• Marina


Обновлено: 20 сент. 2019 г.

When I arrived in hospital last week, a naked man was running and screaming in the emergency room. Later, he dressed up and was discussing theology with a nurse in a relaxed nonchalant manner. Another man with cirrhosis, skinny and wraithlike, was wandering around at night asking "How is it to breathe? Will you teach me?”.

In my hospital room, diabetics were eating sweets and people with heart conditions secretly smoking. To the left of my bed, a woman was watching Soviet propaganda movies without headphones. Young builders of communism were discussing social parasites and the benefits of labour. They had strangely energetic yet mechanical voices, like robots who have studied human behaviour. Time and again I heard the words "party" and “Lenin”.

To my right, a pale and haggard woman lay in corpse pose and prayed loudly. Her hands folded on the chest with a rosary, an empty frightening look fixed on the ragged ceiling. Phrases of prayer intertwined with the slogans of Soviet propaganda and created one vivid soundtrack. The remaining five roommates accompanied, snoring loudly.

The food in the hospital was terrible, there was also no shower, a broken toilet and everything smelled of sweat, old age, and death. I had to finish the necessary exams, but I couldn’t. I ran away from this menagerie.

The uncertainty of disease is hanging over me, but I’m happy to be home.

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