoara came to help me “escape”, I wanted to say, as I left, ”Farewell!”. Yes! “Farewell!”. Because here at CLINICCO, for me, bad became good!

Brașov, 28.05.2010

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