Translated material
What is it?
In recent days, concerned people have often asked me approximately the same questions, so I decided to answer them here more completely and consistently.
In the fall, I returned from Europe , then I updated and revisedmy portfolio (on Behance) , drew new pictures , and showed old ones . I started looking for new orders. I went to the zombie mob in St. Petersburg. Then I suddenly ended up in the hospital and received a lot of moral virtual and even real support from surrounding relatives, friends and just good people. Including because, for entertainment, she reported on Twitter (@rotaenko) , Instagram and Facebook . As a result, free public medicine extinguished the symptoms incompatible with life, and after 11 days I was discharged with the words “we can’t help you anymore” and a recommendation to be examined and undergo a planned operation to remove the kidney (which no longer works) in more specialized places and paid clinics. And no, this has nothing to do with my “lifestyle,” guys, it was just a physical predisposition.
This whole sad story nevertheless gave me a lot of new impressions and ideas, so now I’m free, looking for orders for illustrations, drawing and want to do it even more. There is an incentive :).
Next, in more detail about some aspects of stay and treatment in hospitals now, in chronological order, as it is. 
I called an ambulance at home, lying on the floor in delirium, with a temperature of 40 and a stomach ache for five days, and double Ketanov did not help. What an idiot. The general logic of my thoughts on Monday was that it hurts a lot, yes, but this is all due to too hard a weekend, where there was little sleep, a lot of physical activity and even more whiskey. That is, let’s be patient a little and it will go away, and then I got involved. At that moment, when it was time, the temperature rose and left me unconscious for a day or two.
The big men from the ambulance arrived, asked what class I was in, and then where I worked. They touched my stomach and took my temperature. After that, they said that according to the rules, if you have a high temperature, you can only go to the infectious diseases hospital, and they suggested No. 2 on Sokolinaya Gora as the closest one. Since it was Friday and there were traffic jams, I ended up at the hospital in the evening, when all the employees were gradually leaving and the offices were closing. Two doctors in the emergency department and I together decided that it was cholecystitis (due to the coincidence of symptoms and pain in a characteristic place under the ribs). They suggested that I lie down and “put in some IVs,” which were then not done in this hospital because of the holiday weekend, and for the same reason the ultrasound did not work. Or write a refusal and go take the pills that they suggested prescribing for exacerbation of cholecystitis (gallbladder disease).
Here I was lucky that I acted uncharacteristically and did not discharge myself immediately. And I was very unlucky that I ended up in the infectious diseases hospital. If you have something in pain, you go to the ambulance and believe with a high degree of confidence that it is not an infection or the flu - do not go to the infectious diseases hospital!
Despite the words of the doctors from the waiting room, they took me 300 meters to another building in the same ambulance and presented me with an ultimatum that they would admit me with a note on the card “intestinal poisoning” - for which they would be treated for the next three days. I was forbidden to eat anything, they injected me with Noshpa and only gave me a tasteless saline solution in a jar, which I “necessarily had to drink all of.”
Everyone is given special water in a thick glass bottle, mine is salty and sweet. I can’t do anything else (but sometimes everyone can still have tea).
"There is no drinking water in the hospital!" @ Infectious Diseases Hospital #2 via Alexey K.: http://4sq.com/Wf41la #foursquare. No visits (@ Infectious Diseases Hospital #2).
They gave a bunch of painkiller injections, consciousness came out a little and demanded information, and somehow by chance Bulgakov’s plays came with it.
It was chilling in the middle of the night, so the neighbor complained and they injected something new into the vein, but it’s already difficult to lie straight on your back.
One girl just came here with a severe headache, and yes, she is also being treated for food poisoning.
They say that tomorrow you won’t be able to go out anyway, there won’t be any doctors, and you can’t write a refusal to the cerberosisters.
There is one dish for dinner here. A cutlet with slugs, which is generally prohibited by 90% of patients. Starve or break :).pic.twitter.com/m6Nal7s8
Twice a day, an injection of an antipyretic, an injection of “Noshpa” and tablets for diarrhea, which I did not suffer from, as well as vomiting. This treatment did not work, my temperature rose to a height of about 40 and did not subside, I became delirious. I remember that on Sunday or Monday (I can’t figure it out) in the morning during my rounds, I asked for more antipyretics, but the first sister refused without a doctor’s prescription and left her shift, the second also refused, but called the doctor, who in turn called the head doctor of the hospital, and together they decided that it really was not food poisoning, and called an ambulance to another hospital with the inscription on the card “cholecystitis, suspected pancreatitis.” Before boarding they gave me aspirin, hooray!
The second hospital (I think City No. 36) received me just fine. They immediately took a blood test from a vein and a finger, for some reason an X-ray of the entire back, and then the entire chest, and finally an ultrasound! A very elderly and beautiful female doctor talked to me and a young sister, helping me walk through the strange passages in the attic, took me to the ward. I was almost ready to pass out, I was told not to drink or eat anything, to lie down and wait for the doctor, when the nurses came again and said that they would now take me to another hospital, the third one that day, because they did not have a urology department. Whaaat?
I don’t remember how I drove, I remember that I slept on a bench in the reception area and there was a strong smell of homeless people there. I ended up in the 57th City Hospital, the doctor woke me up, asked to show my pupils and veins and claimed that I was a drug addict, since I was so thin. I said that I was brought from another place. Then I was assigned to a new ward and told that the round would be tomorrow.
At the new place they started injecting me with antibiotics twice a day, they suggested a diagnosis of kidney hydronephrosis, they did two ultrasounds - and they saw different things. Including the liver, which was sometimes healthy, sometimes of absolutely incredible size, and the gallbladder, sometimes sick and with stones, sometimes not. The data agreed on the question regarding the right kidney - they said that it does not work, and they will prove it with research, nothing is clear about other organs, since I am in urology, and why does a healthy or not so healthy gallbladder hurt - it is because there is inflammation around the kidney , and the space between it all hurts. OK.
Gradually I felt better, and at first it was absolutely wonderful in this hospital - I could finally eat, after a few days! Forced socialization got in the way; the woman next door had clearly suffered from schizophrenia and attention deficit disorder for a long time. But this is even interesting. I studied the local landscapes in the windows, the smoking room in the basement and the service room on the stairs, people came to visit me, and the Internet was excellent, until the wiring in the room burned out along with the iPhone charger. In the morning Vanya brought me a new charger, and we even walked down the street a little. It turned out that no one really cares who enters and exits the hospital grounds and what time it is for visits.
All around is the same post-Soviet linoleum hell, and the hospital smell in each place is individual, no matter how you ventilate it, it screams about sweat and urine.
Another neighbor returned from the weekend, and from the lamp it became clear that there was blood splattered above her bed, but it was inconvenient to ask what exactly.
There was a dubious, complicated story about how they allegedly offered me to immediately perform an operation that would save me. An operation to pump out fluid and pus from the kidney, which I supposedly refused. It turned out that they decided so during a conversation with my mother, who was trying to find out something from the doctors, at least about the details of the diagnosis, which was not easy in this hospital - the local doctors were really elusive, “this style” of absence - as other patients said . Later it turned out that the “rejected” operation was unnecessary and probably would not have led to anything good. 
This is what one bathroom on the entire floor looks like, on the left is an open garbage chute; for trying to lock the door with a bucket and a stick, the nurses shouted obscenities, like at a witch in the 15th century who locked herself in to “wash.”
For breakfast today, the previously known slug and spy cheese are now in union.
And today everyone is being evicted for half a day from the wards to the corridors, and I am generally being evicted to the former “dining room”, in the name of a sudden major overhaul.
The most unfortunate 10 extra patients, they say, were simply injected with an antipyretic in the morning, and by lunchtime they were already discharged, although almost voluntarily.
The bed has moved to the dining room, everyone is walking around eating. The adrenaline in rehabilitation increased due to SUDDEN major repairs :). 
Interestingly, the hospital began to carry out this very Major Overhaul - by the end of the week, life was very unbearable, due to the lack of normal bathrooms, which moved to the corridors, including those next to the elevator, and the dining room of the wards. From the general commotion among the staff, people with catheters and after operations were in shock. Many of my neighbors were discharged and took the injections home, rightly believing the conditions were incompatible with recovery. After a couple of days, only a third of the department’s patients remained. I stayed there because I still couldn’t do without painkillers, took a course of antibiotics, and most importantly, they promised me a really cool analysis with infographics for free, but on Monday.
But it was really fun to watch such an everyday apocalypse! The nurses and doctors were not at all interested in the patients, no one was watching over anyone and only hoped that they would leave on their own. I walked through the underground labyrinths of the hospital, and even went to Mayak to drink a hot drink with raspberries on my day off.
The morning is in full swing, injections, yelling, scandals, I now sleep near the corridor in the dining room, guarding the entrance from cockroaches.
I studied the hospital's catacomb system. I know how to get to the buffet through 3 buildings underground.
Pipe corridor with red floor. The coolest thing about it is that it is twisty, suddenly a gurney appears at full speed and you have to press yourself against the wall.
It’s Friday for everyone, everyone who could has checked out or at least asked for time off for the weekend. It’s just me, a girl with inflammation and a granny after her kidney was removed. The 20-year-old son of this monastery grandmother spent the entire evening next to her and decided to stay overnight - holding the vomiting vessel and hair. Pat on the back.
The analysis showed in detail that I am missing one kidney, but I can live with this, the second one is working! So the relatives’ panicky ideas about a transplant had to be cut off for ethical reasons. The doctors first frightened me with a small amount of information, then did not comment at all. My attending physician simply disappeared from the hospital on the day of discharge, and I could not get any recommendations from him. I only spoke with the chief physician. The statement contained false information, ranging from temperature to medical history and treatment. Having put all this together, I realized that it was time to get out. So now I’m collecting documents and looking for a place where I can get examined, I want to find an adequate doctor or clinic where I can understand the state of health in general, perform an operation, since it is necessary, and at the same time not ruin all the other organs.
What about the crazy electric dances? With a water bomb inside... if that's the only thing left to cheer you up?
I mean, what about slam and punk rock? - You will have time to survive if there is a surgeon nearby. — Will there be only photographers?
After talking with me, the doctor allowed me to jump a lot and strongly. 
After being discharged, I was completely overcome with post-hospital euphoria. And yes, I appreciated the benefits of living without the depressant that is alcohol.
I walked with a shoe that was accidentally torn and with gangrene on my arm from IVs, I was dead tired, and it seemed to me that I was fine, and it seemed that I needed a plan.
To be honest, I feel a surge of energy, like after being released from prison or an interesting but difficult trip. A kidney more, a kidney less, well...
It turned out that I can talk about happiness endlessly, no sweet, everything from the nature of love for darkness, the unknown and adrenaline addiction.
I can talk platitudes about setting priorities, but it’s better to just remind you once again that now I’m free, I draw, I want to learn how to work in illustration properly, and in general I want a lot of things! New orders, travel, stop getting sick, become smarter. 