Sixth bed

“Such things” offer readers a new story by Alexei Motorov, the author of the novels “Young years of the nurse of the steam locomotive” and “Crime of Dr. steambozov”

When last spring, the publishing house started to reprint both of my novels, it was decided to release them in new covers, already thirdly in a row. This is so that it seems to me that I have not two books, but half a dozen. And place my photos of that time on the covers.

Photoshoot

I had photos. A little, a dozen and a half. They made them at the beginning of the eighty -third my friend Vanka Rurikov. He also worked as a nurse, we simultaneously came to intensive care as soon as we graduated from the school at the first honey. But if I got there by chance, we can say - fooling around, submitting documents to the school after the first failure to the institute, then Vanka Rurikov did not even think about any medical field. I just decided to become a nurse, without any further prospects.

By origin, he was from a church family, which at that time seemed amazing. His father served as a temple ctitor in Sokolniki, his uncle had a parish in Lithuania, and Kolka’s brother earned bread as a referent of the foreign department of the Moscow Patriarchate. They lived so that no professors, people's artists and even farmers dreamed. A huge apartment on the Frunze embankment, a cottage with two pools, a bath and billiards, and they changed cars more often than ordinary people boots. Despite this, Ivan was modest, did not show prosperity, only occasionally allowed himself to come to work at his father’s “Lada”, or to appear in the Canadian sheepskin coat of Kolya’s brother.

So then he dragged on Saturday the duty of some kind of outlandish camera, chrome, heavy, with a large lens, a shutter in which he descended with a solid buzz.

In the intensive care unit of the hospital No. 7 on duty photo: from personal archive

In the evening, the free minute was found in handy, and let's take pictures. Young, stupid, then we were not even twenty. Therefore, more and more faces were built, the fool was lying.

Here they are, these photos, a standard format, black and white. I pos on a different hospital background, a surgical form is guessed under a white robe. Everything is by order. I decided to carefully see the selected photo in all details.

On it, I am captured by the crowning in the aisle between the table and the fourth bed in the first block of our resuscitation, the hand props the cheek. My view is somewhat tired, a little sad, not to say - plaintive. On the table, some papers, a bubble of cheap glue and a table lamp are guessed. Behind me is an apparatus for artificial ventilation of the RO-6 light models, and if you look closely, you can make out that the volume regulator handle is attached to the plastic plaster plastic.

I immediately remembered this apparatus, with amazing constancy, I fixed all kinds of nonsense, which for many years firmly crashed into the brain. In this apparatus, the volume regulator really shifted slowly with each respiratory cycle during operation, and so that it did not slip to the maximum, it had to be fixed with improvised means.

Then the surname of the patient surfaced that the duty was lying in the first bunk, - Melnikov.

Melnikov

Melnikov on the eve received a knife in the heart during a fight at the workplace in the instrumental workshop. The fact that the factories are harsh, I was convinced in a month of school practice as a turner at the ZIL factory.

Melnikov was brought on time, instantly taken to the table, darned, in terms of surgery there was a complete order there, but due to a lack of oxygen, due to massive blood loss, his brain was injured. And he, most likely for a while, well, and maybe forever, turned into a complete fool. He was lying and sang swelling of swearing ditties for a day, having achieved that in the evening we learned them by heart and even sang along to ourselves.

Ducks walk around the swamp
Gray, grunt
My cute e ...
Only earrings blink

When we tired of this vocals, we pricked Seduxen, and silence came for a couple of hours. Melnikov’s wife was very sorry for her husband, she was a simple woman, with her ideas about rehabilitation in the postoperative period, so she fired a full pelvis of cutlets and solemnly handed them to me during the reception hours.

“You already make sure that Petya ate everything,” she asked, looking into her face, “otherwise the man will bent from your sick leave.”

Vanya and I honestly small slices tried to feed Petya, but he, who had not yet departed from the consequences of recent stabberry, was quickly tired, saturated with only half a half of the cutlets. The cutlets were so beautiful and exuded such a breathtaking aroma that we did not resist the temptation for long. Eternally full Vanya ate two, and I am four. And then we pushed this huge bowl into the refrigerator, we still have to have a conscience.

It was on Saturday, and on Monday Melnikov was transferred to the department. He was rolled on a chrome Finnish bunk, he had this bowl with cutlets at his feet, and he sang in full throat:

The steamer floats along the Volga
The pipes are green,
Girls go without tickets,
On p ... hoping!

The orderlies averted their eyes, they say, we have nothing to do with it, and the demand is small from the fool.

Yes, God with him, with this Petya Melnikov, although his dementia was also entertaining. At this time, at the opposite end of the block, in the sixth bunk, another patient lay. Rather, the patient.

Admission

Report at the Morning Conference, 1985 Photo: From Personal Archive

The ambulance brought her late in the evening on New Year's Eve. This was not a traditional entry from the street, but a translation from another hospital. But the translations take place during the day, and then they rolled over the night looking, and even without preliminary approval. The brigade explained that there, in the hospital where she was lying, there is no neurosurgery, but we have. Therefore, they decided to carry here, because here, in addition to the isolated traumatic brain, they did not find anything, here our neurosurgeons and sort it out.

Everything is clear. We went the second day after hospitalization, she is dying, and the hospital where she entered the day before yesterday, reluctantly hang on herself the mortality, spoil the indicators, and they decided to balance her until it is too late. And when death occurs on the first day, they hang on an ambulance, and does not fly up to the hospital.

The fact that she is dying was clear already at the first glance. There was a gray, with a face broken into the porridge, on some dirty blanket and breathed it every other time. And when the pressure was measured in the car, and there is less than eighty in Systol and Bradicardia, there was no doubt at all.

As usual, weighedly scolded an ambulance. Why are you in this state you are taking the patient from the other end of the city and do nothing during the transportation? If only for Pontus, what a bank they drunk, you are not taxi drivers. And they have a standard answer ready, as if they are reading all one manual. We were going to, they say, were ready to drip and stab, but in a hurry, they were in such a hurry that we did not have time. After all, they really - if only to be taken. There are taxi drivers.

Before playing at the night of his wagon, they said that, according to their data, the girl was accidentally discovered at night on the road, it shows that she was knocked down by a car, most likely a truck, she flew several meters from the blow, crashing her head into a curb, and of course, she left, most likely would not find, and no one will look, it’s not a movie.

Dr. Mazurok

We received it with Dr. Mazurk. He was a Komsomol of our department and all the time tried to make a man out of me. Penalized in a secluded place and began:

“Lech,” he asked tiredly, “are you a Komsomol member?”

I nodded doomedly, realizing where he was driving.

“Do you know,” Mazurok continued, “who can be considered a Komsomol member?”

- Every subject who has reached puberty, Yuri Vladimirovich! - I tried to unsuccessfully sharply sharply. - And especially the one who is able to remember how many orders the Lenin Komsomol has.

3rd year student at the Department of Operational Surgery Photo: From Personal Archive

About the orders of the Komsomol - this was a favorite question in all district committees at interviews upon admission. And that six of these orders knew everyone, including completely hopeless oligophrenes.

- No, Lech! - not going to succumb to my provocations, solemnly announced Yuri Vladimirovich. - The Komsomol member can be considered the one who recognizes the charter of the Komsomol and pays membership fees in time!

Then followed the traditional question:

- Are you going to pay contributions?

Actually, for the sake of this, everything was satisfied. Well, under the curtain, having received assurances from me, that my contributions will be paid in the near future, the mazuroks had usually advised:

- Yes! Than a fool to fall, you would better teach physics, Lech!

What a fool there is a fool with such a schedule. And about physics, this is true. Because of this cursed physics, by that time, by that time, for the third time I flew into the institute.

Gearings

Here with Mazurk we accepted this girl. She really did not breathe, immediately thundered to the apparatus. As soon as these figures with an ambulance were taken without intubation, it is incomprehensible.

Mazurok then became her attending physician. Yuri Vladimirovich was a rare example of a Komsomol, but at the same time a good and competent doctor. In this sense, Natasha - that was her name, this girl - was lucky. And the rest of the things there were completely sour. The most severe cerebral injury, coma. No consciousness, no breath, no movement.

Neurosurgeons shook their hands, there was no intracerebral hematomas there, there was nothing to operate. She was put in the first block on the sixth bed, led conservatively, treated, not hacking, but without any hopes. Although she was young, only nineteen, my same age, we knew and saw how the young people end such injuries. If the edema of the brain does not finish, then besides this there is also pneumonia, slopes, sepsis.

Time passed. She did not die, but did not improve. Lay hot as a stove. In severe brain injuries, the temperature rises due to damage to the central structures, and not to knock down such a temperature. And my mother came to her. Rather, not quite to her. Then they did not let them into intensive care. All contacts were in the lobby at the door of the department. Therefore, she did not see her daughter, but only clearly appeared by one in the afternoon, talked with Mazurk and brought programs. Every day. Invariably friendly and in an even mood. This does not always happen that relatives come every day. Yes. Many do not know, but patients in intensive care are visiting daily not as often as it seems. Some are very rare. And some never.

I always accurately determined how home our patient was home, as soon as I opened the nightstand, only by type of programs. The programs that Natasha’s mother brought were in sight. All bottles and jars are laid out, packed, signed. What to give for breakfast, what for lunch, and what for dinner.

And there, in every gear, each time lay a small bag. More precisely, paper cook. A leaflet was attached to it with a black pharmacy elastic band. Half of the page from the notebook to the cage. And a few words with an even beautiful handwriting.

“Dear doctors. Thank you very much for taking care of my daughter Natasha. This is for you for tea "

For all these long days and weeks, the text did not change.

There were sweets in the cat. "Bears", "Squirrels". A little, gram two hundred. Just at our nursing brigade.

Every day. Every day heaps with this note. And at every duty, for every evening tea, we shook these sweets on a saucer. And I saw how one of the sisters no, no, and she brushes a tear.

But those who work in intensive care, they are far from sentimental people. And in order for them to penetrate, this must be tried. But she, this mother of this Natasha, did. And the matter is not at all in sweets. She made her daughter ceased to be just a patient for us.

Natasha

Without noticing it, we began to approach her more often. Cross more often. Twist more often, twirl, turning from side to side. They arranged washing her heads, even bathed in the bathroom, two supported on the sheet, and since she did not breathe, someone else was given ventilation with a special bag. For a few months of coma, she did not have a single dressing room, and this is in the complete absence of orderlies.

Everyone understood that there was little chance. And Mazurok every time told the mother that the probability of a positive outcome is small. But she seemed to have not heard, all the same was by one day for a conversation, and the heap with a note was in every program.

We fill out medical cards photo: from personal archive

When by the end of the third month she moved her finger, they did not say to her mother, afraid to reassure. Maybe these are some residual reflexes or cramps.

A week later, movements appeared in the right hand. Three days later, she began to open her eyes to the shout. And after a week she began to resist the device. I breathed it myself.

But sometimes a way out of a coma after such an injury - this still does not mean anything. You can start breathing, even walk, but remain with this plant. For the whole measured life. How many we have released them. Lying, staring at the ceiling with invisible eyes.

I dragged a chair to her bed, sat next to me, put my hand in the palm of my hand and ordered:

- Get your hand!

And he felt how she was trying to squeeze my fingers with her warm weak brush.

To exclude the unconscious, he said:

- Fuck twice!

Frank, waited. And she shook. Once. And after a second, another.

My heart immediately accelerated the run. So, not a plant. So there is hope. I did not leave right away, sat a few more minutes and just looked.

On the day when they decided to turn it off from the apparatus, her bunk gathered the whole department, even a barmage and a mistress sister.

Mazurok himself pulled her a tracheostomic pipe and asked loudly:

- What is the name of you?

And she hissed:

- Natasha!

One of the employees immediately roared, smearing tears.

- How are you, Natasha?

She looked around our whole crowd with a muddy gaze and suddenly said:

- I'm pregnant.

Here everyone laughed amicably, began to clap Mazurka on the back:

- Well, Yurka, well, well done, you treat well, you don’t lose time in vain!

And he waved his hand embarrassedly:

- Oh, you, morons!

And then he went to the hall, where her mother was waiting for the doors. Today is good news for her. We decided to keep Natasha longer. Overshadowed the extra couple of weeks. Those who got so hard, were in no hurry to transfer to the department.

Nurse

It was already summer, I was on duty on the second block, when a bell rang from the hall. Previously, we had a thick glass doors there, to the Olympics they even painted a beautiful Moscow-80 emblem, but the glass was quickly smashed with crawls, it turned out that they were though thick, they were fighting into small baby. Therefore, ordinary wooden doors were installed, painted with white and set a call.

At the door stood Natasha's mother.

- Oh, Lesha! It’s good that you are on duty today! - She knew all of us by name, learned for all those months.

- Natasha today wanted to come in, say thanks. We are prescribed on Friday. Let's go home. Now I will only go up to the department after her, we will be in ten minutes, okay?

For some reason, I was terribly worried. I just didn’t find a place for myself. Probably because I have not seen Natasha from the day that she was sent to be treated to neurosurgery. And also because our patients are very rarely coming to say thanks. We do not see them almost after the translation. And when we accidentally meet in the corridors of the departments, we will not recognize each other.

The same picture near the bed of Melnikov Photo: From the Personal Archive

I ran into the garage, frantically crumbled and began to wait.

The sunset sun through the windows beat in the eyes, and when they appeared at the door, I couldn’t immediately see her face, only a silhouette, although he immediately noted that she was going on, easily and without support.

Then, when he examined, in the first instant, even breathing caught. Somehow because of everything at once. And she turned out to be very beautiful, okay, slender by the girl. In pink trousers and a striped T -shirt.

No, I would never have recognized her. When she was lying with us, swollen, swollen, with a face rolled against asphalt, even the age was difficult to make out there.

She first held out her hand and shook my fingers. Stronger than then, at the first glimpses of consciousness. And just as then, my heart immediately pounded and dried up in my mouth, although it was a common greeting.

I put them in chairs, and I myself remained to stand. At first, the conversation did not stick, the first, some awkward words jumped out, besides, I was shy about lifting my eyes. After all, what we did not do with her during this time, but here it is! She suddenly asked:

- Was there a lot of things with me?

And for some reason I lied:

- No, nonsense!

A little later, when we had already relaxed, we talked, I forced her to untie the scarf and admired the scar from the tracheostoma, the Mazurk and I did it, otherwise it happens. I noticed that the fingers of the left hand still obeyed badly.

“I, as soon as I see my ICC instructor, or rather, her red trousers at the end of the corridor,” Natasha informed me with a slight smile, “I immediately try to escape somewhere, hide, hide, so painfully develop this hand.

We talked a little more. In the end, I was so bolder that I asked:

- Listen, why did you, when you woke up, said that I was pregnant?

Then they both looked at each other and laughed.

- Did she really say that?

I confirmed.

- We live opposite the hospital. And I often watch how newly made dads scream under the windows, how dressed up cars come, how mothers with children are taking, ”she began to explain. - And often I thought whether such a day would come when I would lie in this hospital and look from there at the windows of our apartment. And when she woke up after some strange heavy sleep without dreams and saw people around people in white robes, she apparently thought that this very moment had come.

For all the time of the conversation, the mother said almost nothing. Without looking up, she looked at her daughter and smiled. Уже надо было прощаться, я решил их проводить по лестнице до выхода на первый этаж. Пока мы преодолевали эти три десятка ступенек, я вдруг почувствовал, что не узнал что-то очень важное. И тут понял, что именно. В дверях придержал мать за руку и спросил:

— Вы кем работаете?

— Медсестрой! She answered. — Я всю жизнь медсестрой работаю. Раньше в больнице, сейчас в поликлинике.

Here it is. Она знала, от кого тут все зависит. Понимала цену лишней секунды внимания. And I said:

- Thank you very much!

Она взглянула удивленно, ничего не ответила и поспешила за дочерью, та уже подходила к лифту. Розовые брючки и футболка в полоску.

I have never seen them anymore.

Утром я ехал домой, и впервые за долгое время настроение было просто отличным. Настолько, что даже подумал — может, не такая уж страшная ошибка, эта моя нынешняя работа. Да и в институт поступлю, мне бы только физику сдать. There will still be. Все не напрасно.

Книжка вышла с той самой фотографией. И теперь всякий раз, когда я смотрю на обложку, я думаю о той женщине, что много месяцев, день за днем, отвоевывала свою дочь у смерти. Шестая койка, где лежала Наташа, в кадр не вошла, но я знаю, что мне, тому, на фотографии, сидящему между кроватью и столом, достаточно подняться, сделать несколько шагов и коснуться ее рукой.

Москва, апрель 2019.

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