The writer works in the hospital

The writer Alexander Ilichevsky, author of the novels “Matisse”, “Persian”, “The Device of Newton” and others, tells about his experience. Laureate of the Russian Bouquer Prizes, a large book, etc. In recent years, he works as a physicist in the radio therapy department of the Jerusalem hospital. Oral novels.

Five years in the profession is not a term, but there are enough impressions. The metaphor “Hospital as an organism” is accurate, because all the large hospitals for recalculation and each has its own appearance, its own wisdom and oddities, their doctors, their advantages and disadvantages.

Our Khadassa was created by a group of American women-syonists. When the Jordanians shot the medical humanitarian convoy during the war for independence and fifty people died, then it was decided to open another Hadassa hospital in a less vulnerable place. Our hospital is located in mountainous areas under the ancient town of Ein-Cam, where John the Baptist grew up. The hospital was originally built taking into account military needs, there is everything to work in the condition of autonomy, this is a kind of fortress where even garbage is processed by its efforts. The area is extremely picturesque. Each time I think about this when I climb from our compartment to the surface and go down to the first tier of the valley, where the parking is located. From there, an incredible view of Jerusalem and the suburbs opens, at sunset everything is twisted by a haze, pine trees grow, and a drox blooms, almonds. Or everything is strewn with crystal lights in the night, which, due to the special transparency of the air, shine like a diamond placing. Amazing atmospheric and landscape phenomenon.

* * *

As for the writers-writers. Anton Pavlovich said that it is necessary to write with a cold head - so with us: of course, compassion and attention in the first place, however, if you do not own yourself, then no one can be cured. It is necessary that the hands do not tremble. There will always be doubts, the matter is not even in the experience, because it is always important to learn a new one, and at the same time you must always doubt and double -check. You can’t do medical affairs if you are not sure that you have laid out one hundred percent. This is a paradoxical law: there is always doubt and never do what is not sure of. And only these two simultaneous points will determine that you have laid out to the whole coil.

* * *

Her name is Hannah, she is in seventy, she has a cervical cancer, and, in order to kill him, the doctor placed six needles and a hefty thing in her body, called "Miami" - this is a device with seven catheter, according to which, like in needles, I give a radioactive source to her so that he dealt with the disease, and her grandchildren recognize her grandmother to be better than their adult world It turned out to be inhabited by the good and smart ghost of Hannah. Total thirteen catheter. First, I have long and carefully draw them according to its computed tomography, then I calculate the time and sequence of the source - evenly so as not to harm anything especially, while the tumors are irreparable damage, with the help of which we could affirmatively answer Hannah’s usual question - whether everything will be in order in the coming years. I don’t know exactly what kind of period of time is interested in, but I try very hard for him to be the largest possible. Nurses help me with this, now this is Ruth, my favorite nurse from Canada, among other things, she knows what snow around is half a year and what is a puck club. I myself stood at the gate all my childhood, and now we are one team with it, probably the only one in our Middle Eastern League. Hannah is very patient, and while we conjure over her, I keep a connection card like a poster in front of me, and she, checking with her, disassembled the pipe with a flashlight. Hannah, though with Morphine, is trying to be cheerful and polite. We sometimes apologize if we have to unravel a bundle of catheter again, reconnect, and then she says: "Come on, brothers, I have to apologize, what a nightmare, how much you are bored at me." We continue, and here Hannah says: "But do not worry at all, I am cool, I feel like a rocket that was connected to the gun to launch to the moon." And then he doesn’t sing: “Fly me to the moon, let me play among the Stars,” and Ruth begins to argue with her who sang this song first - Sinatra or Andy Williams in his show.

* * *

For a long time I believed that I have no right to write or talk about what I see. It seemed too painfully secret. Now the time has passed. A man is not a flea, he will get used to everything. At least he will try to get used to it.

Here was a story connected with a person, a writer, a translator who was treated with us and fought to the last. There was no one to transfer the library to him, and he wore books to me for every treatment. While the line lasted, we walked along the corridor, he told me about every book as a close person. It happened when he was especially ill, he passed the books and reported: "Today there will be no conversation." He and his wife planned to go to Switzerland for joint euthanasia for the savings. But it so happened that his wife went alone.

There is a story about a person who was sewn in the chest area by ten catheter, who, together with relatives, patiently waited for us to develop and introduce treatment. During this time - in a few days - you are akin to this organism, with its size, organs. It seems that you know him by heart. You dream of pictures of computed tomography. Each body is unique. Over time, you begin to seriously believe that somewhere in the body there is a place where the soul is attached to the physical world. That is, the body is sewn with catheter, and you crawl in it literally a millimeter by millimeter, try to tie everything, straighten everything in order to submit a radioactive source later. In general, it seems to me that the human body is a completely unique temple structure. In it, even from the point of view of topology, there are so many interesting things. For example, take a sarum - an area of the sacrum. After all, how much poetry is in the name alone. Sakrum. So, if Sakrum is considered in layers, moving along Kaud Aquin-the lower part of the spine, then you can notice that a bat is hidden in a person-with a very cute muzzle, with outstretched wings it flies somewhere.

But the story of a completely asymptomatic person, that is, does not experience either pain or discofrt. It was a homeless person, who was brought from the shelter, began to take care of him, he blossomed, said - that you are busy with me, do you have nothing to do? - Nothing hurts me, everything is in order. But in fact, he was seriously ill. It was such a Mitkovsky warehouse man, it was interesting to talk to him, all the time some stories, jokes. He worked in the Soviet Union as a restorer, a mosaic specialist. Then something happened and here he became a homeless person. He was proud that once in his life the Yenisei, Kuban was crossed, it is very difficult, these are all fabulous rivers, with a very fast current. But be that as it may. I was happy that I was working on the best of the possible treatment in modern medicine - for the homeless. He was very enthusiastic, said that he was amused that they were hanging with him here. And suddenly this man dies in the midst of treatment. Lord, how it cut me off. Then I still did not sniff the gunpowder.

* * *

I had a doctor with whom I worked, with whom I talked about the profession. And at first I was very worried about psychological issues. He told me: “Each doctor has his own cemetery behind him. But at the same time, the doctor also has patients who either recovered, or lived so much that it gave them to complete the affairs and leave pacified. Our work allows not only to make mistakes, but also to do the right things. And the latter should compensate for the first. ” So said the doctor.

* * *

But the story about the Rostafari man, who all the time came to the reception in shorts and a washed T-shirt, himself in solid dreadlocks. This is unusual for Jerusalem, in which many wear uniforms: lapcer, hats, and so on. So this cheerful man always asked his doctor to write a prescription for medical marijuana. And he had every right to that. Finally, the doctor asked: "What, really helps you?" - “Doctor, what are you! Cancer is the best that happened to me in my life. ”

* * *

When I came to work in our hospital, Danochka came with me on the same day, a girl who had already had some experience, who ended, like many of us-the Faculty of Nuclear Physics of the University of Ben-Gurion in Bier-Shev. The overwhelming number of Medfisics, people of our profession, studied there. And so we, as a brother and sister, overcame all the difficulties of terrible responsibility and the complexity of the initial treatment. I will remember our first treatment for life. It was palliative - we were left completely alone at the end of the day, we had such a test of senior comrades, and we had to irradiate the brain of a lying patient. Lord, how worried we were. Now it could be done almost with his eyes closed, but then - it was terrible to the impossibility. And Danochka and I were very friends, helped each other, worked hand in hand, double -checked the work of each other. And suddenly she leaves work and burns in two months. She had a fleeting cancer, with which all Israel, all hospitals, the doctors of our department fought to all. But the disease turned out to be so terrible that Danochka left in just two months. She had a genetic predisposition, she knew this, was checked regularly, but still did not save. In memory of her and other patients, I work - we work.

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As for the hospital poems. Here you need to see what is like. Exactly on the topic, probably, there is no. Nevertheless, oncology is sadness, each doctor has his own cemetery behind his back, I have already said ... There are sad poems.

The sky was old. From now on, do not wait for friends - that's what it says.

Not that now on the Hudson, nor that he wanders around the beach near Jaffa, nor that he will never, will never look into your eyes to say: “Something you are sad, old man, what happened?”

The clouds are now stroking my body. It went down so low to be related to finally with time, to gain its density.

Only the right solutions remained, there is nothing more to choose from.

Acts now smell of sea salt. Like loneliness.

The soul now strives only over the horizon, turning into a sunset, into silent lights.

Soon the stars will go to the ground, they will stand with fiery mountains.

And people roam between them, marveling, how to overcome the pass and not get lost.

Further in the program:

Balzakovsky age. Women about love, family, motherhood.

Radio anthology of modern Russian poetry. Poems of Larisa Miller (Moscow).

"My favorite records" with actor Grigory Peresa.