I'm a real German now, I am too busy to make proper use of the Internet

I'm not gonna lie, my blog has been a little lacking in updates over the last 28 days. That shall all change now though, and your minds will be blown, with 4 weeks worth of amazing craic.

Most importantly, THE ELBOW

After my last escapade to the 'oldest hospital in Hamburg', I was hoping my elbow would sort of heal itself. After four weeks with no improvement (except the occaisional loud crack which would allow me a few minutes of added flexibility), my mentor, Ingrid, decided I should really go and see an orthopaedic man. So I missioned across Hamburg on an unfamiliar busline with the aid of a google map printout, to find Dr. Dirk Rose.

I'd been given a few instructions:
1) DO NOT PAY FOR ANYTHING
2) Make sure they know you are a PRIVATE PATIENT
3) Do not let them fob you off on the student doctor

The first two were pretty straight forward. I was quite happy not to pay, and having been given Insurance by Deutsche Ring for the entirety of my stay as a language assistant, I was able to just flash them my insurance card and be done with it.
The third instruction sounds quite obvious, but my mentor was concerned that because I was a foreigner, they'd try their luck giving me to the student. And also, being British, I would be too polite to tell them where to go if they did such a thing. The thought of being demanding towards a scary orthopaedic bloke, and in a foreign language, was pretty much terrifying. But luckily I didn't have to cross that bridge.

I was also warned that in Germany, even when you have an appointment, expect a wait of at least an hour. That doesn't mean you are allowed to turn up an hour late though, sadly!
So after filling in the usual bureaucratic documents, I took my seat in the waiting room with my copy of 'Dead Poet's Society' (10th Class novel).
After a while, the strangest thing happened. An old couple walked in to the waiting room and said "Guten Tag", and were greeted by the other people in the waiting room with a chorus of "Guten Tag". This may not sound that odd, but if you think about waiting rooms in the UK, the last thing you want to do is draw attention to the fact that you also are waiting to see the Doctor. I, personally, tend to avoid eye contact too, just for good measure.
After having seen the Doctor, people would deliberately come back to the waiting room just to say goodbye. Why? I do not know. I still haven't been able to bring myself to conform with this German trait.

So after an hour of waiting, I was taken to an empty room to wait for the doctor. The walls had lovely posters of what healthy (and unhealthy) limbs should look like. Even with my immense knowledge of all things Orthopaedic, I wasn't quite able to give myself an accurate diagnosis.
Eventually Dr. Rose (and his young student doctor assistant), came flying through the door, and gave me a hefty handshake. This of course did not help my gammy arm in the slightest. I made sure he knew that too.
So after a vague explination in Denglish about how I managed to lose a fight with a pool table, Dr. Rose grabbed my arm and sort of prodded it, squeezed it, and bent it in all sorts of horrendous directions. I'm not even lying when I say there were tears in my eyes.
You know how an elbow should be able to go straight? Well, mine apparently had another 24 degrees to go until it got to straight.

Eventually, I understood the term 'MRI' being mentioned. This was because he very kindly translated it from the German 'MRT'. I was still trying to work out what he was saying about MRIs when he shook my hand and boosted out of the room.
I promptly gathered my belongings and went to ask the receptionist if she could shine any light on what had happened during my appointment. It turned out that she knew exactly what had happened, informed me that I should arrange an MRI scan at a Radiologist of my choice, and then arrange a follow-up appointment with Dr. Rose.
It also turned out that she loves Scotland, has visited Aberdeen and Glasgow, and just thinks Scottish people are fabulous. I'm just glad she also had enough patience to deal with a slightly confused me.

I arranged the MRI scan for the following Thursday (the 28th), enlisted my partner in medical crime, Chris, and set about the Elbow Fixing Mission (let's call it EFM for short).
Of course, as many of you will know, the M in MRI stands for Magnetic. And, as many of you will know, I have a lot of metal in my face. Thus, the first part of my EFM involved going to a piercing studio, and kindly asking them to remove all my piercings.
Looking in the mirror afterwards, I felt a bit naked. I cheered myself up though, by squirting water out through the hole in my lip. Always a surprise for the target.

We found the Radiology place relatively easily, and experienced the whole greeting the other victims in the waiting room thing all over again.
More bureaucracy ensued, in the form of a very complicated form wanting to know what was wrong with me, how I did it, and when it all happened. I also had to sign a form saying that if I exploded because I hadn't removed all my metal, it wasn't their fault.
40 minutes or so after the time of my appointment, I was ushered into a small room where I had to leave all metallic objects, including my bra, and then I was taken into the MRI room.

It's exactly how it looks on ER or House (except in House people explode during MRI scans because they have metallic ink in their tattoos. This does not happen in real life) - a big white tunnel thing, that you hop inside and just lie there. All I can say is that you really don't imagine it to be as noisy as it actually is.
All I can say is that when Bill Bailey compares the BBC News theme to an apocolyptic rave, he obviously hasn't had an MRI scan, because THAT is an apocolyptic rave. 12 minutes of Drum and Bass, Techno, Electro, and even a little bit of Lady Gaga, all mixed together is the only way I can really explain just how crazy those noises are. Shit thing is, you're not even allowed to dance.

Anyway, after lying in a Superman-esque pose for 12 minutes, i collected my metal bits & bobs, and returned to the waiting room. I wasn't quite sure what I was waiting for, but when an important looking man in a labcoat turned up and said, rather awkwardly, "Frau MAC-loor-eh", I presumed that was me.
I was taken to a computery type room, where pictures of my elbow - ligaments, muscles, bones, tendons, tissue, etc - were all over the place. I still haven't worked out what he told me during those 3 minutes of rapid German Radiological jargon, but I get the feeling it had something to do with my elbow.

The next day, Friday, and more importantly, PAY DAY, I returned to visit Dr Rose.
I had been given a large folder full of MRI scannage to take with me when I saw him, but it turned out he mysteriously already knew what was/wasn't wrong with me. I think these doctors have ESP or something.
Basically I was told, once again, that nothing is wrong with my elbow, and that the bone is bruised. I have two issues with this. 1) There is blatantly something wrong with my elbow. 2) There was no impact, so how the HELL could it be bruised?!
Either way, I have been prescribed 10 sessions of 'Krankengymnastik' aka, Physio, so maybe someday soon, I won't have a gammy Ellenbogen.

"What happened to the scans?", you may ask. "Did Dr Rose keep them?", you might also ask.
The answer to these questions is no, Dr Rose did not keep the scans. As a memoir of my favey EFM, I get to keep the scans. Of course, they are now decorating the walls of my flat.

Sorry to have kept you so long, and only to have spoken about one part of the last 4 weeks. I promise I will write about something else very soon, coz I know you're all just dying to hear about our trip to Frankfurt, me falling asleep on the S-Bahn at 5am, and other such humourous tales.
For now, however, I must go to Starbucks.
xxx

A little more Hamburger chat, this time about bureaucracy

I realise now that my last post was even more rushed sounding than it was intended to be.
The long and short of the first few days is that I met a lot of rather grand folk, ate some rather crap food, and drank a lot of beer.

On arrival at my halls, Dieter decided it would be best for me to attempt to set up a bank accound straight away, and then to "Anmelden".
Setting up a bank account simply did not happen. To set up a bank account in Germany, one really needs multiple documents. Passports are hardly important. I was informed that without my rental agreement, "bescheinigung" (yet to find a decent translation of this pointless piece of paper), or, indeed, my Anmeldungs-nonsense, I could not create a bank account.

We then decided to attempt said "Anmeldung", which is basically registering as a resident in the area. Again bureaucracy dictated that this would not be possible. In order to anmelden, I had to sign multiple bits of nonsense (none of which Dieter was aware of) , have a rental agreement (impossible when you haven't met the house keeper), and even having a bank account may have helped.

Eventually, I managed to work around random missing documents, created a bank account without having regsistered, and hunted down the 'Hausmeister' for my rental agreement. This meant I could 'Anmeld' for the sum of 6 whole Euros, giving me a piece of stamped paper, which means I can officially get paid. But, of course, to get paid it is not as simple as just giving someone your bank details!
My mentor had to go online and fill in a semi-in-depth form as to my start date, end date, life story etc. Thankfully she (Ingrid) did that for me - unlike many mentors I have heard of! It didn't mean, however, that I would gain access to my first 470 euros of pay, because, true to form, my bank card never turned up. I am still waiting on my it, despite filling in forms explaining that the first one never turned up, and that it'd be dead handy to have a debit card that doesn't charge you £1.50 every time you use it!!

The next amazing bit of bureaucracy came when I went to hospital after a ridiculous attempt at breaking my elbow. Chris (fellow Language assistant) and I found a hospital near the centre of town, and headed into the A+E there. After spotting the sign saying 'Anmelden', we guessed there might be a few bits of paper to deal with. The biggest laugh moment was when the nurse asked me for my EHIC, and then my signature. As someone who is right handed and had injured heir right arm, I could only laugh. She got the point.

Having found nothing in my xrays, having had no bright ideas while bending my arm in funny directions, the doctor told me I was fine and that nothing was wrong with me.
I may be wrong, but when it hurts, there's something wrong?

Furthermore, after having exited the hospital "painlessly", and without any "problems" (other than my arm hurting like a bitch), I then received a letter (one week later), saying that I owe the hospital 10,55 euros!! Now, really, this is not much. The thing that upset me? In the letter, it said I had to pay those extra 55c because I hadn't paid the 10 euro bill at the time of being in hospital.
I have a good reason for that though - NOBODY TOLD ME I HAD TO!!!!!


And so, I feel that bureaucracy is (for now) done. Morgen, trinken/essen.
xxxxxxx

Joining the blog band-wagon!

It's been almost 3 weeks since I left Aberdeen, and, needless to say, a lot has happened.

After bruising myself up with a bit of ceilidh dancing, and eating the majority of a cow at Hard Rock Cafe in Edinburgh, it was definitely a good time to leave the UK. Laura, Happy and I left on the jet plane towards Cologne, where the madness of 120 petrified students was awaiting us.

The training course in Cologne was definitely worth going to, for the cheap booze at least! I'd been promised by my lovely friend KIRSTY HUTCHISON that the food there was actually amazing. Not sure if she was served up the same Cologne delicacy of scrambled eggs, boiled potatoes and overly-salted soggy spinnach as we were.

Our 3 days pretty much involved getting up early, going to wee lectures and classes on how not to teach people English, and partying away in the garden of an ancient monastry. Then we boarded our 4 hour train to Hamburg, feeling gradually more sick the closer we got.

I was greeted by a tall German man called Dieter, who was towering above the rest of Hamburg Hauptbahnhof and holding a sign that said 'KATY' in massive, bold letters. Others identified their teachers by the type of flower they were holding (very blind-date-esque), and some just shouted out random German names until they had some luck.

I was then given a brief taste of German bureaucracy (a LOT more to follow on that), before being deposited in my wonderfully cheap student flat.

So, for now my little chums and chumettes, I must go to bed, as I have to get up at the very German time of 5.45am (or perhaps 6 if I am feeling a little risky...)

xxx