It’s a post-apocalyptic world. We walk up the hill, pass the huge abandoned hospital building, pass the pine trees, cell phone reception is down. “Where could she be?” we wonder, as we try to keep our feet intact—pavement has holes in it, like Misha never happened to this country. Pack of dogs jump out of the pines and I almost expect one of them to have a human limb in its mouth…
After wandering up and down in the dark, lighting our way with cell phones, we reach the hospice. Hubby’s grandmother got moved here today. This is the place where terminally ill cancer patients are placed.
We walk into the building and after-atomic-exposure scenes continue. Sheets, blankets and pillowcases dry on a long railing by the ramp. An A4 paper is scotched to the door with a sign: “Close the Door”. Well, at least there is a door. Last time I felt so depressed, I was walking through an abandoned hotel that became home for refugees from Abkhazia…
The room is divided into six parts via thin curtain. While we sit by hubby’s grandma, I can hear patient on the other side of the curtain coughing and choking. So this is what they see, hear and smell the last moments of their life.
There is one window in the whole room and luckily our patient is placed by it. I keep looking out and thinking, “what if I jump? Can I just jump?” I look down. The parquet floor is scraped and covered in stains. Few minutes later, I catch myself rocking back and forth. As neuropsychologist, I recognize that I start stimulating my vestibular system in order to calm down. It sucks when you can diagnose your own symptoms. You start analyzing everything.
I walk out and see patient records in the hallway, stacked on each other. The whole place screams chaos. They have been moved here from the larger building, what happens now? Do they move somewhere else? Is the large building renovated for cancer patients or is it sold for good?
Ironically, all the ugly Soviet vases that used to “decorate” hospitals are crowded in one corner, by an empty rolling bed. It’s a ghastly sight.
Egoistically, I am thankful that my grandmother is in the states and gets one of the best cancer treatments in the world.
We return home and FB lets me know that my friend’s wife, a girl my age, mother of four (the youngest is just three months old), has a breast cancer. I don’t know what it is lately, but news about people having cancer is everywhere.
So, now I am going to do what I haven’t done for two years of blogging. I am going to ask for money. This girl is going to loose part of her body tomorrow. The family has raised enough money for the surgery, but she still has to go through expensive treatment. Here is a bank account set up for donations:
თიბისი ბანკის ქ/ქართლის რეგ. ფილიალი TBCBGE22 ანგარიში: GE71TB7080245063600038
მიმღები: ნინო ვარდიაშვილი
დანიშნულება: მკერდის სიმსივნის სამკურნალო ხარჯები.
საკონტაქტო მობ.: 599 989 545
TBC Bank Kvemo Kartli branch. TBCBGE22 Account: GE71TB7080245063600038
Receiver: Nino Vardiashvili
Purpose: breast cancer treatment expenses
Contact number: 599 989 545
P.S. the pic: creepy vases at the hospice.