Cilka's Journey(60)
The assistant has followed them into the room and pulls the sheet covering the man away, revealing his naked body.
“I need to get into his stomach and remove whatever it is he has swallowed that he shouldn’t have. Unfortunately, some people will go to extreme lengths to not work outside, including swallowing objects that could kill them.”
“You’re joking,” Cilka says.
“No, I’m not. Coming into hospital and having their stomach cut open is seen as a better option than working, at least for a while.”
“How do you know for sure he has swallowed something?”
“The pain he was in when he was brought to us was real; when we couldn’t work out what was wrong he finally admitted to having swallowed something.”
“Did he say what?”
“That’s the funny thing—he wouldn’t say, told us to go hunting for it and then we’d know.” Yelena gives a wry smile.
It is a different world here, Cilka thinks. Still very much a prison, as such desperate actions indicated, but in that other place, you would not want to draw any attention to yourself. In a selection, you would not want to attract the eye of the doctors. You would not want anything to do with them at all.
“Cilka, I need you to hand me a scalpel.” Yelena points it out on the tray. Cilka picks it up and places it in her outstretched hand.
“Slap it in my hand so I feel it. These gloves are so thick I won’t know if I’m holding it unless you hit me with it, just make sure the blade is pointed at you and I get the handle.”
Cilka watches in fascination as Yelena quickly and expertly slices the patient’s abdomen open, blood gently oozing from the cut.
“Grab some swabs—those pads that look like thick squares of bandage—and wipe the blood away; it will stop soon.”
Cilka catches on quickly, wiping the blood away so Yelena can see what she is doing.
Instruments are handed over, explanations given by Yelena, questions asked by Cilka, until Yelena raises her hand from the man’s abdomen, holding up a metal spoon.
“I wonder if the owner misses this,” she says with humor. “Let’s see if it caused any damage in his stomach.”
She pokes around. Cilka leans over for a closer inspection and the two women bang heads.
“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s all right, I’m glad you want to have a closer look; this is how you will learn.” Yelena is silent for a moment, considering the open cavity. “Well, there doesn’t seem to be any damage, so now we sew him back up.”
* * *
When the patient has been wheeled from the room, Cilka follows Yelena back into the washroom. The assistant is waiting for them. She unties their gowns, removes their masks and gloves, and hands Cilka back her shirt. Cilka wonders if she is a prisoner too.
“As usual, you learned quickly in there. I’d be happy to have you assist me any time. In fact, I think we should do more of it, so you become totally comfortable with what you are doing. What do you say?”
Cilka is wary for a moment. She hopes that Yelena is not just doing this because of what she knows; because she pities her.
But this is rewarding, challenging work. And Cilka does think she can do it.
“Yes, please.”
“Go back and tell Raisa and Lyuba the news. I’m sure they could do with an extra pair of hands for the afternoon.”
“Thank you,” Cilka says. She feels herself welling up again. There’s no blankness coming to take over—to cover it—and so she hurries from the room.
She stops a moment in the hall to gather herself, then walks onto the ward.
A chorus of “Well, how did you get on?” greets her.
“Well, very well.” She looks at their open faces. Wonders suddenly if they know, too. “What do you want me to do here?” she asks quickly. “I’ve still got half a day of work.”
“Can you check the charts and get any medicines that need to be handed out?” Raisa says.
Cilka dives into her work, relieved to push all thoughts away.
CHAPTER 17
Cilka has written down the names of five patients and the drugs they require. She strolls to the dispensary. As she approaches, she hears voices inside, one of them raised. Cautiously, she opens the door. Yury Petrovich, the kind male doctor Cilka remembers from her previous time working in the hospital, stands in the middle of the room with a knife held to his throat. On the other end of the knife is a man who looks capable of wrestling a bear and winning the fight. The big man turns to face Cilka.
“What the fuck do you want?” he yells at her.
She can’t speak.
“Get in here and close the door.”
Cilka does as she’s told, leaning her back against the shut door, staying as far away from the man as possible.
“Get over here and stand beside the doctor. Do it now, or I cut him.”
In three steps Cilka is beside the doctor, who looks at her, eyes pleading.
“What do you want?” she asks with a bravado she doesn’t feel.
“You to shut your mouth. You picked the wrong time to come in here; now I’ll have to deal with you too.”
Cilka glares at him. She knows enough about violent men to be able to judge the desperation in this one. His threats are a means to an end. “What do you want?”