Be patient, beloved

Journalist Yana Kuchina - that patience is not a virtue at all

In Russia, patience is extolled. This sprouted in us at the level of the language: “God endured and ordered us”, “he will suffer - fall in love”, “Patience and work will grind everything” and so on. Journalist Yana Kuchina believes that patience is a trap.

This is the second column from the cycle. Read the first here:

I described it.

I have been four years old, probably. I was treating in a sanatorium in Kaluga in a room with another twenty "special" children.

“I described myself,” I whispered to Mishka.

“Me too,” said Mishka and laughed.

I did not like that we were somewhat similar. The bear was nasty.

- What to do? I whispered.

Bear laughed even louder.

One of us did not know how to walk and always wrote for himself silently. I knew how to walk. My confusion and desire to call for help were funny for Mishka.

I lay and thought.

It is cold in bed, but it is colder under the bed. A puddle right in the center, you will not move to dry. If the bed stood against the wall, as in the last “bed”, one could push it a little and lie into the hole between. I did not sleep until the morning.

That night, for the first time, I could not figure out how to help myself or at least console. This, I convinced myself, happened because in the sanatorium I described myself for the first time. And if the second - I would know what to do. Now my mother will come, everything will tell me everything, and I will not lie in a cold puddle anymore and cry. Never for anything.

Mom came, and Mishka immediately laid us: "I described myself, and Yana described myself."

Hush, my mother whispered, quieter. Do not disgrace. Anyway, Monday, they will change linen, and no one will know.

I remember how surprised. I thought my mother would scold me for lying on wet and endured.

I did not understand that my mother lives in a house-house in the middle of the forest near the sanatorium, and during the day she washes floors and bedridden children so that she would not be allowed to leave me for the months of treatment alone. I did not know that for every extra movement or her gaze threatened to drive out “to my village”, 100 kilometers from me. I thought she threw a rattle into a dark kitchen before turning on the light, because she does not want to scare cute fluffy rats, and not because she is afraid of them to death. It seemed to me that my mother was very adult. She will not just say in a whisper: “Do not disgrace!”

My mother was 26 years old.

I started looking differently at the nurse. All the dangers before that: fire and stairs, dogs and razors, slippery tiles, ice, chair on three legs - were real, right? Mom always saves me, it means that everything that she considers danger is dangerous.

I no longer disgraced and did not write into the bed. Those who were written several times in a row, the orderlies whipped with wet sheets. After that, we were all planted naked on the pots in the ordinary and kept there until everyone signed. I tried to choose a pot in which someone already signed, just in case, if I could not pee. I tried not to look in the face so that they could not guess, I write or pretend. If someone overturned the pot, getting off, the toilet was poured out of the hose. The water was icy, spray flew on us, sometimes it fell into a stream. Crawling back along the wet tile was vile and scary. I still did not know how to get to my feet.

I did not complain to my mother.

I used to be afraid.

And tolerate.

Vasilisa

Recently I stumbled on the plane and fell. She hit her elbow on a chair, a knee on the floor. I jumped up and quickly said: "Sorry." They looked at me like a madman.

And I was sleepy. I got to my feet, not really waking up, then I fell unsuccessfully - and from pain I forgot that it had grown and changed. She behaved like a child.

So I grew up with a child - I was ashamed that I was falling, and it’s a shame that it hurt me all the time. I was afraid to scare people. I came up with myself that if you quickly get up and smile, it would be as if nothing had happened.

And you must apologize, I thought. Because "sorry" = "Love me, as if it were not."

As if I am not standing with a crazy smile and blood flowing down the legs. As if with me you can continue to play the Salki and live on an equal footing.

Patience quickly catches a trap: he could, did not yell, said nothing, restrained himself, went to bed and let go-and the very feeling of life is somehow dull: and you are happy and not in order-it’s a shame.

It seems that you begin to endure one thing - pain, severity of steps, fatigue, a feeling of ugliness and helplessness, longing for dancing - and then you get involved and you can force yourself to do anything, arbitrarily meaningless, or unloved, or even dishonest. The soul is painful with patience, its anxious movements do not interfere with living.

We will endure everything, we say to ourselves, we are such a people. We wipe off both action and inaction. And life "under patience" becomes a non -core, like a dream. No one is ashamed of dreams: in a dream I am not me, and the fault is not mine.

When I studied on a rehabilitologist, the first rule was: "It should not be hurt." They repeated it so often that in a couple of years we began to seem sinless and waved away from reminders. At least I. I am generally a victim and a bunny, always in the place of the patient, because she was a patient for a long time.

Once, a child was brought to our lesson, probably two years old. The child saw a sports hall, a couch and that’s all, suspicious, and began to howl with horror. Thinly like a small bird.

At first we reassured him. Then they laid on the mat and began to teach a little bit: where are the arms, where are the legs, where is the support. He whipped anxiously, but we somehow sang him, distracted him, and, most importantly, he began to succeed. So he already climbed his elbows, here he holds the pelvis, so we subscribe to him the heel so that his body figure out how to crawl.

We were delighted. When he was brought, he barely held his head himself, and then only an hour passed and ...

And then Vasilisa screamed. Vasilisa was the daughter of one of my classmates. Mom brought her with her. She was then six years old, her arms and legs were soft, completely without tone. You raise it over the floor, and they hang like rag. She could not speak either. A completely helpless child.

And this girl screamed, loudly and demanding - as the frightened boy could not in our hands could not. He did everything what they wanted from him, but tears rolled down his face.

We started, how we woke up.

***

It is still strange that nicotine and sugar for humans are considered harmful, but fear and patience are not. Nicotine at least has a cumulative effect: while I wait for him to poison me, I can grow old, surrounded by children and grandchildren.

And fear and patience change me from the inside every day, taking away, taking away, taking me away. The study, which I did not dare to, people who did not fit, love about whom she did not say, things that I could not finish. I don’t even notice how I rob myself, I just “really appreciate my capabilities”.

I even put a tree everywhere on the floor in the apartment, because the tile is "all ugly." Only then, when I began to walk easier and stopped falling with a roar two to three times a day, I realized that I was just very afraid to break. And all my life I was uneasy in any room trimmed with tiles.

Sometimes Russia seems to me one big room finished with tiles. I carefully breathe and I want to love anything, if only another. If only not to feel that I am barely standing and I can break at any moment.

Because it is scary to be a hero.

Everyone wants to live and love, and in difficult times to rely on heroes in the news, in other countries, in the Bible on the table.

Protect me and save me, for I know that I can’t handle it.

And I endure everything.

Lena

A commission that decides whether a person of disability is worthy of, it is necessary to go again every year.

The date is scheduled for birthday. You can do it and come the day before or after, but the majority was necessarily met in a green corridor, with four chairs per line.

Twenty to thirty in line, the line waits in the morning and diverges no earlier than five in the evening. It doesn’t matter, your hands-legs (mine) or amputated (someone’s queue), once a year, come and confirm that you have not been healed.

The documents are taken by a person five or six. Weigh, bend their arms and legs, ask to walk in a straight line. I was checked: “Can you go exactly? Can you beautifully? ” They asked if I was working, I was learning.

At the end, they give out a “pink certificate” - a piece of paper, the size of a palm. It is impossible to lose, it is impossible to laminate, copies, even notarized, are not accepted anywhere. Valuable thing.

When I moved to Moscow, a curious detail became clear. To go through the commission, it was necessary to confirm that this year you were at rehabilitation in the state institution; Otherwise, the documents were not accepted. “The state treats you to get on your feet,” the woman explained to me in the reception department, “and they didn’t sit on his neck! Use! ”

I did not ask her what the state was doing with us. I did not ask myself if I would like to spend the summer from year to year between semesters behind a fence made of barbed wire. It means it is necessary.

The rehabilitation center in Tsaritsyno stood on the outskirts of one of the most beautiful reserved places in the city of Moscow - the Tsaritsynsky Park. It was forbidden for walking to the park. The leadership explained that he was responsible for us, because we, sick people, "outweigh in the trees, answer later."

The reception of the psychologist began with the question: “Yana, how often do you think about suicide in connection with your condition?” I replied that I do not think about suicide. The psychologist did not believe me. I said nothing.

In the ward I lived with a girl who was called Lena. Lena moved in a stroller and crawling, lived in boarding schools since childhood. Her native family lived right there, nearby, in our area of ​​Moscow. Seeing my things, she asked where the photos of my family. I didn't have them. She kept her in the day in the nightstand, at night - under the pillow. The last time relatives visited it a year ago, and took it to their weekend three years ago. Lena talked about this with deep gratitude.

I sat on the bed - a silk bedspread with ruffles, a pillow with a triangle, like in a kindergarten. Nearby tanned bedside table for personal belongings. The wire shone on the fence, the chambers did not lock, the toilets in the wards did not lock them up either.

In each door, even in the shower, there was a window - so that everything is in a look. There were no sockets in the wards.

Yesterday I stood on the roof of the Plekhanov Academy. There were my classmates, alcohol and two hot pizzas. We graduated from the first year, we celebrated our freedom. Today, to charge a netbook, I need to go to the post to the nurses and ask for permission.

- Do you have friends? - asked Lena. “Will they come here?”

I had girlfriends. For the summer, both went to travel: one to Europe, the second in Russia. Where I am, they did not know. My hands were cold from the thought that they would go through these corridors. I loved their "normality".

- Eat. No, they are not in the city in the summer.

“Oh,” she rejoiced, “will you fill me with the questionnaire?” There you can tell about your best friend!

I talked about mine - and she put in my hands a children's album in sparkles "20 questions to become girlfriends."

What is your favorite color?

What is your favorite animal?

What is your best girlfriend's name?

Do you have a boyfriend?

Do you have a dream?

- What is your best friend's name? I asked.

Lena blossomed. Her best friend's name is Lisa. Lisa is very beautiful, not like she, Lena. And smart. But Lisa lies all the time, she does not work for either her legs or arm. Lena combs her, dresses, helps in the toilet, dresses her bed for her.

- And what is your dream? I asked.

“I want Lisa and I would be allowed to live in the same room again.” And then I crawl to her to the lifting along the corridor, for a long time. And she misses me.

- Why were you settled in different rooms? We must ask you to settle back.

The question of Lenu surprised. They settled because they wanted. Smell if they want. Therefore, the magic of the questionnaire is needed. Ask "not accepted."

“So this is a real dream, you can’t ask about it so simply,” Lena explained to me. - And what?

- Don't know. And with Lisa? Live with you?

- To be a florist. Probably will not come true. But I'm not telling her like that.

Natasha

He was treated in a rehabilitation center according to Russian standards. Electrophoresis, magnets, massage, dirt, paraffin, therapeutic gymnastics, labor therapy.

The diagnosis of “cerebral paralysis”, which stood among most present, means that a person had a brain injury, because of which the natural mechanism of development of movement did not start or broke. People with my diagnosis do not know how to move, and strain all muscles at once, from facial to abdominal. Each movement is given with effort, and they walk slowly and hard.

How one of these procedures was to “cure and remove from the state neck”, I do not know.

One empty day replaced the other. Adults walked along the corridors, did not study, did not work, did not prepare dinner for the family, obeyed the rules whose meaning was not understood. "Leding" lasted three months. Because of my studies, I prayed myself a month and a half.

Once a day everyone was kicked out for a walk: they took the stroller from the first floors, carried the walking balls and rackets for badminton. I went a couple of times, but walking on three paths, when the park was behind the wire, was stupid. The territory for walking was very small. It was forbidden to go beyond the building of the center. A few years ago, one boy was walking here, they said, and the car knocked him to death.

Only a month later I asked how the car was generally in a fenced territory where sedentary people ride and go. It turned out that in the backyard of the State Rehabilitation Center, an illegal car repair shop was sheltered.

I remember how I shrugged and returned to the ward. I was not angry and did not want to find out the details, I did not plan to punish or interfere. I sat in my ward, putting my legs under myself, putting a book on my knees. I could not read, but sometimes I pressed my forehead to the book, like a dog. Calm off.

One day a psychologist came to me.

“Yana, we will have to leave you here for another month.”

-?!

I was very scared. I began to mumble something about my studies, which I do not have time to. They had no right to “leave me” anywhere, but I forgot about it.

- You do not go outside and do not socialize. These are dangerous signs of psychopathy. Do you even know how to communicate with people?!

- Uh ... yes. I have friends.

-Friends-understandable, but are you going to have children?

- I don't know, I haven't thought yet.

- And you need to think, Yana, it is necessary. You don’t think you will find a healthy man for yourself? I tell you as a mother: children are the main joy in life, and you can teach yours a lot! With your example! With your experience of overcoming! Get ready and go out, I'm waiting for you at the main entrance! Otherwise, no discharge to you!

She left.

I laid my head on the books and froze for almost a day.

A day later, Natasha came to me. Natasha has the same diagnosis, so she went through the passing through. Our guard distinguished us not by faces, but by disability. Natasha listened to me and said that I was completely “fucking” to voluntarily sit in prison. In the end, she said, you have a certificate of hospitalization, but about the extract ... Well, they do not admit that their disabled person escaped, think for it.

While she was talking, she threw a bedspread on the floor, and in the bedspread - all my things from the closet and nightstands.

We took the bedspread, each in two corners, and went out into the street. The employees were touched that we "went out to play." Yes, Natasha said gloomily, we have a picnic.

On a blind spot next to the car repair shop, we transferred things over the fence, and just went through the passage.

Then we fled for things in the park. Then we fled with things in the park.

We fled for almost an hour until we fell on some shore, scattering panties and cups.

- I did not know that you could escape.

- Everything is possible!

I was lying on the grass then and thought: what, in fact, was it? How could I wish to mate inside nosology ? Why wasn't I indignant? She clenched and sat there like a fool.

A month later, I went for my disability and, taking away the next official aside, directly asked what to do so that they could no longer come to their institution. “So let's reduce the group to you, but I will put an unlimited one? She smiled sweetly. - You study at the Pleshka, you may also take you to work! Cashier, for example. Well, what is the group you, you will work. ”

I received half as much money, benefits and rights.

I was very proud of this. I was sure that I won. So I imagined a victory - to run away.

I

I would like to live everything again, I think today. Here are just the forces that I spent on patience would put into life.

Maybe my country would not have become so terrible. It used to seem to me that she failed me: there was no good rehabilitation, there was experimental surgery, there was no accessible environment, there was a rejection of society.

Today I think that Russia can say the same about me. I suffered everything and did not scream - I let her down.

She did not become better from the fact that I lived in her.

The author’s opinion may not coincide with the opinion of the editorial office.