Page 68 of Cilka's Journey
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“No, you made a good suggestion, it’s just not the right one. No one expects you to know what to do the minute you walk in, unless of course you have worked here before.”
She has not, but she has seen the final stages of typhoid enough times. And the aftermath.
“I came here from maternity. Does that answer your question?”
Sonya laughs. “You are definitely not expected to know anything about treating typhoid, just as I would pretend I wasn’t a nurse if someone came to me in labor—that’s scary, two people to worry about.”
The cool towel is having an effect; the patient is becoming subdued, and the manic movements associated with fever subside. Was Magda like this in her final hours? She wonders now if Gita had been distracting her with the four-leaf clovers, sparing her these horrific images.
“I think you will be all right with her on your own. Just keep wetting the towel and running it over her face and head, her arms and legs; you’re washing the sweat off and this will help cool her. I’m going to check on another one. Call out if you want help.”
As Sonya leaves, Cilka rinses the towel in the basin, noting that the water is in fact very cold—small bits of ice visible. She takes over washing the woman, talking to her in a soothing voice. This voice seems to be something that Cilka uses naturally, no matter what she is feeling—or not feeling—when she is looking after a patient. It’s a low voice, a murmur, that tells a story beyond the moment of pain. Perhaps she does it just as much for herself.
After a short while, the woman’s body changes from being drenched in sweat to being covered in goose bumps; her shivering changes, reflecting she is now cold, as she attempts to curl up in a ball. Instinctively, Cilka reaches for the blanket on the floor and wraps her up tightly. She looks around for Sonya.
“Sonya Donatova, she’s now shivering with the cold. I’ve wrapped her in a blanket. What should I do next?”
“Leave her and find another patient who needs cooling down.”
“Where do I find more towels?”
“Is there a problem with the one you’ve got?”
“No, it’s just that… well, I used it on her.”
“We don’t have the luxury of new towels for every patient, Cilka,” Sonya says with an apologetic look. “Take the towel you have to the next patient, and the basin of water. If you need more water, get it from the sink at the end of the room.”
As her day ends, Cilka has seen six patients die, and fourteen new patients brought in. On two occasions, heavily gowned andmasked doctors have come into the ward, walked around and spoken to the nurses in charge. It is clear to Cilka this ward is managed by nurses only. The doctors do not get involved with medical care. They visit to get the statistics on how many enter, and how many leave, either alive or to the mortuary.
Cilka arrives back at her hut every night exhausted. Her days are spent cooling down and warming up feverish patients; moving men and women from a bed onto the floor when it is deemed they will not survive; helping to carry the deceased patients outside where they are left to be collected by others, unseen. She carries the bruises unintentionally caused by delirious patients she is trying to care for.
She learns all there is to know about the disease, such as how to recognize the different stages and when to diagnose the more severe internal bleeding and respiratory distress that will likely lead to death. No one can explain to her why some patients get a nasty red rash over their bodies while others don’t, or why this symptom is not necessarily an indicator of a poor outcome.
With the first flush of spring flowers and the melting of some of the snow the number of new patients presenting on the ward each day begins to decline. Cilka and the other nurses begin to enjoy caring for only a few patients each, giving them the attention they would have liked to have shown to all who went before.
One day, Yelena appears on the ward. Cilka is overjoyed to see the familiar face of the doctor.
“How are you?” Yelena asks warmly, wisps of blond hair escaping from her braids and framing her face like a halo.
“Tired, very tired, and very happy to see you.”
“You and the other nurses have done an amazing job. You have saved many lives and you’ve given comfort to others in their final moments.”
Cilka tries to take this in. She still feels as if she should be rushing about, doing more.
“I… We did what we could. More medicine would have been helpful.”
“Yes, I know, there is never enough medicine here. We have to make hard decisions over and over about who gets them, who doesn’t.”
“I understand,” Cilka says, that rush of guilt coming again for the medicine she has stolen.
“So, my girl, the question is… what do you want to do now?”
“You mean I have a choice?”
“Yes, you do. Petre will take you back on the maternity ward tomorrow. However, your friend Olga is also enjoying the work.” Cilka understands that what Yelena is saying is that going back may displace Olga from her now much better position in the camp. “And I was wondering if you would like to come back and work on the general ward, with me?”
