Die deutsche Frage

Wednesday 27th March, 2013, 11.10am: 

I'm congratulating myself, the 'Well Man' clinic visit that I'd been so apprehensive about is going unexpectedly well; explaining to the friendly, but efficient 'health professional' (whatever happened to the practise nurse?) how having recently left work I am now making a conscious effort to eat more healthily and to cut down on my attempt to singlehandedly drain the wine lake, and no I am not a smoker, and yes I do exercise regularly - mainly brisk walks most days around the local woods and hills.... 

'Well, that's very good then,' she cut-in, 'your cholesterol's about average,' 'but weight-wise you've still got a good way to go.' I nodded readily, relieved that she had not actually used the dreaded 'O' word. Removing the blood pressure monitor from my arm she went on in a jolly, positive tone, 'That's quite a high reading, probably you should talk to the GP.' Still smiling she picked up the phone and continued brightly, 'I'm just seeing if your doctor has an emergency appointment available for this afternoon.' 

Three weeks later once again I am sitting in Dr. W.'s office. She runs through the results of 'further tests'. 'All the bloods are are positive,' she assured me, 'and your kidney function is healthy.' Lucky, I thought to myself, no-one's checking my liver! 'You've responded well to the medication and your blood pressure reading is now 142/82, still a bit high, but going in the right direction. How are you feeling? 

'A bit odd actually,' I replied, 'before the treatment I was quite OK, but now, I feel really off-colour as if I'm going down with a virus that never materialises, my tummy gets upset, I have  occasional bouts of chest pains and palpitations, I seem to have developed a ticklish, dry cough and much of the time my hands and feet tingle in an weird way, like low level pins and needles.'

'Hmm, interesting,' Dr. W. reached up to the shelf above her desk and pulled down a well thumbed, brick-sized paperback. After a moment's deliberation, running her forefinger down two columns of tightly packed text she advised, 'All those things are recorded side effects of Ramopril,' then added wryly, 'but it is quite unusual to suffer so many of them simultaneously'.

The funny thing about hypochondria is essentially it afflicts the healthy. I reflected that throughout adulthood I had been spectacularly well. Apart from the usual coughs and colds I had managed to stay out of the clutches of the NHS all my working life and in 37 years of uninterrupted work taken precious few days off sick. What this meant is that I had little experience of illness and was totally unprepared for the minor indignities of being a patient. The result - I overreacted to the tiniest symptom or the most insignificant medical procedure and assumed these were a prelude to my immediate demise.

So when Dr W. explained that she had noted a minor anomaly on my ECG which she would like to have checked by a consultant cardiologist I thought well, that's it then. I felt the chances of me even surviving the ten minute walk home were probably minimal and reflected gloomily on not having taken the time to prepare a living will. Impressively I put on a brave face and asked, 'How long is it likely for the appointment to come through?' '

'Could be two months or more,' the doctor replied.

'I'm going to America in July, hopefully everything will be sorted by then,' I mused, half to myself.

'Somewhere nice?' enquired the doctor, busily updating my notes on her computer.

'We've planned a road trip from Las Vegas to Vancouver taking in The Grand Canyon, Yosemite, San Francisco, then heading North through Oregon and, Washington. Do you think I should inform my travel insurers that I'm on medication for hypertension?

'Probably just as well as a precaution,' the doctor advised. 'Sounds like a great trip though.'  

If I had phoned my travel insurers' medical assessment team and informed them that I had just been diagnosed with cancer and had less than nine months to live, then for a tidy sum they would have covered a hastily planned three month long round the world cruise. However, trying to cover travel if you are awaiting a cardiology appointment investigating an as yet undiagnosed condition is quite another proposition. Add in some further risk factors like being aged 58, planning to travel to the USA, and being the the primary driver on a journey that included driving across Death Valley in the mid-summer heat then crossing the 10,000 ft Tioga Pass, well you could almost hear the insurance assessor suppress a quiet snigger.

So that was that, our meticulously planned US road trip was a non-starter and I began the depressing task of meticulously unplanning it, not easy, since every element had been separately booked and had different regulations about refunds and cancellations.

A month later I found myself checking our bank statement, highlight pen at the ready, monitoring what had been refunded, items still to be credited and what still needed to be claimed through our travel policy. The healthy balance on the bottom line should have cheered me up, but actually it depressed me further. Due to the redundancy settlement we had never been so cash rich, yet circumstances seemed to be conspiring against us enjoying it. I felt a bit crestfallen.

However, the Turpies don't do crestfallen, at least not for long. That evening I mentioned to Gill in passing, 'You know that we'd planned to buy the motorhome next Spring when you finish work?'

'Mmm,' said Gill, nodding as she manoeuvred a knot of tagliatelle mouth-wards.

'Well, why don't we do it now and use it this Summer? We can't afford exactly what we want, but I've been checking the web, and we could still get something quite nice.'

'Sound like a plan to me' Gill replied, 'lets have a look.'

So that is how, three weeks ago, we found ourselves driving home from South Yorkshire in a 2006 LMC Liberty motorhome thinking, blimey!

The next challenge, where to go. 

We've managed to explore a good chunk of Southern Europe over the past twenty years  because we've always had cars that made short shrift of the giant wheat field (French Yorkshire we call it) that lies between the Calais and Burgundy. Even the sedate Ford Galaxies we had when all five of us holidayed together would sit happily, if illegally, on cruise control at 140 kmph bowling southwards among the BMW estates; our current car, a little Ford CMax is even quicker.

However, it took us almost 3 hours to get the motorhome just 90 miles from the garage to home; even factoring-in that I did take it steady as I was unused to the van, still it became quite clear that we were looking at a different style of travel, more akin to how we planned trips when we cycle-camped.

Mulling all of this over I suggested to Gill, 'What about Southern Germany and the Bavarian Alps?'

'Certainly new territory,' she agreed, then added somewhat darkly, 'but you'd have to behave....'

From this throwaway comment some might infer that I hold a prejudice against out Teutonic cousins, something which I feel there is slight evidence to support.

So, Die deutsche Frage - the German Question, let me set out the facts, you be the judge.

Have I not, I asked myself, always been a great admirer of German music? I recall often and at tiresome length the delight that I felt by Bethsada Fountain, while waiting one sultry July afternoon to meet-up with the rest of the family who had gone to  Central Park Zoo, unexpectedly I was joined by a young violinist who decided to practice outdoors in the cool shadows of the trees. She stood less than ten feet away from me and worked studiously through Bach's Sonatas for solo violin, concluding with a beautiful rendition of the Sarabande from the first Partita. A special moment.

Furthermore, (the inner, listening me groans, as some other bit of Pete hits the high-horse stage early) when I acquired a Kindle, only last year, was not one of the first books I downloaded a voluminous, free copy of the complete works of Nietchze? 

And on sundry European occasions when the orchestra strikes-up the noble anthem 'Ode to Joy', am I not moved, more deeply than when obliged to sit through dirge-like renditions of God Save The Queen? 

Do these seem like the thoughts and feelings of someone who may harbour anti-German sentiments?

It's true that my favourite moment from 'Fawlty Towers' is the 'don't mention the war' sketch, and yes, on occasion I have expressed my enthusiasm for it by joining-in with Basil's goosestepping Hitler walk.

And surely all Englishmen share my heartfelt disappointment, disgust even, at the Football Association's petty, illiberal decision to ban English fans from humming the Dam-busters March during games against Germany. What better solace can there be, as you watch Herren Schweinsteiger and Muller make mincemeat of our bamboozled and demoralised defence, than to quietly hum Eric Coates' stirring melody?

Well, yes, there is the question of what has become known in family lore as 'the Lucca incident'. Let's face it, all I was doing was taking video of the Duomo's noble Pisan Gothic facade, did I deserve to be poked between the shoulder blades by a portly, irate German tourist who accused me of 'standing in HIS photograph? Well, maybe my reaction was a tad puerile and I should not have wreaked revenge on every German tourist in every campsite we stayed in for the next five years by surreptitiously flicking spent olive pips at any who passed. I concede, this was not a good role model for the children, especially my faux German accent and the fact that my running commentary was entirely based on a boyhood obsession with 'Commando Comics'.

So, back to Gill's initial observation, 'but you'll have to behave.' This hung momentarily unanswered as I considered the foregoing facts; then mustering my best beatific look I sought to reassure her, 'Don't be silly, of course I'll behave..'.

Inwardly, somewhere in my over-fertile imagination, Herr Flick's eyes narrowed; imperiously he gathered his black leather trenchcoat and flung it over his shoulders like a cloak, spinning on his heels he strode out muttering,

Sooh, you vish me to behave, ya? Zis vee shall soon see at zee time.....

Oh dear!