The hospital in Bratislava, where I spent a full year, from March 1946 to March 1947, recovering from tuberculosis (TB) on the spine, was a truly remarkably unique place. The doctors as well as the nurses were completely involved and interested in our cases. There were several other Holocaust survivors there, suffering from various types of TB and other ailments that had resulted from being in concentration camps.
They all worked hard to diagnose our ailments. It took almost three months to decide on what was really ailing me and how to go about treating it. Most other survivors of TB on the spine had a different version of the same and many of them died. I was lucky.
Young volunteers, also survivors who were living in Bratislava, came around on a regular basis, supplying us with books, newspapers, local gossip, and just plain love and hope. They helped us feel better about humanity and more hopeful about our future. As the final day of my stay there arrived, I had beaten all odds, made friends for life, and was happily looking forward to the first day of the rest of my life.
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