Hospitals never felt this heavy. It is known that the fun definitely won’t happen there, but to me, it sometimes felt like a deserved rest when being hospitalized. Not the same anymore. Since my mother’s diagnosis last year, hospitals have become more familiar than home—I prayed to God to give me a break for at least some time! Unfortunately, the prayer took the wrong turn and got me to the hospital in my first month of moving to Berlin. Kidney Infection! Who would have thought? Not too serious, but serious enough to keep me there for four days.

The first two days were manageable due to the idea that the third day would be the day of freedom—they’ll send me home. However, the doctor didn’t share the same thought as I did! "We need to keep you here for one more day," he said. The most hated person alive—my doctor. He left the room; I closed the curtains, made the morning feel like a cold Berlin sunset, and allowed myself to lie down together with my dark thoughts. Had this heaviness on my chest and felt devastated. It has been almost five days since I was in pain from this infection, and in the pain of the pain that my mother went through while she was ill. Every second of my stay there, I was thinking of how she managed all the suffering? Could the doctor have helped her more? Did we hold her hand enough?

All this agony and a very tired body were hiding in room number 4 of a hospital in Berlin. When I almost fell asleep, a cheerful, loud woman entered the room together with a doctor. They were speaking in German, which I couldn’t understand, but I did realize she would be my new roommate. Somehow, her presence lit up the room. The doctor left, and the woman said to me, “Hi, I am Ulrike.” I was surprised. No German people greet the strangers. And with a smile? Such luck I had! Immediately asked if she could open the curtains—apparently, it was too dark for her. Digested all of it and continued the conversation. She is full of life, I thought; I definitely missed that!

A woman around my mom’s age, 60, healthy, confident, and with a red lipstick, which manifested the fire she had inside. We shared quite a lot in the first hour. I told her about my kidney infection, and she told me that she’s just going to do some checkups (seemed very calm). We talked about the work experiences I had in the last five years and the struggle I am facing to get a job in Berlin without speaking C1 German. She visited Kosovo due to a documentary she produced for a Kosovo family living in Germany—of course, the story was about a woman being abused by her husband. We also talked about the traditional men of the Balkans, as we both knew a lot about them, me from firsthand experience and her as an author of broadcasts around the world.

Antibiotics were killing my immune system, and I was feeling tired most of the time. Despite that day, it wasn’t the same; I was feeling greater with her presence around. I had a long nap after some of the conversations we had. When I woke up, I saw a cinnamon roll on my table. “Who brought this?” I asked. “Me,” she said. “I sneaked to this cafe house on the corner of the street and thought you might want one.” Damn, I missed being taken care of. I thanked her for the cinnamon roll and told her how it is my all-time favorite food, after ajvar. "What's Ajvar?" she asked.

I love talking about it; therefore, I explained to her how it is not only about Ajvar as a very simple paper sauce food. It’s because of the ritual of cooking it every September back home. Also, how is it the only time when the whole family would be engaged in a duty, no matter the gender or age? Left alone, the smell of roasted peppers all over the town while cooking it! ”You talk with such passion about Ajvar. “Oh, I always will! As long as the conversation links food and family gatherings,” I said. Being familiar with the language issue in Berlin, the idea that a lot of nurses and doctors do not speak English didn't surprise me. Just that this time I was safer, as Ulrike helped with all the translations. I was being protected. What a family feeling. A bit of home in a cold foreign metropolis.

“Here, take half of this fruit; it helps with your infection.” Never saw that kind of fruit. “No,” I said, “you brought it from home to have it yourself.” “I know, but you have an infection, and this will help.” I can’t explain if it was as a result of care or if the mysterious fruit really tasted that good. I like this! Took a picture of the fruit to help me find it on Google. Hallelujah, found it. Passionfruit was the name. Drake’s song came to mind. “They saw something when they did the gastroscopy,” she mumbled after lying down to bed. As the sun went down and the darkness touched the room, the truth spilled out. "Are you scared?" I asked.

“No. Nothing is going to happen to me. “It’s not part of my universe,” she answered. “I am sure you’re going to leave this room with the same smile you entered,” I replied. After three nights, I finally felt I could sleep in that room. She put on an eye sleep mask, covered herself with the white sheet, and complained about the shitty hospital pillows. I laughed and wished her good night. The sleeping was tight with the aura of a guardian around. “Good morning,” said the soft voice of the nurse. “We need to check your fever and blood pressure, please.” “Oh yes, I am sorry I overslept,” I said. “Indeed, you did!” heard Ulrike while she was doing her gentle morning exercises. No fever, no pain, no symptoms of an infected kidney. Felt relieved after the nurse’s checkup.

“I believe they will send me home today,” I said. “Of course they will,” Ulrike smiled. “I am preparing myself for my CT checkup.” "They are just wasting your time," I told her. “Let’s have brunch with mimosas when we’re both out—to celebrate our good health,” she said. “Count me booked for the whole day,” I replied. The doctor and nurses took her, and I was waiting for mine. Waited an hour for the doctor when he finally entered the room with a lot of papers in his hand.“I am giving you permission to continue the treatment at home.” Thanked him to the moon and back and started to pack, as the room should be free in half an hour—for another me.

When I finished packing, I wasn't very positive. I should wait for Ulrike until she’s back—I can’t leave her without hugging and thanking her, I thought. Waited a little bit longer and asked the nurses if they knew when her examination was finished. For another hour, they said. As I had to leave the room, I wrote a long message on a napkin and told her I would be waiting for our mimosa brunch. Frankly, I couldn't wait for it. Just a few minutes after I left the room, I started to miss the energy of her around me. A person I met 24 hours ago? Have I fallen in love? Somehow, going back to my apartment didn’t feel right. I wanted to stay just a bit longer at her kindhearted nest.

The exit doors of the hospital opened, and I sadly had to leave. Weird! I was walking home, thinking about the beauty in people and the potential to experience such profound love in a short time. Then it hit me—it was her! How I haven’t thought of it! My heart was aching. My god. Took a deep breath, looked up to the sky with tears in my eyes, and thanked my beloved mother for sending this woman to me so she could look after me when I needed it most. I continued walking when the sun’s rays broke through the clouds and warmed my face smoothly, as a “you’re welcome” whisper.

The body adjusted to the message and experienced a joyful spark down to the bones as never before! Mothers saved the world, one would say!

Note: One day later I received a message from Ulrike where I was told her results weren’t good and she was devastated. Kindly she informed me that we won’t be able to meet due to her situation. She asked for my email so she could send some of her work I was impressed with, as a memory from her to me.