Page 59 of Cilka's Journey
“I’m glad you’ve identified yourself. I’m going to take a look at some of these babies. Show me your charts with their feeding regime.”
“Well, we don’t have charts. We just feed them when we can with what we’ve got; there’s never enough to go around so we give it to the strongest. They make the most noise.” She giggles.
Petre goes to the nearest baby, lying limply on a blanket, a thin smock hanging loosely on its body, eyes sunken. The baby doesn’t respond when he picks it up. He carries it to the table the three women were sitting around, sweeps their cups to the side, gently places the baby on the table and begins examining it. Cilka stands beside him.
“How old is this infant?”
The three women look from one to another, none of them wanting to speak.
“Irina Igorevna, I said, how old is this infant?”
“I don’t know, we just look after them during the day while their mothers are working; there are too many of them for us to get to know them—there are only three of us,” she says, waving her hand around at the others.
“This child is starving. When was the last time you fed him?”
“We would have offered him something a couple of hours ago, but I don’t think he wanted anything,” Irina replies.
“Cilka, put him in a cot.”
Cilka takes the little boy and gently places him in a nearby cot. Petre picks up the next infant and repeats the examination. He asks no further questions of the nursery staff. Another baby is given to Cilka.
By the time all the sickly babies have had a quick examination, seven are lined up lying quietly in two cots.
“You two,” Petre points to the other two staff members, “put your coats on, wrap up two of the babies and come with me. Cilka, can you take two, please?” He picks up the remaining baby, snuggles it inside his coat and heads out the door with Cilka and the nursery staff following.
Back on the ward, he has three babies placed on one bed, four on another. With a flick of his hand he dismisses the nursery staff, who beat a hasty retreat.
Tatiana and Svetlana gather at the beds, looking down at the babies.
“Oh my God, what’s happened to them?” Svetlana wails.
“Do either of you know how we can get our hands on some milk?” Petre asks.
“I’ll find it. Look after them and I’ll be back,” Tatiana says as she grabs her coat and heads out.
“Svetlana, see if you can find the doctor called Yelena Georgiyevna and ask her if she can come here.”
“What can I do?” Cilka asks.
“Well, I could say you’ve done enough,” he says with a half-laugh. “Get some charts and write down what I say about each one of these poor little things. We don’t know their names so you will have to call them baby one, baby two, and so on.”
As Cilka walks past the only patient on the ward, returning with charts and pens, the woman softly calls out to her, “What’s going on over there?”
“It’s all right, just some sick babies. Don’t worry, we’re going to take care of them.”
Petre is wrapping up the first baby he examined.
“Baby one,” he says. “Male. Severe malnutrition, fever, infected bug bites, possible deafness. Four to six months of age, hard to tell.”
Cilka quickly writes down his comments below the notation “Baby 1.” With a thicker pen she gently writes the number one on the baby’s forehead, fighting to shut out memories of her own, permanent marking.
They hear the door open, followed by, “Oh, Cilka, what have you done now?”
Svetlana has returned with Yelena. Close behind them Tatiana runs in, carrying a box with baby bottles, each half-filled with nursing mothers’ milk.
Petre fills Yelena in on what they are dealing with. She immediately claims a baby, and strips the child bare to examine her.
“Make her number three, Cilka, I’ve got number two,” calls out Petre.
