One of the Georgian doctors published a post on social media, which I offer here without changes.
I don’t know what would have happened if I had decided to post about it here. Just like before.
Monday morning. 08:30. I’m at work, on an operation. The phone in the operating room rings and they ask me to come. The head doctor of the anesthesia department is on the line and tells me to immediately stop everything I’m doing and go to the preoperative area, at the same time asking me once again – do I really speak Russian?!
A lot of Russians live in Germany in general. Accordingly, we often have patients from our neighborhood, and I also stand up and help these doctors in this predicament communicate.
I left everything and went to my destination. The operating room nurse rushed to the door, saying that she had to help us, that if we couldn’t find out something exactly from the patient, we couldn’t continue, that’s the situation.
Of course, I also went in without thinking, with the diagnosis sheet in my hand, along the way I also read the general indicators and waited for another interview with a disgruntled Russian peasant.
At the bottom edge of each patient’s bed there is a sticker in a small frame – with the name, surname, date of birth, etc. Before I asked the respected person anything, I had to find out the surname. I looked.
The bed sticker says Maisuradze (conditionally). Wow.
When you’ve been living in the same city for two years and haven’t met a Georgian nearby, it’s a little hard to believe at first glance. I checked. A second time. A tenth. A hundredth.
I doubted him as much as I could, but I looked at this good man’s face and wow. He has a Georgian face. If you imagine a typical 55-60 year old Georgian man, a family man, slightly chubby, with a kind face and trying to hold back with all his patience, but with tortured eyes that sell so many ‘Chinese’-speaking doctors, I was looked at.
They signaled that he was coming. I approached him and he also prepared to answer questions.
I smiled broadly and said hello. Or maybe I said hello first and then smiled.
I don’t know the medical symptoms, but when I heard this, his eyes widened and his face turned red so much that my doctors were all shocked and prepared to provide emergency care.
Oh, my son, he just said one thing to me and tears came out of both eyes of this chubby, lovely man. He was embarrassed, but I think he didn’t care anymore. Where are you from, he asked as the first question. I didn’t even hesitate, I didn’t even hesitate, and I answered indifferently, “From Chiatura.” This man looked at me and looked at my face as if he had just been awakened from a dream.
Then he told me about Tbilisi and everything, but I’m still from Chiatura, I swear, I said at the end. I’m from Zestafoni and I’ll join Imereti, you’ll replace me.
If I don’t go on too long, I’m already 22 years old and in my life I think I’ve only had one person on one hand who has been as happy with my existence as this man is today.
If anyone in this world has had the luck, my son, it’s probably me, to meet you here today. The diagnosis was already difficult. This poor man alone in so many robots.
In the adjacent wards, the 90-year-old, athletic old men were fussing about getting plasters applied/removed, and he boldly laid them on the operating table, and when I asked if you couldn’t lie down comfortably, he said, “I’ll have them put on wide bandages.” He looked at me and said, “Oh, you’re welcome, son. I can handle you, what can I do?”
Everything was over quickly and successfully. I’ll be fine for a week of treatment. I haven’t been to the hospital in 40 years. I’m scared. I’m not complaining, am I?! He questioned me like a little big child. Then, before the door to the central operating room closed and he could make a sound, he greeted me.
I had a pause before the next operation. I sat down in the hallway and thought, “We’re different people. We’re completely different people. And I don’t think I have these feelings just because these people are mine.”
I stood there with a bright smile all that time and at the same time I was sad about so many things. I was suddenly so sad that I wondered what it would be like to have more to do, more comfort, more happiness. More well-being.
No one can express and give so much sincere warmth as they know how to do here. Nothing beats life here in all aspects, just like in Georgia, a family atmosphere found not only among acquaintances but also among strangers, trust, kindness, support, simplicity, self-sacrifice and no less pragmatism.
I am one of them, right? This clinic is the largest, isn’t it? If not Kutaisi, then Chiatura at least. Everyone knows where I am from. Because that’s how I start and end conversations. All my colleagues are worried about when I will buy tickets to go home. Where can we book together on the intensive care computers.
They have had a long way to go to hell with their comfort, order, regular pay, two-week summer vacation planned three years in advance, and 43 minutes of Saturday evening playtime with their children.
I am so happy to be where I am. Because relationships shape people’s lives and love still makes the world go round. It’s good that everything is exactly as it is. Thank you. Goodbye.
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