Due to my emotional state at the time and the pain that I had imposed upon my person while fighting to stay in the best shape I can -- despite all the good German bread, chocolate, and pork sausage I consume -- I cried all the way home. Sadly, no Germans that passed me on the street stopped to help or ask the reason for my suffering. Ein Polizist drove by, and I hoped that perhaps he, as a protector of the community, might be curious about my pain and tears, and maybe even drive me the rest of the way home.
Boy, wouldn't that make for a good story?! But did he stop? Nah.
I cried even harder.
Yes, I am melodramatic sometimes, but I wanted some tender, loving care!
At home, the response was only slightly better than that given me by the other Germans I had encountered so far that day, so I treated my own injuries. Having smuggled two bottles of hydrogen peroxide from the States (in Germany, Wasserstoff Peroxide is expensive and only available in pharmacies), I poured some of the precious liquid over my dirty hand and leg, watching the wounds bubble and foam. Having worked in a doctor's office, I learned that hydrogen peroxide can be used to to clean, dissolve blood spatters and stains, and perform other minor miracles.
Five days later, the wounds were healing well, but I began having another problem. The skin below my ankle was becoming warm and painful, as if there was an infection under the skin. It was obvious I should go to the doctor.
On a Sunday morning after a good cup of coffee, I was transported to the Krankenhaus in Viernheim, which is more like a walk-in clinic. There were no loud ambulances pulling in; there were no uniformed men in green pushing stretchers; there were no white-robed nurses or doctors rushing from room to room, stethoscopes around their necks. In fact, no one else in the whole town of Viernheim was having any kind of medical emergency -- at least not there -- because I was the only one waiting in the sanitary corridors. After I walked in, a Frau behind the glass at the entrance signaled to another Frau behind closed doors. The second Frau came out and took my insurance card, asking who my Hausarzt was. Because I didn't understand what that meant, I deferred to my German translator/driver to answer.
One great thing about Germany is that with your health insurance card, you pay nothing. Previously, there was a 10-euro copay, but that requirement has been eradicated in recent months. When you hand over your insurance card, the German computers automatically know where you live, and a small form prints out for the doctors to write on.
While we waited in the corridor, Sunday morning mass was going on in the Catholic hospital chapel. The pipe or electronic organ must have been right by the door where we sat, because I could hear it clearly. I meant to go look at it, having been raised by a family of church organists, but I was so filled with wonder after my doctor visit, I forgot.
Within short minutes, we were ushered into the office of the doctor on duty -- Dr. Wurst ("sausage"). He was the only one there. No one took my blood pressure or weighed me. My body temperature was not a concern either. There was no examining table, no medical assistant, no nurse -- nichts. I sat down in a chair by his desk and held up my leg with my hands. Dr. Wurst, who also spoke some English, looked at my wound, made the proper recommendations, treated it with some cold liquid squirted onto a bandage, and wrote out an antibiotic prescription to take to the nearest open pharmacy. We would have to drive several kilometers, because on Sundays in Germany, most businesses are closed.
The doctor was an intelligent man (as most doctors are). In answer to my questions regarding emergency health care in Germany, he gave interesting responses.
He told me that in most of Europe there are emergency doctors that travel to the scenes of accidents, fires, etc. In Germany, such a doctor is called a Notarzt. That doctor has everything he needs to stabilize a patient at the scene of the accident. Notärzte are just as prevalent as firemen and EMTs, and they drive orange and white emergency vehicles with sirens and flashing lights. These types of doctors sit and wait just to be called out, like paramedics in the USA, and handle between 5 to 15 accidents/calls per shift.
In America, there are oftentimes greater distances between injury victims and the hospital. Dr. Wurst told me that paramedics and EMTs are trained to prep patients for travel, and get them on the road to the hospital as soon as possible. In Europe, the emergency doctors treat victims at the scene until they are stable enough to travel, because there are hospitals closeby.
Therefore, emergency room doctors do not exist, as a specialty, at least not in the smaller hospitals such as the one in Viernheim. The doctor that saw me was the only one in the hospital, a doctor from a practice of 15 that work in Viernheim and Lampertheim (a neighboring city). He said that in a city of 30,000 or less people, one doctor is always on duty in a hospital, so a city with more than 30,000 will have two doctors available, and so on.
I got an education from Dr. Wurst, and he sent me on my way, telling me to visit my Hausarzt the next day for follow-up.
Dictionary
Frau - woman
Hausarzt - family physician
Krankenhaus - hospital
nichts - nothing
Notarzt - emergency physician (plural - Notärzte)
Polizist - policeman
Wasserstoff Peroxide - hydrogen peroxide
Wurst - sausage
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