Translated material
From the morning mail. Samara
“I know that you receive such letters every day, that trouble happens everywhere, we are all mortal, BUT this is a letter of despair, I really don’t know what to do, where to run. Help! There must be some way out!
I always guessed that in this country you can’t get sick. There are no disabled people, old people, there are no people with problems here at all, they simply don’t survive - Darwin’s Theory, natural selection - everything is just like in the textbook. And God forbid trouble comes to your home, you can hurt your head, lose your voice, spend a lot of money, but this does not at all guarantee that you will be at least one step closer to a solution.
A short story: my grandmother, a labor veteran who devoted 45 years to medicine and saving people, a flourishing woman with enviable health, fell ill. Now she is 77. Not ancient yet. For several years now, my grandmother has been bedridden. Wild pain, crumbling spine. She is denied treatment, moreover, every trip to get prescriptions for painkillers is a series of humiliations and requests, as if we are asking for entertainment. A year and a half ago, her bladder failed, and the diaper crisis began. And here, no matter how you treat it, and no matter how many times you change clothes, irritation and bedsores are the companions of bedridden patients. A week and a half ago, she began to develop suppuration from a bedsore in the sacral area. They called a doctor, she shrugged and recommended treating it with a solution of potassium permanganate. They refused to send a surgeon to our home: “Only a therapist can come to the house, but we can’t admit her to the hospital, she’s paralyzed.” That is, in essence, we were offered to rot the grandmother alive at home.
We found the surgeon by raising the ears of all our friends, and of course, for money. He opened the wound, and said that the process was so fast and deep that it was necessary to take her to the purulent department in a good way and clean her under general anesthesia, BUT: “No one will take her to the purulent department and under anesthesia, she is lying down and her condition is bad”... You Have you seen a deep purulent wound with extensive necrosis? Do you know what it smells like? Can you imagine WHAT pain a person experiences? I saw, I smelled, and yes, I unwound the scarf that my grandmother tried to hang herself with in pain, but she didn’t have enough strength, her hands hardly moved... And yes, there are no nurses to change bandages either, it’s not supposed to. Now about the pain. It is clear that over-the-counter devices have long ceased to help us. Every (!) trip to the clinic is a quest, it’s an indispensable begging and listening to “she’s eating a lot of your medicine.” We just want to make her care easier. Nobody deserves to suffer like this.
She screams day and night, we don’t sleep for days, and despite the fact that the floors are washed with bleach twice a day, there is a terrible smell throughout the house. So: they don’t take us to the hospice because there is no diagnosis of oncology (although for 7 years not a single doctor even bothered to take tests for tumor markers and we don’t know for sure). They don’t take us to the purulent hospital because the patient is bedridden. It is impossible to stay at home, because, firstly, with all our efforts, we cannot provide proper care, and not a single nurse with a medical education will take care of a patient in such a condition for money, and, secondly, purulent infection is dangerous for all family members, except that we wear bacteriological suits. SO WHAT SHOULD WE DO???? In addition to “hold on”, “pray”, “humble yourself”, “wait”. WHAT SHOULD WE DO NOW?"
Author's spelling.
I have not provided the entire letter.
I receive several calls a day from journalists asking why I agreed to be nominated to the Human Rights Council. There are no salaries, no benefits, I’m not a member of any party - why do you need this? I answer - solely so that there are fewer such letters. At least half.