The Cruise That Wasn’t

I had never been on a cruise before, and I was fated not to go on the one we planned.  I had no idea why we chose the cruise we did or why we selected Seabourn as our line.  But my husband was getting an award in Milan, Italy, he had never been to Venice, so we decided to spend a few days in Venice, then cruise from there, down the Adriatic coastline and back again.  Then it would be on to Milan for his award, for which he bought a new suit.

Our flight from Chicago to Munich went well.  All we then had to do was transfer from that international flight to a local flight to Venice.  Too bad about the buses Lufthansa had on offer to take us between connections.

Have you ever experienced a staircase with uneven steps?  You step down, expecting it to be a certain distance and it’s not?  Well, that’s the Lufthansa buses.  The seating was on uneven steps, so that when I got off the seat to exit the bus I found—what?  I have no idea.  Empty space?  All I know is that I was suddenly on the floor of the bus, and I couldn’t move.  Yes, someone did try to pull me up, but it was a no go.

My ankle was shattered.  Literally shattered.

I was taken by ambulance to a teaching hospital just outside Munich; and how lucky I was, as it was the best medical care I’ve ever experienced.

(Here I should take a moment to apologize to all those on the bus who were anxious to get to Venice.  They boarded their plane, but the plane had to sit there until my husband, wherever he was, identified our luggage.)

Meanwhile, I was in shock.  I can remember shivering like crazy.  As soon as I got to the hospital, I was taken to emergency surgery.  Unfortunately, I could not be put under because I had taken advantage of the guest lounge in the Munich airport, but the nicest doctor did the local anesthetic and held my hand.  Actually, I think he was trying to get me not to look at what was happening to my ankle.

I spent twelve days in that hospital, mostly with a metal brace sticking out in all directions.  They were waiting for the swelling to go down before they could do a second operation.

Meanwhile, I convince my husband to go on the cruise.  What was there for him to do at the hospital?  He went and had a lovely time.  Did it make up for him missing his big award in Milan?  Probably not.  But he’ll always have the new suit, and they did send the plaque.

The doctors, the nurses, everything about the hospital was wonderful.  My only complaint was for breakfast they serviced two hard rolls and nothing else.  I finally asked for fruit.  They were surprised but complied with my request.

Finally, my second operation took place and I was to be released to go home to Chicago.  But first I had to learn how to use crutches.  Being uncoordinated didn’t help.  But I did get a chance to see their physical therapy department.  Do you know they had a swimming pool?

My twelve days in the German hospital cost me $12,000.  My nurses were upset that I had to pay anything.  (And, yes, I had to haggle to get the money back from my insurance company in the States.)  Compare that to the one-hour operation I had at a surgery center outside Chicago.  That cost $14,000.  Insurance covered it with no complaints.  What is wrong with our health care system, you may now ask.

I won’t describe the months in a wheelchair and going up and down the stairs on my hands and knees.  I now have “recovered,” still with the damaged ankle that occasionally makes walking painful.  I nurse very bitter feelings toward Lufthansa and have since discovered I’m not the only person this has happened to.  So beware.  Oh, and of course I had no travel insurance so we lost all the money for the cruise.  Now I have travel insurance for everything.  Another warning from my vast experience.

Since then I’ve taken several delightful Seabourn cruises.  But believe me, I always watch my step.