All right, one thing at a time. Long,
long time ago in another galaxy I was a young, silly single mother of
a boy of four. It was summer, and I was imprisoned in the country
because it was the duty of a good parent to give their children three
months of summer holiday in the country. I let him play in the
daytime while I tried to work (I was a free-lance translator at the
time). I would take him for swims, but not let him make mud pies at
the beach because he had a very bad eczema. I read bedtime stories
for him. I cooked his meals over a little petrol stove, again very
carefully because he was allergic to more or less everything. There
was no grocery store in the village, and I had to take him on long
walks to another village. There were no pushchairs so I had to be
patient or carry him. I had enough to carry from the store. This is
just to paint a pale background.
One Saturday morning he had fever, and
half of his face was swollen. There were several options of getting
to Moscow where the closest children's clinic was, but most were not
operating on Saturdays. We had to walk for about forty minutes to the
nearest bus stop, take an hour ride by bus, then another bus to the
surgery. I didn't have enough money for a taxi. We had to wait for
quite a long time, and when it was our turn, they said we were in the
wrong place, we had to go to A&E. Another bus, another wait, and
then they took him away, saying: “You are lucky you brought him
now, two hours more, and it would have been too late... Good bye, we
have phone inquiries on Thursdays between two and three, you can ask
about his temperature”. “Wait!”, I cried, “He is just four
years old, he has never been away from his family! He is allergic to
everything! He has eczema and must have treatment every night!”
Well, Russia is a country where
everything is prohibited and everything is possible. Within a couple
of hours I found a friend of a friend of a friend who knew the nurse
who knew the doctor, and at least I had first-hand information,
although I still wasn't allowed to see my child, and the fruit I sent
him, bought for my very last money, was most probably stolen by the
nurses. Since he could not read it was pointless sending letters.
Just as pointless sending toys. When I got him back after a week he
wasn't much worse for it and told me with awe that the boys in the
ward used bad words.
I couldn't help recalling this episode
when my youngest son had to be operated for hernia at the age of two,
in a Swedish hospital. I had to hold him while they fixed the tubes; I was allowed to follow in the ante-surgery room. They
warned me that he would go to sleep much quicker than I expected, and
I am glad they did, because he just went limp in my arms. Then they
took him in and told me to go and get a cup of coffee. When they
brought him out, still asleep, they said: “You must not leave him
for a second, because when he wakes up, the first thing he sees must
be your face”.
5 comments:
This was a very powerful post and stirred many memories for me and my children. Your first experience sounds just horrendous Maria. I don't know how you coped. Strangely enough my children are adults, but my son was ill and in hospital recently. I received a phone call at 1.30am from the hospital letting me know he was now in intensive care due to massive blood loss. If he had been 7 I could have rushed to be by his side, which would have helped me but not him, however at 23 there is an expectation that he will just get on with it and I went up as soon as I could in the morning. Thank goodness for mobile phones though as surprisingly despite being very ill he managed to send me a text at 3.30am just saying: 'don't panic, am ok x' It doesn't seem to get easier as they get older does it!
Jag blev tårögd av din berättelse.
Tack gode gud för anknytningsforskningen. Numera hoppas jag att man tar hänsyn till den på många, många barnsjukhus.
Oh.Masha. We had a very similar experience. I had a week of vacation and really... "a child needs good country air". With begging we've got a week in Ruza.In two days I had to go with my three year old from Ruza on a train with complication after she licked snow from her varezhki. And luckily, I could phone her dad from Ruza's office and he met us in Moscow. We took a taxi, with little money we had,and when we came to Folatovskaya they said it's a wrong place. Sent us by their transport to Kuntzevo .They had to IV her a few times She stayed for almost a month with no visitations. I came every day after work from the back door with candies for nurses. And she learned a new word- Durak. Then I had my other girl at the age of 2 month with sepsis in the hospital on the other side of Moscow. As a nursing Mother, I could stay until midnight, then had to go home and come back in the morning. When they said she may not survive, my Stepmother found a doctor in Morozavka who took us in and I could stay with a baby. It took her two month to recover. Horror stories. But when a child is sick it is scary even here, in a good developed country. Tanya
Tanya, this sounds worse even! Not being able to be by your child's side is the worst
It's also traumatic for the child, not to be able to be with its mother. My husband had to have an operation at the age of two or three. His mother was not allowed to stay with him and they tied his hands so that he could not touch the bandages on his face. He has never forgotten it and still hates overhead lights because they remind him of the whole experience.
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