Notes of Russian young doctors. Im Februar haben ein paar deutsche IPPNW-Studis die Initiative ergriffen und mit einigen Studis der russischen IPPNW Kontakt aufgenommen – um gemeinsam über politische und medizinische Themen zu diskutieren. Wir fragten sie, ob sie Lust hätten, uns etwas über ihr Leben und Wirken als junge Ärzt*innen zu erzählen. Hier kommen sie zu Wort:
It is always nice to read short stories about people’s lives from different countries. And we have got this opportunity as writers.
Svetlana Filatova, 23
H
ard to imagine a more accurate theme for history. Carpe diem. I’m a PA (Physician Assistant, Anm. d. Red.) now. And we are vaccinating people.
7:45 am: I go into the department. Coming 15 minutes before the start of the working day is enough to have time to prepare for work, but not enough to get ahead of people with insomnia – a small queue has already gathered in the corridor. In the treatment room, I begin to prepare voluntary consent forms for vaccination. The old Minsk refrigerator rattles plaintively in the corner, reminding me to check the number of ampoules of Sputnik. 8:00 am: We perform about 70 examinations before the vaccinations and about the same number of vaccinations per day in the ambulatory care. The most common contraindication is an exacerbation of chronic diseases or ARVI (Acute respiratory viral infection, Anm. d. Red.) -vaccination in this case is carried out 2-4 weeks after the onset of remission. After a pastime paradise in the queue, the vaccination will not take place and you will have to return in a month – I am not carrying this "joyful" news to the patient (thanks to the head of the department), this is done by the GP who conducted the examination. 12:00 pm: Destroying myths is not part of my professional duties.
But this is an integral part of my work. The tricky question: What can affect the patient’s level of knowledge in such an area like medicine? Education level? Internet access? Age? Area of residence? Answer: none of the above. Life is complicated and unpredictable, and sometimes you are not able to guess from whom you will hear the next tricky question. For example: -Are there microchips in the vaccine? My best today. 4:00pm: I open the empty (like my bank account) refrigerator and take out the broccoli. I have 20 minutes for lunch. Hiding in the far corner of the residents` office, I watch my colleagues who have just returned from the village of Knyazhevo. The mobile vaccination point visits remote enterprises of the district for on-site vaccination. Chewing on the god-awful vegetable, I calculate the time required to fill out the documentation. Each stage must be entered in the registry. Only after that it is possible to get a QR code. Pulling the mask up to the eyes and putting on glasses (the shiny forehead and shadows under the eyes have not made anyone handsome yet), I return to work. 7:45 pm: The security Officer looks at me reproachfully: The clinic closes in 15 minutes, and I'm still at my workplace. Turning off the computer with one hand, and swiping my things into my backpack with the other, I rush to the exit. My haste is not unreasonable – I have already been locked on the floor several times. When I leave work, I try my best not to run, so it takes only 6 minutes to get home. But no matter how fast you run, you will not escape from fate. Direct proof of this are the windows of my apartment, facing the 7-storey building in which I spent the last 12 hours. Through these windows, I can see the purple light of the bactericidal lamp of the treatment room. The very office in which I will appear tomorrow at 7: 45.
IPPNW aktuell 11
