Big thank you to Pat for this excellent guest post. Apologies are also in order; he got this to me a month ago and I've just now gotten around to posting it. He's definitely had one of the most unique experiences of any of us Fulbrighters this year, so it's definitely worth the wait. Without further ado, a candid look at a criminally overlooked area of post-Soviet Russia.
At first glance Ufa looks like any other Russian city. The average street is lined with bleak buildings and the occasional antique house brightly painted with ornate trimming, crammed with briskly walking citizens (80% of whom wear black and 50% of whom carry cigarettes), and named something very Communist or after a great writer. The difference in Ufa is that the street signs are in two languages: Russian and Bashkirian, two of the three languages (in addition to Tartar) that are commonly spoken throughout the Republic of Bashkortostan. One of the first things you learn no matter where you live in this sprawling country is that it’s not all a solid block of people wearing funny hats dancing the mazerka, but a patchwork of different cultures and ethnic groups. Ufans display their Bashkirian nationality with pride, by cheering on their hockey team, encouraging all foreigners to learn about their national hero Salavat Yulaev (their equivalent of George Washington), and by cooking the traditional dishes such as manti (giant dumplings) and balesh (meat and potato pie seasoned with bay leaves).
This peculiar Bashkirian culture isn’t the only thing that makes me experience here unusual, even when compared to my fellow ETAs. Unlike my fellow ex-pats, I spend most of my time in the hospital. When I wrote my grant proposal to come here, I was finally completing my physics pre-med requirement and putting together my med school application package. I figured the best way to spend my interim year after graduation would be to teach English in Russia and get acquainted with its medical system during my free time.
Holding a leg stump during an amputation procedure and feeling warm blood wash over my thin latex gloves wasn’t what I had in mind when I proposed to shadow Russian doctors, but that’s exactly what I found myself doing a few months later. Dmitri, a general surgeon was at first a student in one of my classes, all of which I teach between 3 pm and 6 pm when doctors and med students finish up their daily rounds. He soon stopped coming to class when he realized the time I spent following him during operations was like a private English lesson, and I soon learned there are things you can do in Russian hospitals that you could never do in the States (for one thing, scrubbing in on a surgical procedure is illegal for anyone who hasn’t completed their second year of medical school).
I didn’t make it through my first operation as an assistant – in fact, I ended up on the floor after I passed out, hitting my neck on the back of a metal table on the way down. When I came to, the patient, who was AWAKE while a few more inches of his already once-amputated leg were being trimmed down to make room for a prosthetic, told me himself that I scared the hell out of him when I fainted. Since then, although I’ve gained a less-than-desirable reputation around the hospital, I’ve scrubbed in on half a dozen surgeries and have learned how to control that dizzy feeling that seems to be a physiological reaction to the sight of blood.
It doesn’t take 10 months in Russia to realize that medical standards and the general condition of hospitals are lower here than in the U.S., but observing it all directly has been an unforgettable and invaluable experience. Hospital Number 6 (as it is still called even though its name has officially been changed to the University Clinic) is pretty typical. Most of its buildings could easily serve as warehouses or storage facilities, and some even as dungeons if only cleared of their medical equipment. Stray cats and dogs meander through the hallways and are given scraps of food by patients and doctors who move to the staircases to smoke. In more technical fields like surgery, the last few years have seen an increase in the high-tech machines used to administer anesthetics or assist patients’ breathing, but for the most part, Russian medicine lags far behind that of America and Western Europe. The real tragedy is that these problems can be avoided. Instead of scratching their heads and asking why, doctors shake their heads and swallow the harsh comments they might say about their corrupt government if there weren’t in a professional (or what should be a professional) environment. My bright young students, who are still finishing school while Russian lawmakers are changing around the medical educational system to be more like Western Europe’s, are a reason for hope. Even so, like many problems in this country, the fate of Russian medicine lies in the hands of a powerful minority who seem to care little for the average Ivan or Svetlana. Until drastic changes are made in how the Russian economy is managed, hospitals like the clinic I’ve come to regard as a home away from home away from home are likely to remain underfunded and unable to adequately respond to the community’s medical needs.
If you'd like to read more about Pat's experiences, a link to his blog, "Rushin' Blood," is in the blogroll in the right column. You can also click here.
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