Content

Imprint

Dedication

Diagnosis: Heart Attack

Back from China

Ground Zero

November 2011–January 2012 Neurological Clinic, Bavarian Alps

January–March 2012 Lake Constance Rehabilitation Center

March–May 2012 Helios Clinic, Thurgau, Switzerland

Back to life

Appointment with Mrs. Heinz on Sunday, July 22, 2012

And then Brigitte came into our lives

Shanghai

Examination at the ophthalmologist

Break down

Hitting Rock Bottom – January 2015

Dubai

Munich

4th seizure 2015

Epilogue

Imprint

All rights of distribution, also through movies, radio and television, photomechanical reproduction, sound carrier, electronic medium and reprinting in excerpts are reserved.

© 2016 novum publishing

ISBN print edition: 978-3-95840-181-5

ISBN e-book: 978-3-95840-182-2

Translated from German into English by Karla Weller

Cover photo: www.pixabay.com

Coverdesign, layout & typesetting: novum publishing

Images: Karla Weller (5), Picture 3: Dawn Hudson | Dreamstime.com

www.novum-publishing.co.uk

Dedication

Based on a True Story

Dedicated to Gerd,

The strongest of Hearts,

The bravest of Souls.

Diagnosis: Heart Attack

“Every day, on which I work toward fulfilling the purpose of my existence and my promise to God, I draw more love into my life. Love conquers all and miracles occur.”

Jana Haas May 1, 2011

July 31, 2011

I had been awaiting this day with discontent and restlessness for a few weeks now. So much would change today. Justin would turn sixteen and on the same day, Daniela would fly to Chicago to start her internship abroad. Although I was happy for both of our children, melancholy filled my heart. Of course I knew I had to let them go.

“Those who aren’t prepared for change will also lose that which they wish to preserve.”

Gustav Heinemann (1899–1976), German politician (SPD), 1969–74 German president

Even though I was well aware of the truth lying in those wise words, I sensed something about today was even more than our children’s growing independence.

The whole family was standing outside the house at eight in the morning. Daniela’s suitcases had already been loaded into the SUV when she gave her brother one last hug. Just at the right moment, the neighbors’ daughter came running across the street to take a farewell picture of the four of us with her cell phone. Then we headed out.

My husband, Gerd, and I took Daniela to the airport in Zurich. We arrived early and had plenty of time to drink a cappuccino together before she went through the security gate. One last wave and she had vanished out of our sight. Daniela was going to do an internship in Chicago for the next six months before she would complete her bachelor’s degree in Germany.

On the drive home, Gerd was steering the wheel while he kept saying, “She’ll be fine, she’s going her own way now. That’s great.” I had the feeling he was really trying to convince himself because, in reality, he didn’t like the idea of his little girl finally leaving her parents’ home and being on her own for a few months at all. He had always been the one to travel for months at a time because his job demanded it. He needed his family to manage without him then. But now that it was “his little girl” who was leaving the nest, it was a completely new situation that clearly unsettled him.

I was very happy for Daniela and was certain the six months would fly by, but I still had this strange feeling that something had come to an end today.

A few days later, Gerd was already off on another business trip. One of his many projects was constantly taking him around the world; I often didn’t even know what city he was in.

Our son Justin was in 9th grade and I worked in the office at a medium-sized company. While Justin spent most of his free time with his friends, I enjoyed a few nice autumn days taking little excursions with my mother. Occasionally, we would have coffee in the sun at a café on Lake Constance and were always thrilled when we would get an email from Daniela on our cell phones. That always made us feeling close to her; as though we were part of her life, although she was miles away. I had very little contact with Gerd and it was usually brief. He extended his stay in China several times because the project required more time and work than planned. But isn’t that how it had always been? I didn’t really think much about it.

Gerd and Daniela, however, skyped almost every day. Due to the time difference, they often met online when Gerd returned to his hotel in the evening and Daniela was getting ready for work in the morning. So, one day, Daniela told me she was worried about her dad. For weeks, he had been complaining about a cold, bronchitis and a fever, but stoically refused to see a doctor. By email, I suggested he consult a traditional Chinese pharmacist. Or maybe Gerd could find a doctor who worked with Traditional Chinese Medicine and acupuncture. Still, Gerd refused and pointed out that his Chinese employees brought him freshly brewed tea every day, with the words “Good for your health! Good for your health!” and that his condition would improve soon. Well then, from his mouth to God’s ears. He was, after all, an adult and had done just fine alone abroad for nearly 20 years, so he was fully capable of making his own decisions.

After all, I had quite enough to deal with at home. My job as a CEO’s assistant was demanding and continuously provided me new challenges. Justin had to be taken care of and last but not least, there was always plenty to do in and around the house. I preferred to spend what little free time I had at home reading books. For quite some time now, a dear friend of mine had been giving me books from Sanaya Roman and Jana Haas.

But my favorite author remained Louise L. Hay. I repeatedly read her books and still could find deep truth in her words every time.

“Everything I ever need to know reveals to me at divine time in perfect ways.”

Louise L. Hay

Back from China

On the second-to-last weekend in October, the time had come and Gerd finally returned from China. His plane landed on Friday and he had arranged to spend the weekend at a vineyard with old school friends starting on Saturday, which meant that he would put his suitcase down at home one day, just to leave for Freiburg the next morning. The fact that he still wasn’t feeling well couldn’t stop him from going.

On Sunday afternoon, he came back from his trip and went straight to the soccer field to say hi to his friends and fellow players from the athletics club.

On Monday, he appeared on time for work at the machine manufacturing plant where he had worked for 21 years, only to learn he would have to travel to another customer the very next day.

Since there was an event taking place at my company at the same time, I called him on Tuesday at five in the afternoon to tell him I would be going out with the other conference attendees that evening. He was just on his way from the office to the company parking lot and I heard the rattling of his laptop trolley’s wheels, which he dragged behind him as he told me, fouriously, how angry he was that he was being sent to this customer far up in East Germany because, supposedly, no one else could do the job. He completely refused to understand this decision. After all, he had just spent seven weeks in China and someone had to have been handling the customer in Thuringia while he was gone! The choice to send him there now remained a complete mystery to him. The colleague assigned to accompany him also demanded that he take him to Ikea on the way up there so he could buy a desk there for his son who was studying in Karlsruhe. That meant the long drive to Thuringia would be even longer due to the stop at the home-center and the detour to Karlsruhe. Gerd just couldn’t calm down.

After about ten minutes, we ended the conversation and I set off to the meeting with my foreign colleagues. In order to save time, I decided to take a narrow country lane right through the woods. But after a short distance, I had to stop and turn the car around, because a huge tree, obviously struck by a lightning, blocked my way. Seeing the mighty tree beaten by raw forces of nature, left me feeling rather uneasy, so I turned around and drove on the regular street now.

Since my colleagues wanted to freshen up in their hotel rooms first, I was still alone in the restaurant when my phone rang. It was Justin, saying. “Mom, dad is lying down on the floor here, gasping for air!”

Ground Zero

For the next five hours, paramedics, emergency doctors and surgeons fought hard to keep Gerd alive. The rescue helicopter had landed on the soccer field near our home, but couldn’t carry him because Gerd’s heart wouldn’t have been able to withstand the pressure equalization. At least they were able to provide him with nitroglycerin as an emergency medication. A remedy which every rescue helicopter is supposed to keep on board.

Nitroglycerin

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia:

Nitroglycerin (NG), also known as nitroglycerine, trinitroglycerin (TNG), trinitroglycerine, nitro, glyceryl trinitrate (GTN), or 1,2,3-trinitroxypropane, is a heavy, colorless, oily, explosiv liquid most commonly produced by nitrating glycerol with white fuming nitric acid under conditions appropriate to the formation of the nitric acid ester. Chemically, the substance is an organic nitrate compound rather than a nitro compound, yet the traditional name is often retained.

For over 130 years, nitroglycerin has been used medically as a potent vasodilator to treat heart conditions, such as angina pectoris and chronic heart failure. Though it was previously known that these beneficial effects are due to nitroglycerin being converted to nitric oxide, a potent vasodilator, it was not until 2002 that the enzyme for this conversion was discovered to be mitochondrial aldehyde dehydrogenase.[4] Nitroglycerin is available in sublingual tablets, sprays, and patches.[5]

I now drove from the restaurant to the district hospital right away, where I waited together with my brother-in-law for the ambulance to arrive which seemed to take forever. From the parking lot, I could see hospital staff standing on the ramp and almost an hour later, I walked over to them to ask when my husband might be expected. First, no one would tell me anything, until finally they said, “This can take a long time. If he even makes it at all!”

When the ambulance finally arrived, I could see from afar that the emergency doctor inside the van was standing up and performing CPR because, even after several resuscitation attempts with the defibrillator, Gerd’s condition still wasn’t stable.

The ambulance doors opened and I could see the entire team was completely exhausted. Sweat poured from the men’s foreheads and trickled down their faces. When the stretcher was pushed out of the vehicle, I finally caught a glimpse of Gerd’s body. His orange-striped shirt had been cut open, his bare torso was hooked up to wires, and I couldn’t tell if he was conscious or not. I wanted to run towards him, but paramedics stopped me. They told me, I wasn’t allowed to accompany the patient, but instead had to wait in the emergency room until someone would come to get me. My brother-in-law, Peter, followed me inside the hospital.

While my sister Beate and her husband, Hardy, had stayed home with Justin, Peter had driven to the hospital to be there for me. Now he told me in detail what had happened since Justin’s phone call.

Because he hadn’t been able to reach our general practitioner, Justin kept his wits together and immediately notified 911 before he started mouth-to-mouth and CPR right away.

Since my sister lived in our neighborhood, I tried to call her on my cell from the restaurant, hoping she could help in any way. I had just switched from my old telephone to a modern touch-screen and I found it difficult to use. At first, I didn’t know how to open the window, couldn’t find the contacts folder and I felt like throwing the stupid thing from the mountain terrace where I stood at that point. But finally I was able to handle it so that the four of them met on the street at our house at nearly the same time: my two sisters and their husbands. While Sigi and Beate showed the two ambulances and the emergency doctor their way, Peter and Hardy, both trained first responders, performed first aid. Justin had already bedded his father on a thick floor pillow and was continuously blowing air into his mouth and nose. But Peter and Hardy realized Gerd was clinically dead at that point. His eyes were open wide and bulging, his mouth was slack and open and they couldn’t find a pulse in his neck. The emergency doctor used the defibrillator several times, oxygen was pumped into Gerd’s lungs and, after more than an hour, Gerd was finally carried into the ambulance. Yet they couldn’t leave for the hospital now, because Gerd’s heart kept stopping several times.

Out on the street, my sisters had overheard a phone call between the emergency doctor and the chief physician at the hospital, who instructed him to cease resuscitation at a certain point. But he wouldn’t obey. Maybe he simply couldn’t disappoint Justin, who had fought inexorably to keep his father alive and had never stopped trying to resuscitate him.

A few hours later in the hospital stairwell, I happened to run into the emergency doctor who had led the rescue effort. We had never met before, but recognized each other in this awkward situation. He abruptly stopped on the stairs, looked at me and told me, in a few brief words, that Gerd had suffered a massive heart attack. The whole team had done everything they could. Even on their way to the hospital, they had to stop the ambulance several times to resume life-saving measures. What happened next was entirely in God’s hands. He looked at me silently for quite some time. I didn’t say anything, didn’t ask any questions. He was still clearly exhausted. Then, as though giving me confirmation of his words, he handed me the certificate he had issued:

Myocardial infarction

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia:

Myocardial infarction (MI) or acute myocardial infarction (AMI), commonly known as a heart attack, occurs when blood flow stops to a part of the heart causing damage to the heart muscle. The most common symptom is chest pain or discomfort which may travel into the shoulder, arm, back, neck, or jaw. Often it is in the center or left side of the chest and lasts for more than a few minutes. The discomfort may occasionally feel like heartburn. Other symptoms may include shortness of breath, nausea, feeling faint, a cold sweat, or feeling tired.[1] About 30 % of people have atypical symptoms,[2] with women more likely than men to present atypically.[3] Among those over 75 years old, about 5 % have had an MI with little or no history of symptoms.[4] An MI may cause heart failure, an irregular heartbeat, or cardiac arrest.[5][6]

In contrast, the definition according to Louise L. Hay’s “little blue book” named YOU CAN HEAL YOUR LIFE, says

Squeezing all the joy out of the heart in favor of money or position, etc.

While my brother-in-law waited for news from the doctors, I went down to see the hospital’s administration to register. They asked me countless questions which I was only partly able to answer. Of course, I knew all of Gerd’s personal information, but couldn’t tell his insurance number or all the other details which were obviously desperately needed in case of emergency. The on-duty clerk looked at me uncomprehendingly, when at one point to my own dismay I simply couldn’t stand this endless question and answer game any longer and just blurted out that I didn’t even know if my husband was still alive and that I wasn’t willing to continue this questionnaire any longer.

Instead of showing some understanding, he ordered me to finish the admission file anyway! Just then, another hospital employee joined us. She sensed the strained situation and my emotional condition instinctively, and called to inquire about my husband.

Despite several attempts, she wasn’t able to reach anyone. “Look, everyone is obviously working hard in the shock room to keep your husband alive. That’s why no one had time to answer the phone. You will have to remain patient.”

Definition according to Wikipedia:

A shock room, also called a reanimation room,[1] is a component of emergency rooms in hospitals in Europe[2]. It serves as primary care unit for trauma patients and patients with polytrauma. Emergency patients with problems pertaining to internal medicine are not usually treated there, which delineates the concept from that of an American emergency room.[2]

At 11 p.m., Gerd was being moved to the intensive care unit. In all these hours filled with fear and terrifying uncertainty, none of the clinic personnel had given me any information about his serious condition. Through a sliding door just opening at that very moment, I could only catch a glimpse of a gurney with a critical patient being pushed by. And even now, I still wasn’t allowed to stay by his side. His body was connected to tubes and needed artificial respiration.

Finally, a doctor explained to me that a stent was inserted into his coronal artery, and they would be keeping Gerd in a medically induced coma for the next two or three days, and we would just have to wait and see what happens.

So without even having seen Gerd, Peter and I were sent back home where my whole family had gathered in the kitchen. Justin had heated up the beef stew Gerd had cooked the evening before. They were supposed to eat something in order to keep their strength up. “Food is also soothing the soul,” we always said.

Everyone except for me, had seen Gerd before he was taken to the hospital and no one had really expected him to still be alive. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any good news to tell now. After all, I hadn’t even been allowed to be with him!

To carry Gerd out of the house hours before, a glass door had to be removed in the stairwell. Unfortunately, one of the paramedics had crushed his finger and injured himself during his attempt to help. So this door was leaning against the wall on the second floor now and when cleaning up the rescue area, which was strewn with packaging material from the numerous devices and disposable syringes, the door started to slip, slammed against a corner and burst into a million glass pellets. Those glass pellets sprang from the upper level, through the open staircase straight down to the cellar and hid in every corner and even in every shoe on the shelf on the wall.

After the initial fright, my sisters were almost glad to have something to clean up again just to break the uncomfortable silence and tension left due to the trembling uncertainty regarding Gerd’s condition.

The next morning at five, Gerd’s cell phone rang. The phone was placed next to my bed in case the hospital called. However, it was his colleague calling to ask where Gerd was, as they were supposed to drive to Thuringia. I felt like I had just fallen asleep. I was nauseated and hadn’t been able to get any rest due to my fear and worry about my husband, so I tersely told him Gerd was in the hospital after suffering a heart attack.

There was no reaction on the other end of the line; perhaps he thought it was a bad joke.

I would have liked to have said more, especially about the argument he had had with Gerd about the detour to Ikea. But what was the point? Could I really blame a colleague for Gerd’s heart attack? Instead, we both hung up.

When I went to visit Gerd later that morning, he was all stretched out, completely still, on the hospital bed. The machines issued their regular noises, but otherwise, the room was filled with silence. Gerd had been put in a single room at the far end of the hall in the intensive care unit. They wanted to make sure it was quiet around him for the next few days so his body could recover from the trauma.

When Gerd still hadn’t woken up on the fourth day in a row, I asked the attending physician about this circumstance. He explained to me that a period of two to three days of recovery was simply based on estimation. No one could tell whether or when Gerd would ever wake up. All they knew for sure was he had survived the night although predicted otherwise.

I was completely unaware his prognosis was so bad, and now those bold words hit me hard! An excruciating pain shot right through my heart as the floor broke away beneath me.

The next night, something scared me deeply and I awoke with a startle, knowing something bad had happened to Gerd. I listened to hear if the telephone was ringing, but no one had called.

Early in the morning, I drove to the hospital and hurried to Gerd’s bed. The equipment was still incessantly performing its duties; the numbers on the monitors hadn’t changed. But Gerd was running a fever and his right thigh was swollen like a balloon.

The operation during which the stent was inserted via the femoral artery near the groin had apparently caused internal bleeding which had gone unnoticed. And if that wasn’t a big enough threat, I also had to worry he might suffer brain damage from the high fever. At a body temperature of 106 degrees, the brain swells and presses against the skull. To prevent this, they would lower his temperature with cold, wet cloths spread out across his bare torso. It made him look eerie and somewhat like a mummy.

At the same time, the windows in the hospital room stood wide open! When I asked the nurses about it they explained to me that fresh air was very important for the entire ward! And since visiting hours weren’t until the afternoon, I wasn’t even allowed to be here at this early hour!

Fresh air? Certainly! But foggy, cold, wet air on an late October day while the patient was lying naked and immobile with a fever?

I stood by Gerd’s bed and tears of anger, fear and helplessness ran down my face. I knew this was a matter of life and death for Gerd. Did he have the will to return to this world or had he already chosen to move on to the next? I had brought a small guardian angel made of rose quartz which I laid in his folded hands. I also had the Abaris1 arrow with me to provide him with even more healing energy. Unfortunately, I was only allowed to stay with him for a few minutes because my presence in the morning supposedly disrupted the station’s work flow.

1 Energy Stick for Healing Support

The next day, Gerd had bilateral pneumonia. His fever still hadn’t gone down and the doctors were considering opening his skull to give his brain more room.

As on the days prior, I performed different Jin Shin Jiutsu techniques, an old Chinese healing current, to activate Gerd’s animal spirits and harmonize his vital flows. His body was ice cold from the wet cloths and it was a miracle his blood was still circulating at all.

Many desperate hours later, his fever eventually went down and his skull didn’t have to be opened. But no one could tell if his brain had suffered additional damage. I feared more and more for his life when I suddenly realized that Gerd would no longer wake up from the coma on his own volition.

In my unbridled despair I prayed to God and asked for the very best outcome and Gerd’s best interest, when I pulled the card “Breathe” from Doreen Virtue’s Archangel Oracle Deck. This was the ultimate answer to my prayer, and I put the picture of Archangel Raphael next to Gerd’s bed right away. From now on, Raphael himself would watch over him and remind his lungs to keep breathing deeply and constantly.

At that point, a nurse asked me to take home Gerd’s golden necklace with the Jesus pendant which I had placed over his bed earlier. But I wanted to leave it right there since Gerd had worn it around his neck for years. He had bought it in Mexico a long time ago and never taken it off since. Two weeks later, the chain had disappeared and no one knew where it had gone. May it bring its new owner luck and protection!

Justin hadn’t visited his father at intensive care yet. He had fought so desperately to keep him alive during the heart attack, but still wasn’t able to face his father’s lifeless body in the hospital. Every night, Justin lay awake in bed and barely talked during the day. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw his father’s face in pain, fighting with death, and therefore he couldn’t get any sleep.

To improve the situation for everybody, I decided to get in touch with my daughter, Daniela, who was still in Chicago and asked her to fly home as soon as possible to join her brother visiting their father. That was the only chance I saw to bring Gerd back.

But first, Justin urgently needed help. He couldn’t handle the situation alone. He had already had too many sleepless nights. We made an appointment with Mrs. Sigler who worked as a shaman and had helped me personally deal with a life crisis before.

On a soul journey, she was able to discover that Justin’s personal spirit animal was a giant bear. Because of the shock he had experienced, some fear had settled in his head, which immediately dissolved when his spirit animal made itself known. Inner strength and self-confidence could once again blossom. The Archangel Raphael gave him Aesculapius’s staff and Justin would have to decide for himself whether to accept it or not. Being a helper and healer was his destiny.

On October 31, Daniela returned from Chicago and, as planned, the siblings visited their father in the intensive care unit for the first time. I waited outside. The three of them had such a special connection which I didn’t want to disturb because I knew if anyone at all could move Gerd to come back, it was his children.

Unfortunately, the desired success didn’t happen right away. After a few initial hesitations, the two of them spoke to their father as though he were awake. They told him of the past few days, how much he had scared them, how furious Daniela was that he hadn’t listened to her and consulted a doctor while there was still time to take action, and anything else they could think of at the moment. But Gerd didn’t wake up and didn’t give any other indication he even recognized his children were there with him.

Fourteen days after the heart attack, I was called into the doctor’s office. They had to cease artificial respiration, they explained, because if the tube remained in his throat for too long, his vocal cords would be likely to suffer permanent damage. And what would happen if the breathing tube was removed and Gerd would fail to breathe on his own? Should doctors perform a tracheotomy in a worst-case scenario?

Since Gerd had never filed a living will, I had to see a notary to obtain a legal permit from the authorities to make decisions on Gerd’s behalf.

Due to the life and death situation, the notary offered me an appointment the very next day and after a long conversation, issued the necessary paperwork which temporarily authorized me to order life support measures for my husband.

That same day, Gerd’s oxygen tube was removed and artificial respiration was stopped. I stood, spellbound, next to his bed and watched the procedure. Everything went well and Gerd was able to breathe on his own! Thank God! A first essential step toward returning to life had been taken.

From then on, Gerd was able to make loud noises, but they sounded more like a threatened wild animal than a human being. In retrospect, I think his consciousness returned successively, but he was completely terrified and distraught, still caught somewhere in between the worlds. The doctors didn’t know how to deal with him either, so whenever he became too anxious “for his own protection”, he was administered a drug that plunged him back into complete darkness. For the very moment, this practice was certainly a relief for everybody, especially for the people around him who were frightened by these primal noises. But not for the long-term, because this forced him to go through this semi-conscious state again and again.

We kept trying to think of ways to encourage Gerd to come back to life.

Meanwhile, we had burned a CD for him with a few songs that might mean something to him. There were songs he had loved to listen to the year before and songs he had sung loudly with his friends at a party at a soccer camp in Croatia. Somehow, we all saw that film scene in our minds when the hero suddenly opens his eyes because he hears a certain melody and the happy ending is in sight. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen.

Still, I put the book “Stand up” from Boris Grundl on the shelf next to Gerd’s hospital bed. Only a few months ago, we had attended an inspiring lecture at which Boris Grundl impressively demonstrated how he had found a new and even better life when he became paraplegic, which he had initially felt was the end of the world. If Gerd woke up, he should be immediately reminded of that and realize that people can start over, especially after such a bitter twist of fate.

One day later, I wanted to visit Gerd late in the evening, but was not allowed to see him. He was very restless and was being treated by two nurses. I was asked to be patient and wait outside in the station’s waiting room. Unfortunately, this happened again and again. When Gerd grew restless, he was given another dose of a sedative that put him back into the artificial coma. So we could never tell how much of his unconsciousness was caused by the artificial coma. How strong were his will and power to return to this life? Where did one stop and the other begin? I was told this was best for him because such massive restlessness might additionally harm his psyche and he might injure himself thrashing about in his bed. To avoid injuries, he had been “strapped” to the bed when I came to visit quite often. Seeing him like that just broke my heart.

While I was waiting to be let into Gerd’s room that evening, the head of the clinic was still on his late ward rounds. When he saw me, he sat down with me in silence for a little while and finally told me he had recently lost his best friend to a heart attack. No one had been around to help him, so he had died alone, suddenly and unexpectedly. I could sense how it had emotionally affected the doctor himself when he asked how old Justin was that he had acted so prudently, thus saving his father’s life. It was very lucky for Gerd that he had and, yet, it was a huge strain on Justin to have seen his father fighting for his life. Regardless of how things continued for Gerd, I couldn’t allow Justin to blame himself for not having done enough. In fact, his behavior had far exceeded what was humanly possible!

Despite all this, Gerd’s condition didn’t allow for a prognosis, the doctor said, so we had to be prepared for anything at any time.

Shortly thereafter, the doctor accompanied me to Gerd’s room. “The walk from the entryway to the hospital room is always hard because I never know in what condition I would find my husband in,” I remarked. But today, I could hear Gerd screaming in despair from afar. Although he wouldn’t say any recognizable words, it was clear he was terrified. He thrashed around in bed and made noises that sounded more like an animal than a human. I went straight to him and laid one hand on his forehead and the other on the back of his neck and whispered soothing words in his ear. Gerd quickly grew calm, his heart rate stabilized at a normal level and his body relaxed. The display on the vitals monitor returned to a normal curve. The Jin Shin Jiutsu “emergency current” was working and performed its miracle cure. When I turned around after a few minutes, I realized the head of the clinic was gone. He had watched from the door as Gerd reacted positively to my presence and interpreted this as a sure sign that he recognized me. The doctor then ordered that an early rehabilitation spot for Gerd be rigorously sought. The clinics in the vicinity that came into question were all full, but they eventually found one in the Bavarian Alps.

However, in order to be moved there, Gerd had to be able to be tube-fed which first required an opening which, of course, would place additional, extreme stress on his body.

A few days later, a gastric feeding tube was inserted and Gerd was then immediately transported by ambulance to the neurological intensive care unit in the Bavarian Alps.

November 2011–January 2012 Neurological Clinic, Bavarian Alps

My mother and I drove there directly from home, in our own car, and waited in the hospital ward for Gerd’s arrival, which was delayed for hours. Naturally, I immediately regretted not accompanying him in the ambulance, but how would I have gotten back home later? Unfortunately, my mom never had a driver’s license herself. Due to a rare eye disease in her younger years, she never passed the requested visual test.

I didn’t muster the courage to ask the two paramedics why they had needed so long to get there. Gerd had been transported wearing only a hospital gown and his body was ice cold when he was finally lying in his new bed after a transportation time of more than three hours. Although he still wasn’t completely conscious, he screamed in pain and fear. The situation was gruesome and inhumane for all of us.

At the rehabilitation clinic, he was given his own room with a balcony, but the room wasn’t equipped for intensive care at all. I was very worried about how Gerd could even be monitored and fully cared for here.

But the worst was still before us. After a while, two neurologists appeared and spoke to Gerd with loud voices, “Sorry, Sir, but since you won’t talk to us, we have to annoy you a bit to see if you’re even feeling anything!” and then they took turns pinching Gerd’s shins!

At this point I just wanted to take my husband and flee the hospital right away, but again I didn’t have the courage!

At least, it got better later. The nurses were very friendly and caring, talked to him quietly and made a good impression on me.

Once his room was equipped with a monitor for observing Gerd’s vitals from the nurses’ station, I calmed down. For the first time, Gerd was fed via the new gastric feeding tube. When my mother and I left a few hours later, he was lying peacefully in his new bed.

Later that day, as I lay in bed myself, my thoughts were of course with Gerd. What awaited him at the new clinic? What progress could be expected? How would he fare? Was he being well taken care of? Who was taking care of him when I wasn’t there?

I still had to go to work every day and that meant driving fifteen miles to work and then, in the evening, all the way back to the Bavarian Alps. It was winter time so I had to spend several hours on the road each time and it wouldn’t be possible for me to visit Gerd every day during the week anymore. I poured all of my worries into my evening prayers which, of course, included the best wishes for Gerd’s recovery. This personal conversation with God allowed me to finally find peace and fall sound asleep.

When I awoke the next morning, I naturally wanted to know how Gerd had coped his first night in the new environment, but at the same time, I was afraid to call the clinic and hear the news. I mustered all of my courage and dialed the ward’s number. The response was far too short and matter-of-fact. Gerd had had a very restless night; otherwise, there was nothing to report.

That weekend, I went to the clinic early in the morning and was just about to go into his room, when a nurse pulled me aside. “Don’t be frightened Mrs. Kaehler, there’s news! This morning, when I went into his room to open the curtains, I said, ‘Good morning, Mr. Kaehler!’ like I always do, and was completely dumbfounded when I heard him respond, ‘Good morning!’ Gerd had sat up in bed on his own and responded to her greeting! She was so shocked; she had to sit down on a chair herself. “It was a situation that felt like someone had awakened from the dead!” It was the very first time since his heart attack, nearly four weeks prior, that Gerd had said anything comprehensible; and of all things after the gastric feeding tube procedure and the terrible ambulance transport the day before! That he even found the strength to sit up all by himself, simply was beyond imagination.

Completely overjoyed I hurried into the hospital room, but when I actually saw Gerd sitting up in bed, it hit me like a lightning bolt and I was only able to run out of the room before I fell to my knees in the hall, sobbing. Two nurses were immediately at my side supporting me. They didn’t try to persuade me to go back into the room, but instead understood that this new situation had literally knocked me over!

When I was finally able to approach Gerd, I realized this wasn’t the person I had expected. Outwardly, he looked like Gerd; he even looked fairly good. His facial expression was relaxed, betraying the stress he had endured over the last four weeks. But Gerd reacted like a stranger. His responses were uncertain and reserved.

For sure, he just had to get used to the new surroundings and that would certainly take some time, I tried to convince myself.

But it was far more than that. Gerd had left this world on October 25 and had now returned more or less involuntarily. He looked very distant and didn’t seem happy at all to be conscious again. Bit-by-bit, we learned more about his condition, without really understanding it. It was a good thing that he even recognized me. The doctor later told me there was a very good chance he wouldn’t remember anyone.

Gerd had no recollection of his heart attack at all. When we told him about it, he listened, amazed, and kept saying, “I don’t remember that at all. I just can’t remember.” And not just the day on which he’d had the heart attack; he couldn’t recall several years prior.

When the neurologist asked how old he was, he said he was thirty-five and lived in Tecumseh, Michigan. So he was living in a time when we had immigrated to the USA and our son was born. Apparently, he had particularly fond memories of that time, into which he kept fleeing. Thus, he often spoke to the nurses in English. Usually when he didn’t like something, he preferred to express his displeasure in English.

It was a true miracle he’d had the strength to sit up without help. But yet it was very painful for him to turn over.

Tests were ordered which showed several ribs had been broken during CPR. No one had paid attention to it thus far, so it was very good luck none of his broken ribs had perforated his lung!

Again we realized that Gerd had escaped death more than once, not just during the heart attack, but several times thereafter, for instance, the internal bleeding after the stent operation, the bilateral pneumonia, the high fever, the brain swelling, and now the broken ribs. It became clearer and clearer that there had to be a reason why Gerd was still on this Earth. And now his consciousness was fleeing to a happier time!

That day, Doreen Virtue posted this card online:

“Your card for today is reassuring you that there is a purpose, blessing, and lesson within every experience in your life. The painful experiences have changed your life, and hopefully you have come to terms with lessons and forgiveness, so that you don’t stay stuck in fear or anger. Once we learn the lesson of a repeated situation, we never have to experience that situation again. What have you learned in your life that has helped you to make peace with some of the painful experiences that you’ve gone through? Your past could help someone else who still needs to understand that important life lesson.”

Doreen Virtue

The past few weeks of hope and worry had sapped my energy. While I had tried to obtain the best treatment for Gerd and continued to work full time, my eating and sleeping habits had become rather unhealthy. I was physically drained and exhausted.

Even worse, I had completely neglected Justin. Instead of taking care of him, he supported and kept me stable while, in contrast, he never spoke about his own feelings.

Once again, it was about time to go see my healer. While working with the energies, Mrs. Sigler realized how badly Gerd was doing and how my health had suffered under the whole situation and therefore she advised me to “leave his body to the doctors and live your own life.”

I knew she meant well, but this statement shocked me and I couldn’t accept it at all.

As Justin and I drove home from the clinic on Christmas Eve 2011, we remained both very quiet and spoke very little. We felt very sad because we had to leave Gerd at the hospital and couldn’t celebrate Christmas at home with him. That night, I had to pay special attention to the road. Ice and snow made the ride extremely difficult and tiring. As we drove out of a small forest, Justin suddenly discovered a shiny comet in the night sky! We were excited about this glowing sign of holy night and took comfort and new courage.

In order to gain some distance and think more clearly, I dared flying to the USA the day after Christmas to visit my daughter, Daniela, who was still completing her internship abroad in Chicago. She lived in a small company-paid apartment in Schaumberg, IL, equipped with kitchen, desk, bed and bathroom which was furnished more for practicality than aesthetics. But the queen-sized bed was big enough for both of us.

Daniela also had a company car at her disposal and therefore she was able to pick me up at the airport. While eating a small dinner, I reported on Gerd’s progress in detail before we went to bed early.

In the days that followed, we had breakfast together and when she had to go to work, she would let me out somewhere on her way or I would simply walk over to the mall which stood only a few hundred yards from the apartment complex. It was windy and an icy cold had a grip on the city, so I had to dress warmly every time I left the house to go somewhere. After all, there’s a reason Chicago is called the “Windy City”.

When Daniela’s schedule allowed, we would meet for lunch or, at the latest, for dinner.

So I spent a few wonderful days in Illinois doing various activities and yet I still had sufficient opportunity to relax and get my thoughts in order while I knew Gerd was being well taken care of at the rehabilitation clinic.

My joy was complete when we discovered the “Grand Lux Café” where Gerd and I had eaten years before on the Magnificent Mile on Michigan Avenue! I hadn’t expected the restaurant to even exist anymore, so Daniela and I spontaneously decided to eat there on New Year’s Eve and then go watch the fireworks on the pier. Even though it was too late to make a reservation already, we were lucky and got a lovely table by the window directly overlooking the Magnificent Mile!

As I enjoyed the Christmas lights and watched the people hurrying by outside on the street, a few tears ran down my face because dear Gerd couldn’t be with us this time.

A few days after I returned, a friend of mine told me about Mrs. Heinz who practiced energetic spinal adjustment. I got in touch with the practitioner and explained Gerd’s situation to her. Since he wasn’t in the condition to go see Mrs. Heinz at her office, I was thrilled when she said she would be willing to visit Gerd at the rehabilitation clinic to see if she could help him.

We made an appointment for the following Saturday. I arrived there a few hours prior to the time agreed and was truly astonished when the chief physician personally appeared in Gerd’s room that early in the morning. After all, it was the weekend! Somehow, the professor must have heard about our plans and was curious to see what we were up to do with his patient.

I hoped and prayed he would leave the ward before Mrs. Heinz arrived. Although we certainly weren’t planning anything nefarious, it suddenly felt like a conspiracy.

Somehow, the practitioner managed to spend a few minutes alone with Gerd. When she approached his bed, he had his back turned and his eyes closed. We couldn’t tell if he was asleep or just dozing. Mrs. Heinz stood behind him and held her hands over Gerd’s chest and head without touching him, when Gerd suddenly took a deep breath, exhaled forcefully through his mouth and opened his eyes. I was startled with surprise. But Mrs. Heinz was beaming and said the fact that he reacted so severely to the energy she had given him meant he was starting to heal. We could expect significant progress over the next six months!

After the treatment, Gerd slept deeply for several hours and I was blissful.

“Our intellect can tell us what we should better leave. But our hearts can tell us what we have to do.”

Joseph Joubert

To me, the next logical step was to remove the tube from his stomach and start getting Gerd used to eating and drinking regular food and water. Unfortunately, my opinion led to an argument with the chief physician. From his medical point of view, he found it essential for Gerd to continue artificially feeding because that was the only way to determine how much food and, in particular, fluids, Gerd had consumed every day. I explained to him how Gerd must feel not having had anything to drink for weeks; that the mucus membranes in his mouth and throat were completely dried out. And enjoying a delicious meal had always meant to me an increase in quality in life.

But he was convinced Gerd was doing fine and the chance of choking and causing another lung infection was way too much of a risk!

Since I knew that food and drink had always been one of Gerd’s favorites, I insisted they’d give it a try, and the chief physician supervised personally! He fed Gerd, who was strapped to a wheelchair, a spoonful of yogurt while a nurse and I watched in suspense. Gerd clearly enjoyed the taste and had no problems chewing and swallowing! As though he wanted to prove me wrong, now the doctor fed Gerd several spoonsful of yogurt at shorter and shorter intervals, but still Gerd easily ate the food he was fed and clearly enjoyed the change. He even made a few happy sounds and smacked his tongue. “Mmmm! Good!”

Almost annoyed, the doctor gruffly placed the cup of yogurt and the spoon on the table and left the nurse and me alone in the hospital room with Gerd.

On the contrary, the outcomes of the neurological examinations were less pleasant as they indicated Gerd was blind! I could hardly believe that, because when someone spoke to him, he always turned his head in the direction of the speaker. His blue eyes seemed so alive they gave the impression he could see. Unfortunately, the test results were very distinct and left no room for speculation nor hope for improvement.

But there was even more to deal with. As often as we could, we moved Gerd from his hospital bed to a wheelchair and took him for a little ride right through the numerous buildings of the clinic, where we would usually end up at the small self-service cafeteria.

Whenever Gerd heard the sound of the automated coffee machine, his ears would perk up, he would turn his head in that direction and start tapping on the surface of the wheelchair tray table as though he were programming a machine.

I wasn’t sure if I should consider this reaction good or bad. On the one hand, any reaction to his environment was a good thing, but on the other, it showed how connected Gerd was to his job that it even had become instinct. He clearly knew what to do when it came to machines, but couldn’t recognize that he wasn’t at work, but in an early rehabilitation clinic, strapped to a wheelchair! The degree to which Gerd was helplessly trapped in a complex situation remained unclear to outsiders and frightened me in particular!

So I tried to think of alternative ways how to use Gerd’s instinctive reactions for his brain’s rehab and considered bringing a kid’s laptop to the hospital, that Justin had played with years ago.

The display showed pictures and figures and one was supposed to say their names aloud. Or it said English words which the person would repeat in German and vice-versa. Intuitively I thought it would be good training. But then I started questioning everything: what if Gerd was insulted by me bringing him a child’s toy, or even worse, what if Gerd couldn’t operate the child’s toy after all?

Nevertheless, I dug out the yellow-red colored laptop from the garage. It even still worked perfectly after all these years! I tried out a few programs and everything went smoothly. I almost wished the stupid thing had been broken, since that would have made the whole matter moot. Should I take it to the clinic or leave it? Could I handle the disappointment if Gerd couldn’t handle the toy?

A few days later, Gerd’s hiking friends came to visit. They had driven to the Alps with mixed feelings and high expectations. They must have felt a bit melancholy on the drive, since they had just driven the stretch with Gerd a few months prior to go hiking in the mountains and spend a weekend of camaraderie together. This time, they even brought alcohol-free beer with them as a treat for Gerd.

No one ever told me exactly what happened that weekend, but his friends had not been prepared to see Gerd like that. Sure, they knew he needed help, but the fact that his disabilities were so complex was hard for his friends to cope with and very few of them were able to handle it at all.

Even worse, Gerd couldn’t remember his friends’ visit later on. When I asked him if he’d had visitors, he denied. Had his friends given him a gift? What had they talked about? He responded no to all of my questions and when I tried to press him, he only grew angry.

A few weekends later, Gerd received a visit from his friend and supervisor, Robert. He arrived with two huge bouquets of flowers together with get well cards signed by Gerd’s colleagues and the management.

I had encouraged Robert to visit Gerd in the hospital earlier, but he always used the excuse that only close relatives were allowed in the intensive care unit. Robert had experienced his own “ground zero” a few years ago when he was in a coma for a couple of days after having a stroke. So he knew approximately what to expect with Gerd. Now the time had come for Robert to face his own fears and visit his friend and colleague.

That Sunday, my mother and Justin had both joined me going to the clinic. When Robert arrived, Justin met him in the parking lot to show his way to the ward.

Before he was allowed to go into the hospital room, we all had to wait in the hallway while the nurses got Gerd ready, strapped him in to the chair and then wheeled him out.

For some reason, I was terribly nervous. Sometimes, Gerd wouldn’t let the nurses touch him and screamed as they washed and dressed him. Somehow, I constantly had the feeling I had to protect him and make sure he made the best possible impression on the others. If Gerd didn’t recall something or couldn’t say anything, I felt like I had failed personally. Like an over-motivated mother that felt guilty when her child got bad grades in school. For years, I still believed Gerd couldn’t cope with his disability, couldn’t accept his fate, but finally I realized, I couldn’t either!

Whatever Robert may have thought when he saw his friend, he kept it to himself and talked to Gerd as “normally” as he could. I breathed a sigh of relief. Robert was in fact one of the few people who was able to deal with Gerd’s condition. And Gerd was clearly happy to see him and would have loved to return straight to the company with him and start working again.

Although it was fairly cold outside, Robert took Gerd for a walk through the gardens at the rehabilitation clinic and when they returned his face was all smiles. Robert had the feeling Gerd could see very well, since he looked back at the people they ran into and was able to differentiate between men and women! Robert’s positive feedback was proof to me that Gerd really was making progress.

Over the next few weeks, his rehabilitation program was expanded: practicing eating and drinking with therapeutic supervision was now added to the plan. Besides, Gerd also started practicing walking on a treadmill. In order to prevent the risk of falling, Gerd was strapped to the two handles.

Whenever Justin was nearby, he had to assist the nurses with their work. When doing so, the boy usually proved acting far more sensitive than the therapists.

Apparently, time was always too tight so they couldn’t wait until Gerd had gotten into his wheelchair himself, with his feet properly placed on the rests and ready to go. Therefore, once I got to witness as one of them forcefully turned the wheelchair, tipped and pulled it backward when Gerd couldn’t put up his feet right away! I can still see the panic on his face as he suddenly was being jerked down and back and I am convinced that the shock alone nullified the benefit of that therapy session.

Another time, he was carted up a ramp in the wheelchair and was requested to get on the treadmill himself. But it didn’t work, no matter how hard Gerd tried. Two therapists pushed and pulled at him and encouraged him in loud voices, but nothing helped. I could hear them growing angrier and louder as Gerd drew all of his strength together and finally stood up on the treadmill; with the wheelchair up in the air. They had forgotten to release the straps connecting Gerd to the vehicle first! Tears welled up in my eyes and my throat tightened with anger. I wanted to scream at the therapists, but didn’t. They were clearly embarrassed, but they didn’t apologize to Gerd after all.

A few weeks later, Gerd managed to walk on his own again without help! At the same time, his mind became clearer and we often lay together on his bed in the evening and made plans what to do if he could leave the clinic, completely healthy, this very day. As usual, his biggest priority was set on his working life. The very first thing he wanted to do in case of a miracle healing was going back to “his” company, start traveling and visiting “his” customers again.

At one point, we both realized that couldn’t be in his best interest, since there clearly had to be a reason for his heart attack. Now he was given a new life and this time Gerd had to follow a new and better path.

So we thought of alternatives. In our minds we started a company of our own or imagined selling German pretzels from a booth in some exotic country where we both felt comfortable. But no matter where our day dreams took us, it remained always most important to Gerd that Justin did not suffer from his disability. He didn’t want his son to give anything up out of concern for his father.

We just had to accept that Gerd’s disabilities were far more than “just” blindness. They were complex perception disorders in the broadest sense. His mood fluctuated between two extremes. Once, he was full of hope and convinced he would overcome it all and lead a “normal life” again one day and from one minute to the next he would fall into deep despair and his face expressing a look just like “The Scream”, a famous drawing by Edward Munch.

He often was found walking down the hospital hallway and asking passing nurses or visitors where the terminal was. He had to catch an imaginary plane to Paris and just failed to find his way! It was beyond doubt that his job had remained Gerd’s top priority even now; his subconscious wanted to go back to work! Moreover, he often spoke to people in English instead of German. Did he believe himself being on a business trip in his mind?

Because wandering up and down the hall might also be dangerous for Gerd, precautions had been taken. So one day, when I came to visit, I found him strapped to his wheelchair once again. He was not aware what kind of a vehicle he was sitting in and complained instead, “I want to get out of this car! Get me out here!” He was completely disoriented, “Where am I? What day is it?” He asked these questions incessantly without really being able to understand the responses. I often met him in the hallway, deeply saddened, his face covered in tears. He wanted to go on a trip, but couldn’t find his ticket, he explained.

These terrible hours of depression were followed by phases of complete overconfidence when he wanted to make a phone call, for example, even though he couldn’t push the buttons because he didn’t even know which way to hold the phone. He wanted to go home and resume his normal life, though he would never be able to get his bearings. He believed that if he just managed to leave the hospital, everything would return to “normal” again.

My mother and Justin accompanied me to the hospital almost every weekend. It was the year of his final exams, and Justin’s grades were suffering a lot due to the pain he felt over his dad’s sickness. The boy hadn’t been able to catch a good night’s sleep for months. Whenever he closed his eyes, he remembered his father fighting for his life. His teacher was of the opinion that Justin should be over it after six months! He probably thought the same thing we did earlier; that after surviving a heart attack, Gerd simply would have to focus on living healthier, changing his eating habits for the better, lowering his cholesterol and taking long walks in the fresh air more often. None of us could imagine the challenges we and especially Gerd would have to face every day instead.

The whole nursing staff devotedly worked with Gerd so he would regain a certain level of independence. With the patience of angels, they encouraged him to shave his own face by placing a razor in his right hand so he could do a few strokes. If he had repeated a movement once or twice, with supervision, he was actually able to continue on his own. But then he would stand there, helpless in front of the mirror, wanting to put down the razor without knowing how to do it and where. That proved his muscle memory was still working, but his brain simply wasn’t able to properly process the whole information.

One nurse even rubbed healing oil on the soles of his feet every night and sang Indian mantras and healing songs with him. On those evenings when she was on night shift, I could drive home, feeling completely at ease, assured Gerd would sleep well and was being cherished.

Although Gerd was cared for so lovingly in the Alps, I still pressed for him to be transferred to the rehabilitation clinic at Lake Constance, because that facility had a very good reputation with respect to therapies and reintegration into daily life. So I got in touch with the head of that clinic and did everything in my power to get my husband’s transfer started.

January–March 2012 Lake Constance Rehabilitation Center

At the end of January 2012, the time had come. My sister Beate and I picked Gerd up in Wangen in the morning, packed his things and accompanied him to the exit. Suddenly, Gerd stood still and began to cry in the stairwell. It was totally unexpected and I couldn’t cope with it at first, so I tried to calm him. “Look Gerd, you’ve come such a long way already. You can leave this clinic on your own two feet now and get into our car without help! When you came here 10 weeks ago, you were still in a coma and no one knew if you would ever wake up again in the first place!” “Yes. Yes, you’re right!” Gerd said. He took a very deep breath and squared his shoulders before he entered the elevator which took us down to the clinic exit.

A few weeks later, I learned that one should never try to suppress or hold back tears because those are melted ice which was built up to protect a broken heart. So crying meant the only way a heart could liberate itself to heal, allowing one to breathe freely and finally love again!

With the many other disabilities Gerd had to face now, caused by the oxygen deficiency which had damaged his brain, we had nearly forgotten about the original trigger, namely, the heart attack. Today, his heart finally responded and took an important step toward freeing itself from its suffering!

It was a beautiful, warm pre-spring day in January and we were driving from the Bavarian Alps to Lake Constance, trusting another important phase was starting.

But when we arrived, we were faced with a harsh reality: Gerd was not admitted to the highly praised and acclaimed rehabilitation ward, but was instead booked in the secure ward for the mentally ill!

I hadn’t expected this; I wasn’t aware that this was even an option and the shock shook me to my core. Reaching the second floor of the clinic, you had to ring a doorbell to be admitted by an employee. At the end of the long hallway, a common room was found which was bright and practically furnished. The gorgeous view of Lake Constance which glistened peacefully in the spring sun was so peaceful. Unfortunately, Gerd wasn’t able to enjoy this view, since he couldn’t see.

Moreover, I had no idea how many other patients Gerd would be confronted with here. How was he supposed to find his bearings in a group of people he didn’t know and couldn’t see? He was completely defenseless with his severely limited perception! How was I supposed to drive home and leave him there in good conscience?

Gerd shared a room with another patient, a young man who barely spoke, but apparently fared very well.

The room was sparsely furnished with two beds next to each other against the wall, a small table and two dressers. The wardrobe was locked! So, every time I wanted to put Gerd’s clothing and underwear inside, I had to ask a nurse to unlock the doors first!

Luckily, a young employee soon took him under his wing. He was able to hold a decent conversation with Gerd by asking him about his job. That helped a lot and the two were quickly deep in conversation about countries, people and travels so my consternation slowly abated, but my fear remained.

I still felt like I was betraying Gerd when Beate and I left the secure ward and he remained behind the glass door. Waving his hand, he tried to smile bravely. My heart broke again at the sight of him standing there all by himself. How many times can a heart break before it finally kills you?

I felt numb as I drove home and tried to convince myself over and over again I had done the right thing and acted in Gerd’s best interests. But why did I feel so terrible then? My sister sat glumly in complete silence in the passenger’s seat, giving me the feeling she would have preferred taking her brother-in-law right home with us.

The next day, I wrote this letter to the doctor who had admitted and examined Gerd to his new clinic:

Dear Doctor Gut,

Let me thank you very much for the friendly manner in which you received my husband and me yesterday.

During your examination, I noticed that my husband was completely off-center. One shoulder seemed higher than the other and he didn’t put equal pressure on both feet while walking and instead only stepped down on the balls of his feet. His speech was also very slurred when normally, it is very clear. On your professional opinion, is there any chance he suffered a mild stroke?

I still have a lot of paperwork to complete, but would like to first provide you with the medical reports I have at hand.

Unfortunately, I am not in receipt of the reports from the initial intensive care clinic, so perhaps you might request them directly?

You asked for a brief resume enabling you to get to know your patient better and talk to him about topics that might interest him in order to obtain his attention.

Résumé

Gerd is 49 years old; we are married for 25 years and are raising 2 children together.

Daniela, 23, currently living in Chicago, has not seen her father since he awoke from his coma. However, they talk on the phone regularly.

Justin, 16 years of age, is attending secondary school.

He was there when the heart attack occurred, notified the emergency doctor and actively performed first aid himself. The emergency doctor later said he had saved his father’s life.

For the last 20 years, Gerd has worked as a project manager all over the world, commissioning complex machine systems. That includes, in particular, cooperating both with clients and sub suppliers in order to obtain optimal working conditions and, finally, training the employees on site. He was therefore often away from home for a couple of months in a row.

He partook in all kinds of activities, aiming to get to know each country and its people when he traveled. He was always a very active person and was therefore appreciated and feared as a “Doer”. Now, it seems he gets to know the other side of life.

In his free time, he likes to hike or play soccer where he recently started coaching the youth team.

The next day, when I returned to the rehabilitation clinic, they had put diapers on Gerd. He wasn’t able to go to the bathroom on his own I was told tersely when I asked the head nurse. Oh yes he was, he just needed someone to show him the way there because he couldn’t find it on his own anymore because he lacked orientation in the new and strange environment.

At the clinic back in the Alps, Gerd was always dressed in casual clothes or his pajamas but no one had ever put him in diapers. I couldn’t handle this awkward situation. Going to the toilet was part of human dignity in my opinion. I had several discussions with the head nurse but without success, because I continued to find Gerd in diapers. It was a pitiful sight. I could only hope he wasn’t aware of this humiliation.

But Gerd proved I was very wrong. Once, he was even wearing two diapers, one over the other. “Double protection,” he tried to excuse himself. Obviously, that is what they had told him. Presumably, he had been given a laxative so he now required this “double protection”.

He was suffering terribly under this helplessness which was both humiliating and discouraging for him. This must have been torture for Gerd, who had always placed great value on personal hygiene and was never seen in his sweatpants and would never have gone to the bakery on a Saturday morning in inappropriate clothing!

Besides, he continued to worry about his future. He was particularly concerned that Justin might suffer because of his dad’s sickness. What did he mean by that exactly?

In any case, he repeated this statement over and over, “Justin mustn’t suffer from me being like this.”

Since he still had the gastric feeding tube, although he had been taking part in the communal meals in the dining hall, I was called to the clinic one day during the week. I was supposed to accompany Gerd to the municipal hospital in Constance where the tube would be removed.

I wasn’t confident enough to drive alone with him because my nerves were shot at that point, so I requested an ambulance.

Unfortunately, the ambulance couldn’t stay until the operation was over, so Gerd and I spent way too many hours at the hospital where we first had to wait for his surgery, which was performed under local anesthetic, and then we waited for a second ambulance to take Gerd back to his clinic.

Instead of lying down and resting right after the procedure he had to sit on a regular chair and wait in the hallway until paramedics came back. I was deeply concerned about his condition; after all, he now had a hole in the middle of his body that was only provisionally taped up.

Now, he was strapped to a seat in the car and the trip back started. It was very bad luck that the seat was only attached to the floor of the ambulance by two bolts instead of four as it should be, so he swung back and forth every time the ambulance went around a curve!

This was both a dangerous as well as a horrible situation for Gerd with his limited perception and especially after the excitement of the surgery. So I tried to get a grip of Gerd’s seat from where I was sitting right behind him, so he wouldn’t tip over.

It was quite a miracle his wound from the gastric feeding tube didn’t get infected after waiting for so long in a hallway at the hospital and the dangerous ride in the ambulance! But once again, Gerd’s guardian angel protected him.

Quite often I received calls from the attending physician early in the morning while I was on my way to work. She usually would tell me Gerd had had a restless night. He was crying a lot and went back and forth between being depressed and aggressive. She wanted to know if this had been the case at the previous clinic too. If so, how had they handled it there?

On the one hand, I was glad the doctor was seeking close contact with me, but how was I supposed to answer that question? I was just a regular wife who was being confronted with such a situation for the first time and not a trained psychiatrist! Why didn’t she just call the other clinic directly and have a detailed conversation with the doctors there? And why, for Heaven’s sake, couldn’t I tell her exactly that to her face?

One morning, I had just stopped at a bakery to buy a sandwich when my cell phone was ringing. Since I didn’t want the other customers to hear my conversation, I left the shop and went outside.

Sleet fell from the sky, the bag with my breakfast started to dissolve and my croissant fell to my feet as I desperately tried to find a solution with the doctor. Still I didn’t have any advice and was completely overwhelmed by the whole situation.

My initial reaction had always been to turn around and hurry to Gerd right away, take him in my arms, stand by him and try to soothe him. But how long would that work? What if it happened again the next day?

Every evening after work, I drove to the clinic at Lake Constance anyway so I could at least be of assistance when he ate supper.

One particular evening, we were sitting at a small dinner table together. His food tray stood in front of him and Gerd started eating while I prepared another sandwich for him when he asked, “What about you? Don’t you want something to eat?” No, there was nothing available for me. Hearing that upset him a lot and he offered to share his second slice of bread with me.

When he lay in bed later that night and the lights were about to be shut off and the door locked, he said in a sincere voice, “I don’t want you to go home!” He was afraid to stay on his own. Ultimately, he resigned himself to it. But how long could I keep coping with this emotionally? I was torn by the circumstances. I wanted to be there for him, but had to continue living my life as best as I could. And the stress of being there for him 24/7 simply would have been too much for me to bear. The doctors and nurses agreed with this point. If someone required full-time care, it only worked long-term if the caregiver wasn’t too strongly emotionally involved.

Whenever it was possible, we left the secure ward during our visits. In the beginning, we didn’t get any further than the first floor where a few places to sit were found in the foyer. We stretched out on a couch and after a few minutes, Gerd lay his head on my lap and fell into a deep sleep. At first, I felt rather uncomfortable when other visitors passed by. But eventually I was able to handle it and was glad Gerd truly found some peace there. When he slept so peacefully I was certain he had no frightening dreams to experience and was not being plagued by psychoses and just wanted to hold him tight forever while imagining us in an illusion of safety.

After a while, Gerd was allowed to spend every second weekend at home. When I picked him up early on a Saturday morning, I usually met him in the common room at a neatly set breakfast table. A nurse had poured him some coffee and prepared a bread roll with butter and jelly, but the delicious food laid untouched on his plate while Gerd sat before it in complete despair. He didn’t know where he was, he didn’t know food was placed in front of him, but he knew exactly who he was and that he wanted to go home!

When I gave him a kiss and said hello to him, he answered, “Thank God you’re here!” and immediately started to cry in his misery. To distract him, I said, “You haven’t even touched your breakfast. Aren’t you hungry at all?” “Do I have something to eat?” was his surprised, honest response.

When we arrived home together for the first time after the heart attack, I could hardly believe our luck. I was absolutely convinced Gerd’s memories would simply come back to him now! Certainly, when he was in a familiar environment, he would just have to remember everything. As well as I could, I suppressed the possibility that he might also go into shock as well.

I had parked the car in the driveway and, full of expectations, opened the passenger door so Gerd could exit. He didn’t need any assistance to do so! First, we stood outside the house for a while right where we had all been standing on July 31, 2011 before Gerd and I took Daniela to the airport.

Then we went through the door, carefully climbed the stairs and walked into the kitchen. Now the big moment had finally arrived. Some kind of miracle just had to happen now! Gerd apparently sensed my tension and slowly walked back and forth in the room, moving from the window to the table and back. But nothing happened at all.

“Is this where I live?” he asked monosyllabically, in disbelief. He didn’t know his way around the domicile at all anymore.

First, I tried to convince myself this was due to the fact that we had renovated recently and done a bit of remodeling, too. Maybe he would remember the old kitchen better? But eventually I had to admit that he was simply a stranger to his own life.

Apparently, Gerd also had high expectations of his return home. After all, resuming his former life style continued to be his greatest wish. But the weekend at home didn’t get him any further, or at least, it didn’t get him any closer to his goal. Instead, he seemed discouraged and disappointed even more.

Moreover, the ride back to the clinic on Sunday afternoon grew more depressing every time for several reasons. His time at home hadn’t resulted in the desired breakthrough and we were well aware that Gerd would be more or less on his own again, confronted by other patients who were foreign to him. For instance, when he asked for something to drink, he never knew if he was talking to a nurse or just another patient. So sometimes he received an unfriendly reply or even no response at all to his request which of course made him feel insecure and uncomfortable which in turn resulted in him avoiding contact with his ward mates entirely.

I didn’t notice any significant progress in his development although he had gone to Lake Constance to start reintegrating into normal daily life.

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