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I, Galina
Komarnitska, nurse in Kiev
Photos
by Reiner Riedler; text by Galina Komarnitska Galina Komarnitska is a Ukrainian nurse.
Reiner Riedler, a 33-year-old Austrian photographer, places special value on the
“ethics of seeing.” In recent years, he has completed several long-term projects
in Eastern Europe
The
people in these pictures inspired me to share with readers from other shores scenes
from my everyday life. I’m often faced with distress, but there’s still time for
dreaming |
I often think back on
this day last year. It was May 27, the day after my birthday. I had just turned 28
and didn’t really feel like going to work, but, as the Ukrainian expression goes,
“Hiba hotchech, mousych!” (“You must, whether you like it or not!”).
Before the ambulance set off on the streets of Kiev that morning, I ran down the
usual checklist. The doctor filled out the call sheets, a co-worker checked the equipment.
When everybody was ready, we hit the road!
Our rescue squad answers all kinds of calls, but most of the time we deal with cardio-vascular
and gastric diseases, various kinds of poisoning and, of course, trauma.
That day, from ten in the morning till four in the afternoon, we drove through the
city following a well-worn pattern. I don’t know if the capricious weather that spring
had anything to do with it, but there were a lot of heart attacks. We treated some
patients at home and brought others to the nearest hospital. One man had dropped
a 200-litre barrel on his leg and paid for his lack of caution with a broken foot.
Then we had to deal with a car crash caused by two reckless drivers. One was suffering
from brain trauma and a chest injury. The other was walking around desperately waving
his arms, trying to convince us that he wasn’t speeding and that he hadn’t been drinking
“too much”–just a few beers–even though drinking and driving are against the law
in Ukraine.
At around 5:30 p.m., we received a call. A man, we were told, showed no signs of
life. We rushed to the scene. He was homeless, dead drunk and incapable of the slightest
reaction. And there we were, three young women–I was the oldest–lifting this poor,
dirty “divine creature” on to a stretcher and carrying him to the ambulance. Our
driver helped us, of course, but no man, much less a woman, can feel fulfilled by
this kind of work.
The
deep-seated changes that have occurred in our country in the past 15 years have given
some people the chance to strike it rich and dragged others into poverty
We
are all children of God, and no one has the right to judge that homeless man. Who
knows why he’s on the streets? The deep-seated changes that have occurred in our
country in the past 15 years have given some people the chance to strike it rich
and dragged others into poverty. And unfortunately, those others are the great majority.
But something else baffles me. We used to have a special ward and rehab centres staffed
by sturdy men for this kind of case. That was indispensable: in Ukraine, “drinking”
does not mean the same thing as in the west. But recently, a few bureaucrats decided
to get rid of these centres, probably for financial reasons. And they gave paramedics
the responsibility for “collecting” drunks.
Ours woke up and decided that now was the time to “get to know each other.” He grabbed
me by the leg and started pulling me towards him. I screamed, the driver stopped
the ambulance, came to my rescue and calmed him down with a . . . heavy object. The
incident was quickly over, but my hands shook for a long while. That time, we were
lucky. Our “customer” fell asleep without moving or making noise. We had to take
his pulse to make sure he was still alive.
I used to go to the Black Sea with my parents, but that was such a long time ago,
it seems like a dream. . . .
It
was 20 kilometres to the hospital and as many for the way back. Being stuck in traffic
jams gave me time to wonder about a few things. For example, why go through 10 years
of school and several years of training–three for a nurse, six for a doctor – just
to pick drunks up off the street? At these times I feel as though my profession,
knowledge and eight years’ experience are useless. It’s hard to escape a deep sense
of disappointment.
But you can’t spend your time brooding. In two months, I’ll be on vacation with my
boyfriend on the shores of the Black Sea. I used to go there with my parents, but
that was such a long time ago, it seems like a dream.… We want to stop at Feodosiya,
the town where the seascape painter Ayvasovsky once lived. Then we’ll head further
south, to Sudak and Novi Svet, where Prince Galitsin had tunnels dug to grow the
local mushrooms that won a medal at the 1900 World Fair in Paris. Close by, there
is a cave where the world-famous opera singer Chaliapin used to give impromptu concerts.
And then, somebody told me about a grove of juniper bushes whose fragrance is so
subtle that words cannot describe it. I am familiar with the scent of roses, lilies
and lavender, but that of juniper is still unknown to me.
I’m also planning to see the Toplovski monastery, where the martyred Saint Paraskeva
lived. After the October Revolution, the Soviets set up the Besboshnik (“The Atheist”)
kolkhoz [collective farm] on the monastery’s land, and the three sacred sources dried
up. In the early 1990s, when the property was restituted to the Orthodox church,
the spring began to flow again. Now, people come from everywhere on pilgrimages to
drink and touch the water. I know all that from accounts and pictures. But now that
I believe in divine providence, I’m looking forward to seeing it with my own eyes.
But the day is not over. Another call took us to a dead-end near the train station,
where someone found an unconscious boy. The siren wailed. We rushed into the unknown,
to a place with neither a street nor a house. It was almost midnight. |
Ukraine |
Key figures
Population
50 million
Surface area 604,000 sq.km
Adult literacy rate 99.6%
Life expectancy at birth 69 years
Population lacking essential
food and non-food needs 50%
GNP per capita (US$) 1989 2,610
1992 1,820
1999 750 |
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