Blessed as a Survivor

Chapter 1

Tonsillitis
Tonsillitis was a major childhood illness for me, which struck me several times each year. This severe inflammation of my tonsils was accompanied with very high temperatures. Since it happened before the age of penicillin, only home remedies were known to help me to recover. If sponging down my body with rubbing alcohol and taking Aspirin did not reduce my fever sufficiently, then my mother and my grandmother would take a bed sheet, soak it in cold water, wring it out and wrap my entire body into this ice cold sheet. To this day I remember the sensation of how it felt and I shiver. For my sore throat, I was given herbal teas, such as chamomile, peppermint or linden tree blossom tea sweetened with honey.
I recall visiting many doctors with my mother. Some told her “your daughter will outgrow this”, others recommended surgery. One doctor felt, that my tonsils were small but deceased. This went on for at least 2-3 years. Yet, my tonsillitis occurred more frequently and became more severe.
After a particularly long period of wrestling with this illness and being confined in a dark room, I recovered. I still felt very weak from the high fever and the little nourishment I was able to swallow. My mother allowed me to sit outside in the warm sunshine in my little wicker chair. It was springtime and nature had been reborn. I still recall the sensations and overwhelming feelings I experienced that pleasant warm day. I was so very happy to be alive in the bright sunshine, surrounded by colorful flowers, trees and bushes, all in full bloom. I will always remember the sweet scent of the many acacia trees, which gave me a feeling of contentment. It felt like I had just emerged out of a dark dungeon into a bright light of hope and peace. I may have been 4 or 5 years old but this beautiful feeling never left me. Throughout the following years I loved to go back to the comforting memories of contentment to help me deal with many hardships.
It was during the summer of 1944 that my mother, I called her “Mama”, decided to have my tonsils removed by a surgeon. Had she opted against this operation, I would not have lived through what lay before me. I do feel that God was with me and I am still grateful.
We were ethnic Germans, who lived in the former Yugoslavia. My mother and I took the train from St. Hubert and traveled southwest to Gross-Betschkerek./Zrenjanin. I distinctly remember visiting my mother’s two cousins, Nushi and Gorgi, who were married to Hungarian husbands. One of them was a waiter and served us when we stopped by his workplace. I had never seen anybody dressed in a black coattail, starched white shirt and black tie. All these new experiences really impressed me. After all, Betschkerek was a very large city compared to our little village.
Summer of 1944 was very close to the end of World War II for us, with the Russians marching into our village in October 1944.
Upon entering the grounds of the hospital, we saw many wounded German soldiers either sitting in the sun or being pushed around in wheelchairs. The hospital itself was understaffed and over crowded with recuperating soldiers. Even though there was a great big Red Cross painted on the roof of the hospital, which meant that this building should not be bombed, raids were conducted even during the night. Everyone who could move would head for the bomb shelters. My mother was concerned that I would be left behind. She asked a German soldier, in case of an attack, to take me with him to the shelter. Fortunately, no air raids occurred while I was there.
Medical supplies were also very low. What little they had was used on wounded soldiers and not on civilians. In this respect, I was very fortunate that the surgeon managed to squeeze me into his busy schedule.
I was only 6 years old, but I distinctly remember my tonsillectomy. There was no anesthesia for me. My hands and arms were tied to my body. Then I was tied to the chair I was sitting in. A large clamp was placed into my mouth opening it wide while depressing my tongue. What appeared to be a large apron was tied around my neck and also around the surgeon’s neck, who sat across from me. I was in a state of terror. I could not move nor make a sound. It was a very painful and horrible experience, which I will never forget. Adding to my frightened state was the blood and the tonsils that fell into the apron. Throughout the operation I was conscious and saw and experienced all the pain. I am still surprised that I did not faint from all the suffering and distress.
I asked for my mommy after the nurse put me into my bed. But for some reason she was not there. Where was my mommy? Why wasn’t she waiting for me? Here I was surrounded by strangers and there was no familiar face to comfort me. As soon as no one was in the room I climbed over the bed railing. Still very much in pain and bleeding from my mouth, I was crying and running down the hallway looking for my mommy. After the failed attempt to escape, I was tied into my bed and just had to take things as they came. I do remember that I missed my mommy’s comforting nearness and did not understand why she was not with me. I recovered completely from this frightening and very painful ordeal.
I have been asked many times ”how did you and your family as ethnic Germans end up living in the former Yugoslavia”? Let me tell you the story of my ancestors who immigrated some 200 years ago to this area.