About doctors and health

By the way, a completely healthy person is unpleasant. Like any thing without patina, roughness, scratches, flaws. A broken thing remembers its story. Absolutely healthy people are a place in space, and not on my land, because they have no past.

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Doctors report that thanks to their achievements, life expectancy has increased greatly. How so? After all, a believer possessed eternal life. And now in the "advanced" countries he lives for 75–80 years. And this is issued for the success of science! But this science has deprived a person of eternity.

***

It was a long time ago. It was a Chinese not from this world. He cut smoke with scissors, mowed the grass with an ax, shot from a bow to the wind. He looked into a puddle, and saw the sky. He has never been at a reception at the clinic. He lived in the mountains and lived for a long time.

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The Japanese studied medicine on Chinese treatises. And the Chinese disdained wombings and therefore imagined only about what a person had inside. They generally believed that the body without any organ is flawed, and therefore European surgeons are engaged in membership. In China, one could not meet one -armed or one -legged person. But the cunning Europeans learned the Japanese to cut the corpses, and when they made the first opening in the 18th century, they found that the situation is not at all what is written in Chinese books. Conclusion: we Japanese are not at all like these nasty Chinese. That was the joy!

***

Electric train Moscow - Kaluga. There, people are no longer suburban, but special.

- Do you know Vanka?

- Well.

- I got sick, remember?

- Well!

- I went to the dorthur - I ordered half a glass to take on an empty stomach.

(This is “on an empty stomach” - the correct evidence that the doctor was real, not fake.)

- Well?

- Previously, he could not take off a woman, but now he reads a newspaper without an och.

***

My eldest daughter Nastya was born with an injury: she did not overgrown her fontanel. There was little use from the clinic, but for our happiness it was possible to find a doctor who came to the house. It was Alexey Vladimirovich Kristman. He was tall, stooped a little, possessed somewhat woman and an almost hairless face, resembling a suddenly aged young man. Despite the years, Christman did not lose young curiosity for life, joked excellently, had optimism, which acted so beneficial on the jailed parents. I have never met such an amazing doctor again. He treated not the disease, but the body, relied on the immunity given to him by God, which should not be disfigured with excessive sterility. Therefore, A.V. was categorically against the ironing of the diapers and boiling of the nipples that fell on the floor. He was such an Orthodox person who wants to imitate. A.V. prescribed the simplest and cheapest medicines, fresh air, love for the child. This invariably brought the desired effect. For the first time, having examined the tiny Nastya, Kristman predicted that she would be too violently experiencing love and friendship. And it turned out, as always, right. But there is no medicine from this.

After A.V. lovingly examined Nastya, we seated him at the table and drank vodka, to which he was a big hunter. Having drunk the first, they cementily lit a cigarette. A.V. loved to treat, loved and talk. He did everything with love. Despite the age difference, we made friends.

Although in the early 1950s, Alexei Kristman was a yellow-ore student, he managed to sit in a Lefortovo prison in the case of doctors. He was attributed to the role of the coherent between the two professors, about which in the medical world it was known for certain that they had never communicated due to mutual hostility. Fortunately, Stalin still died, A.V. was released into the wild. Is it worth it to be surprised that the communists A.V. hated fiercely. Nevertheless, one of his sons ended up in a reconnaissance school, disappeared for years, partisan somewhere in the Arab countries. Once a year, A.V. called with the report that the son is alive. Then he disappeared forever, A.V. assumed that his son was killed in Latin America, his eyes were filled with tears and hatred of power, which first mutilated the soul of his son, and then killed him.

***

There is such an absurd opinion: the doctor should not have bad habits and be a healthy person ... What stupidity! Only a horspering doctor can be a qualified specialist. How can a healthy person understand the patient? How can he feel the beating of pain? You can’t learn this from books. The doctor needs to accept only people of patients who have not passed the medical board who did not serve in the army. If the heart is sick - let it be a cardiologist, if with the head of a naude - a psychiatrist. And without cigarettes in my teeth, I can’t imagine a doctor at all.

***

It is time to move to the country, collected things, prepared. Anticipating that digging of the earth and Kolka firewood will come out sideways to me, I decided to stock up on Voltaren: if the lower back is carried, I will smash and cure. He came to the pharmacy. “We have two packaging. Are you 50 grams or 150? " Instinctively recalling my long experience in drinking drinks, I instinctively answer: 150! And I get a huge tube that I can’t smear in my whole life. But 150 grams are drunk quickly ... But I considered it below my male dignity to abandon my words. This is a tube of me.

***

Once there were many wonderful writers among the doctors. Let's say Chekhov and Bulgakov. They treated a person, not a disease. Now one doctor specializes in the right ear, and the other on the left. It is difficult for such a doctor to become a good writer. In the best case, he will be able to write a medical history.

***

There are no more teachers left. Only specialists remained. Psychologists who prefer to work on prepayment terms have taken the place of life teachers. Psychologists do not become writers. For what? Psychologists earn well, and writers are bad. In addition, the power of imagination among psychologists is much better developed than among writers. One of my acquaintances went to such a psychologist and boasted that she remembered her prenatal period. "Well, how is it in the womb?" I asked. “So I told you,” she answered coquettishly.

***

It all turned out that the current doctor has to involuntarily narrow his gaze to a point, turning into a person, over whom Kozma Prutkov mocked: "A specialist is like a flus: his fullness is one -sided." The Japanese Yoshida Kaneoshi in the “Notes at Leisure” spoke exactly the same in the 14th century: “When a person reached the greatness of the great skill, people say about him:“ When he dies, who we ask from whom we ask? ” And this means that it was not for nothing that he was old, that he lived seriously. However, his skill impeccable also testifies to the fact that he lived his life, doing only one business, and this is not good. ”

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And what kind of allergies do not happen! A friend of the Japanese with some pride in his specialty admitted to me that he had an allergy to Fig. That's surprising! In Japan, even cats adore rice, and they do not find any allergies. Surprised, asked the Japanese if he had allergies to the hieroglyphs. I assured that no. He probably lies because he moved to Moscow many years ago. I think that in order to never see these damned hieroglyphs and amuse your eyes by Cyrillic. However, possessing not the most derivative character, he often says: “I am not a hieroglyph to you all like it!”

***

Once, in the days of almost timeless, the doctor was an adviser and a family friend, and now he is a repairman, like a plumber. You come to him and immediately stumble: "How many full years are you?" - "Seventy". - "Well, what do you want ..."

In general, I don’t want anything.

Alexander Meshcheryakov