Wellness Vacation at HUBERTUS

On the other hand, empty hotel beds, cold rooms, closed elevators, employees on reduced hours, and a lack of prospects. Add to that a massive construction site: our new gem in the making—the HUBERTUS Mountain Spring SPA.

Oh, what a fabulous winter! Frau Holle has really been kind to us: fantastic snow conditions, a steel-blue sky, and that perfect winter feeling. Despite the pandemic, the cross-country trails are perfectly groomed, and there are countless cross-country skiers—especially newcomers—who are seeking and finding freedom in the mountains.

As soon as the white stuff starts piling up on the construction site, I’m often out late into the evening clearing the “white gold” from the site so the workers can get on with their jobs. I enjoy it.

Suddenly, though: What’s that?
A sharp pain. Starting at my forehead, radiating down to the back of my neck, and extending into my shoulders. A signal from my body I’ve never felt before. Along with my inner dialogue: It’ll pass. Just as quickly as it came. It’ll be fine.

But even after days and weeks, the pain persists, intensifies, and shifts. I start to feel anxious: Could this be something more serious after all? Then another minor mishap befalls me. And once again, my recovery can’t get underway.

66 and not a bit wiser.
Does that apply to me, too? Who should I turn to? Who can help me?
I’m plagued by worries: Is everything going as usual on the construction site? So far, everything’s going well—a top-notch team of architects, specialist planners, construction managers, and contractors is working on the big picture.

A little headache isn’t going to throw me off track! Or is it? Jaw pain is a brand-new symptom. And enjoying a meal has become an ordeal. I contact my friend and my family doctor. And I go to the orthodontist. The X-rays show inflammation in both my left and right jaws. The doctor sends me on my way, advising me to see a radiologist. The usual procedure: first a blood test, then a consultation with the assurance that they’d get in touch if anything came up. At 7:00 p.m.—an admittedly unusual time—I get a call back with an urgent request to come in first thing the next day. My blood and liver values aren’t right. And they have a suspicion as to what it might be. I can’t take in anything else at that moment—that’s how deeply that statement hits me.

Then came the advice: “You must take these and those medications immediately! I’ll write to your primary care physician! Consult other doctors!” Sleep is out of the question. The pain is too severe. Scheduling appointments for further tests and diagnoses is a challenge due to the pandemic. At this point, I’d like to thank my friend—a doctor and my primary care physician—for his support, understanding, and intervention.

What else can I do? How do I get back on my feet? Who can help me? You worry, trying every possible solution that comes to mind. Like, for example, consulting an alternative practitioner—someone you still know from long ago. Brother Walter sets up the appointment and drives me there, since I’m no longer able to drive myself. The initial examination involves a blood draw to run a complete blood count. The uncertainty remains:
What is the cause of this misery?

Meticulously and dutifully, I take the beautifully presented, colorful medications that the naturopath prescribed during my first visit. Always hoping that they’ll actually work and finally help me. At first, I don’t dare tell my family doctor that I’m also seeing a “Nadelhexer” (an Allgäu term for a naturopath) on the side. I try to figure out anything I don’t understand by searching the relevant medical forums online. Some things—most of them, actually—just make me feel even more uncertain.

I’ve been lying at home for days and weeks now, waiting for appointments and dutifully consulting the circle of people I hope will be able to help me feel even just a little bit better. Just getting three hours of sleep—which usually doesn’t come until mid-morning—makes me so happy.

If you don't have a good deputy, you're headed straight for checkmate… My son Marc—brave, agile, and assertive—is the one for the job. He takes charge. This gives me the confidence and peace of mind that everything is running smoothly. He’s backed by the consistently strong HUBERTUS team, whom we’ve always been able to rely on completely.

By my side is my wife and partner, Christa. My reflection has turned into a nurse, caring for the man confined to bed at home. I don’t feel any better, yet every specialist examination yields the supposedly positive diagnosis: “Everything’s fine! Don’t worry!” But: “You could also have this or that.” Why not have this or that checked again? We recommend it, just to be on the safe side!
I’m biding my time. My brother Walter acts as my driver. Twice a week to the Bavarian capital to see the naturopath. Some things are getting better. Slightly.

One question remains that’s extremely important to me: Who can I confide in? With whom can I—or should I—share my suffering and tell them that I’m not feeling well? With whom can I dare, with whom can I trust myself to talk about my new “challenges”? Me, who was never sick. Bursting with energy. An athlete through and through. Could it possibly be due to the COVID-19 infection from last fall after all? Despite a full recovery: Could these possibly be the aftereffects we hear so much about? But: Everything was fine afterward, wasn’t it? I felt great again afterward!
My mind races restlessly. Countless questions are running through my head. Internal monologues. Did I maybe overdo it a bit after all? Were there too many mental challenges related to the construction site? You’re not exactly young anymore, Karl! When will things finally get back on track with HUBERTUS? What’s next? Can we pull this all off? Will our team stick together?
I can’t stop thinking about all this, and it’s a constant topic in my conversations with my closest confidants. At the same time that I’m starting to share my worries and fears, my weight is dropping, and so is my physical strength.
The daily walks have to be carefully paced and planned. I take pleasure in nature, suddenly noticing the smallest things: the cat sneaking around the house, looking for food. Or the fox that peeks through our living room window every evening . And so day after day, week after week, passes. Nothing changes. No improvement. No hope.

My closest family, friends, acquaintances, and medical professionals give me strength, energy, and hope. But deep down inside, I have to deal with this on my own. And I have to fight against despair, to realize that even though I’m doing everything I can to recover, I’m not really getting anywhere—I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Still, slowly—very slowly—I’m noticing an improvement.
The numbers aren’t as dramatically high anymore.
A sense of confidence and hope is setting in.

One positive aspect of this: this culinary abstinence is paying off. For weeks now, no after-work beer, no sip of red wine, no coffee, and no meat. Instead, steamed vegetables, an occasional piece of fish—knowing exactly where it comes from. Along with herbal tea and Tai Chi, a sequence of exercises with slow, flowing movements of a meditative nature, which Armin Schaupp—former mayor of Immenstadt and now a Tai Chi coach—has recently been teaching me. Instead of hours-long training sessions on the cross-country ski trail, mindful, gentle movements with a focus on: inhale—exhale, inhale—exhale, inhale—exhale, …

After weeks, I finally made my first visit to the Balderschwanger Valley, to the new HUBERTUS Mountain Refugio Allgäu. Alone, I wandered through the building, surveyed the construction site, and looked with pride at the progress. Joy overwhelmed me. And it lifted my spirits. Because of my deep conviction: We’re on the right track!

These are the thoughts of someone who suddenly found himself bedridden—allowing him to learn and come to realize, through his own experience, what the greatest happiness on earth is: Health.

Yours, Karl Traubel