Dr. Máximo Viola’s braided narrative* of his Meeting with Dr. José Rizal in Berlin
Berlin,
December 3, 1886.
I
remember leaving the Paris rail station.
The Eiffel tower's foundation-scaffolding built
by Engineer Gustave Eiffel dominated the skyline. Ever so slowly, it receded
behind me leaving tumbles of steel and spire.
All
day long in my train compartment, I passed through a range of picturesque
hills—steep, wooded, conic-shaped. Here and there dwellings and rugged crags
with ruinous castles perched away and up toward the drifting clouds.
Berlin
was driving cold. Strong gusty winds blew snowdrifts along the tracks. Snow on
the ground produced grey misty hues that traced the trees’ bare branches against
the whitish-purplish fog that muffled the city sounds.
It
was almost midnight when I arrived at José Rizal’s boarding house on 71 Jägerstrasse,
corner of Friedrichstrasse., Berlin. In
the center of the city and a short walk from the train station, I reached a
modest looking brick house with a grey façade adorned with a couple of dormer
windows on the upper level attic floor.
I stepped
out elegantly from my chaise dressed in a sartorially fit winter outfit.[1] I proudly carried with me a brand new medical
satchel--the standard handbag size--containing basic medical instruments and
necessary vials and prescription pills. I
had it tooled of Cordoba leather and engraved with my name, Dr.[2]
Máximo Viola, Médico-Cirujano.
I
went up four flights of stairs to his 3rd floor flat and I met an
unshaven person in dishabille who could hardly stand. I couldn’t have come at a
most inappropriate time. José Rizal was nursing a fever. I noted his sallow
skin, sunken cheeks; droopy lips, and bloodshot eyes. He told me he felt
“awful.” I insisted that he stay in bed.
I promised to come back and visit him early the next morning. I left immediately and checked in at Central Hotel
on Unter den Linden Boulevard, a few blocks away.
The following
morning there was a loud knock on my door. Rizal was at my doorstep. He did not wait for me to come, but instead had
come to my hotel to fetch me. I dressed
quickly and we went to his apartment to analyze his ailment that he had outlined
to me the previous night.
The
room had green shuttered window frames where light filtered in. Books cluttered
his bed. Crumpled papers were strewn about like breadcrumbs on a baker’s
counter. The wastebasket was a waterfall of sheet papers. I planted my medical
satchel bag on the table nearby and fished out a stethoscope and a thermometer.
I faced my patient squarely.
“Now,” I told him sternly and with pompous authority, “If you don’t mind, I am your newly minted medico and you, Sir, are
my first personal (not practice case) patient.” [3]
“I don’t
mind,” said my first private patient feebly. It
didn’t matter that Rizal himself was also a newly minted medico. However in this case I lorded it over him and
Rizal was too sick to object to being the object of my professional medical
examination.
“Peping,[4]
open your mouth. That’s good! Healthy tonsils.
But your throat is slightly irritated, indicating signs of coughing! Let’s have
your temperature. 106 degrees F. You’re
running a fever although your pulse rate at 78 is borderline normal.”
“Weight 119.6 lbs.” I shake my head in disbelief. He had lost
weight considerably since I last saw him.
“Blood pressure:
156/69.”
“No lymph
nodes felt around the carotid artery. The parotid gland in the angle of the jaw
and neck seem normal. Lungs seem fine, but there’s a brand new way of examining
the lungs by getting transparent images called Roentgen. We’ll see about that later. Suffering any
pains?”
My
bedside manner is standard textbook material.
“Yes,” he replied and continued talking: “I have a slight chest pain because of strain
from intermittent coughing. I run a
fever every afternoon, for almost two weeks now, accompanied by heavy sweating. I believe that’s a sure symptom of
Tuberculosis. I tell you, when I was a child I was diagnosed as having the likelihood
of incipient TB.” [5]
“Leave the medical
evaluation to me, and please don’t self-diagnose. That’s insane,” I said in a gentle reproach.
“Likelihood”
I emphasized, “is not
the same as-- suffering from. Have you
observed any spot of blood in your sputum when you cough lately?”
“Not
really.”
“Has any of
your ancestors or near relatives ever died of tuberculosis?”
“None that I
know of.”
“Pues, I see
that your lungs are healthy. It may be TB but I’m certain it is not. I
categorically dismiss your self- diagnosis. But I’ll see to it that you are
referred to a German doctor who can give you a second opinion.” [6]
“A ver, you
have lost weight since I last saw you, and did you say you feel tired most of
the time?”
“That’s
because I go to the exercise gym daily for routine weightlifting, on a dare, of
course.” [7]
“Mind that
you’re not mis-using your exercise routine.
Do you have a trainer to supervise your daily exercise? You may be
over-exerting yourself.”
“No, that’s
unnecessary. I know what I'm doing. Going to the gymnasium has been a favorite
pastime of mine ever since Madrid and Paris days.”
“But your workout alone does not explain your
drastic weight loss. By the way, what did you have for breakfast today?”
“Oh,
breakfast! I forgot all about breakfast.”
“Well, what did you have for dinner last night?”
“The usual
water and bread, no butter. You know, that’s a healthy meal.”
“Peping, yes,
healthy, only if done occasionally.”
“Indeed,
friend Imô, I do, occasionally.”
Now, what’s the immediate cause of these
sunken red eyes and dark circles?”
“Oh that. I’m busy staying up to the wee hours of the
morning. You see, I’ve just completed
writing this manuscript [8]
that I earlier told you about, and I’m in the process of the final edit.” [9]
“Then, you
need to seriously alter your work habits that should include a good night’s
sleep for at least five hours daily, until your general fatigue and afternoon
fever dissipate.”
“Well anyway, what do you think of my coughing, fever, afternoon sweating and general fatigue and drastic weight loss? It looks clinically symptomatic of Phthisis to me, Señor Doctor Médico Máximo Viola.”
“You, my esteemed friend, are suffering from a
psycho-socio-economical and structural aberration of the body-environs,
complicated by an over-extension of physical, unguided, and benighted kind of
bravado.” [10]
Rizal
couldn’t suppress a loud laugh. “Your words are well
couched in diplomatic language, amigo, old chap. Any
medical prescription, Don Máximo?”
“I need to ask you first what kind of medication you had prescribed
for yourself.”
“Fine.” I replied, “Keep the dosage
light on the arsenic and continue taking it, but meanwhile my prescription is simple.
Let us to go inmediatamente to a nearby restaurant. I’ll make sure you join me everyday for a
week to take a restorative menu at a restaurant [12]
of my choice. I need to monitor your actual meal
measurement intake of lean body mass or nitrogen balance for at least two
weeks. That’s doctor’s orders.”
“And the next week, it will be your turn to
take me to the restaurant of your
choice. Now, take your hat and cuerpo
frock coat and let’s go out for a stroll.
The air is freshly crisp outside.”
I ordered
extra coals from the concierge to make sure the apartment is toasty and warm
upon our return. It had been freezing cold in Rizal’s room.
We
entered a restaurant nearby and sat down for a meal. I said, “As of today, let’s go easy
on the rich food.”
I ordered
the following for Rizal:
Soup,
[13]
Bratwurst, Rotkohl, (red cabbage) Kartoffel (boiled potatoes) mit Sosse (sauce)
und Weizenbier (light beer).
For
myself, I ordered;
Kraeuterhackbraten,
Gemischtes Gemüse, (varied vegetables) Kartoffelpuree (mashed potatoes) mit
Sosse (Sauce) und Wein (wine). [14]
What
a perfect medical prescription for a malnourished and starved José Rizal, and
it sure is delicious!
Es Schmeckt sehr Gut!
Returning
back to his room, I dipped into my breast pocket and handed him the diamond
solitaire ring (Saturnina’s) that he
requested me to pick up from Juan Luna, the Filipino painter, from his art
studio in Paris.
* Don Brennock, of Dublin suggested I should change the wording "braided narrative" to "have interwoven Viola's memoirs with Rizal's journals and letters..." email 14 Oct. 2013. I replied that I like his suggestions.
[1] In a letter to Rizal, dated 21 October 1886, Viola asked if his Madrid winter outfit would be serviceable in Berlin. “Tell me… if the suits I wear in Spain can be worn there in winter, or if, by wearing them, I would be looked upon in Germany as a Spaniard, that is, backward…” p. 65. We do not have a record of Rizal’s reply, but Viola arrived Berlin with a new set of winter clothes.
[1] In a letter to Rizal, dated 21 October 1886, Viola asked if his Madrid winter outfit would be serviceable in Berlin. “Tell me… if the suits I wear in Spain can be worn there in winter, or if, by wearing them, I would be looked upon in Germany as a Spaniard, that is, backward…” p. 65. We do not have a record of Rizal’s reply, but Viola arrived Berlin with a new set of winter clothes.
[3] I thank my brother, Dr. José Villarica, Jr. (Dr. Máximo
Viola’s grand nephew), for suggesting this mock-up physical examination of Rizal
based on historical records.
[4] Among friends in Madrid, Rizal was called Pepe. Only among close friends is the familiar Peping
used.
[5] See Rizal’s letter to Blumentritt dated 9 December
1886. “When I was still a small boy, the physician at Ateneo Municipal said I
had incipient tuberculosis.” José
Rizal’s Correspondence with Blumentritt, NHCP, 2011, 30. Vol.1.
[7] He had challenged his friends at the gym that he could
lift the heaviest load during their practice.
[9] See Máximo’s letter of 21, October 1886 in answer to
Rizal’s request for canvassing cheap printers in Barcelona, NHI, 2011. José
Rizal’s Correspondence with Fellow Reformists, pp 64-65.
[10] Viola soft-pedals his diagnosis to mean, “Malnutrition
compounded by an overdose of weight lifting daily regimen” hidden in obscurant
words. This reflected Rizal’s financial
difficulties at the time. This is not the first time Viola shows his friendly
loyal and diplomatic language when he refers to his friend, José Rizal. (See his Mis Viajes con el Doctor Jose Rizal,
1913.)
[12] The etymology of the word restaurant
came from the French language meaning a restful restorative health repast.
[13]Potato
soup with dumplings,
[14] Roasted Pig knuckles, prepared a little like the
Tagalog national dish of “Crispy Páta” This was what I ate when I first arrived
in Berlin on Oct 1st, 2012 with my Knights of Rizal hosts, Sir Gerhard Müller,
and Lady Lulu.
