The Humbling Clinic

Just when I start to feel comfortable...

Yesterday, we went to the policlinic to get Tima's TB test checked. And today we were back, to get Ella's 'medical pass'. I have no idea how to translate the справка that we need to get her back in preschool after missing more than three days. Her cold is almost gone, so I attempted to get our first 'medical pass'.

Leaving plenty of time to walk there, change shoes and hang up coats, we gather our things:
Empty Notebook to start Ella's public clinic medical records-check
copy of American doctors' notes - check
photocopy of American immunization records - extra credit
Clean slippers for Ella - check
Blue plastic covers for adult shoes- check
330 rubles to pay cash for the visit - check
diversions for Ella as we wait in the corridor - check
...and we were off.

For eight years now, I've been taking my children to Russian or Ukrainian medical clinics. I feel like I've got it down. Yesterday, I finally wrote down the name and hours of our doctor. Each section of the city is assigned a doctor; We live in the 11th section for the 76th children's policlinic. Our doctor is in about four hours each day, but at different times. There are no appointments.

We walk into the crowded corridor and I take a deep breath. Loudly exposing my foreign accent, I ask, "Who is last for 204?"

After the initial stares from each person along the corridor, someone answers, "We are." But then another woman asks, "Before twelve or after?" Because our doctor will come into the office and replace the former occupant at twelve. I am relieved to say I'm early, not late. And only one teenage girl is ahead of us in the 'after twelve' verbal line. Ella sits down with me, and is delighted I brought her notebook and markers. I open my magazine, giddy with success.

A few minutes later, a newcomer asks, "Who is last for 203?" With a shot of adrenaline, I remember that you are not secure in the verbal line until you have someone behind you. I've relaxed too early! But that's not our doctor's office. So I'm alert each time a new person walks up, until I can answer, "We are." And then, I am safe--hemmed in behind and before. I can talk with Ella, read my magazine, talk with the teenager (who is reading "Twilight" on her tiny iPod in English.) and relax. We are early, second in line, and it's all going to work out. I have figured out the system!

The doctor comes 15 minutes late. I'm a little anxious, as we need to leave to pick up Tima in just 20 more minutes. After a few moments, she opens the door and asks who is first. The teenager stands up. But the doctor says, "Don't you have a baby?"
"No," the shy girl answers.
"Well, I was expecting a woman with a baby."
At this point a woman a few back (in the verbal line) picks up her baby and walks into the office. The doctor closes the door. The teenager sits back down. I look around, alarmed, and ask the woman across the hall what it's all about. "Today is immunization day for healthy kids, so all the babies need a quick check before their shots."

Two babies later, I realize we aren't going to see the doctor today. But when I stand up to leave, the teenager says we can go in front of her. We wait five more minutes, because if we leave today, we'll have to do all of this again tomorrow, and Ella won't be able to go to preschool until we get the medical pass. But, I know Tima is already sad that I'll pick him up late, and now we're heading into really late. How to weigh extending his emotional day at preschool against my desire to not return to this clinic tomorrow? So, we go downstairs, get our things from the coat check, change into boots, pack up our bags, unlock the stroller and walk home.

Ella starts to cry, "Why didn't the doctor check me?" And I feel like crying, too. Forty-five minutes, plus twenty minutes walking there and back, and it feels like a waste. I scheduled our whole morning around getting to that clinic early enough to be out of there in time. And I have no idea what we'll do tomorrow.

And I feel a little angry--at the women with babies, for jumping the 'line' (though they were invited to, of course). And at myself, for not claiming my 'multi-child-family' right to jump the line (who's jumping-the-line rights are stronger, anyway?)

And really, I just hate not knowing how to get a medical pass. (The consensus among those around me was that I could have gone to any available doctor, not just our assigned pediatrician, and perhaps even at any time of the day. But when I asked at the information desk, they told me we had to go to our doctor according to the schedule.) Suddenly, I'm humbled again, an outsider trying to figure out this system (which I know is confusing and frustrating sometimes for Russian moms, too!)

So, tomorrow the doctor's hours start at 4pm. I'm hoping to get Ella up early from her nap, be first in line, and finish by the time Danya gets dropped off after soccer at 4:30. Anyone want to take bets on whether or not we get the справка?

Cousins!

This last week we had the privilege of a visit from my sister, Dani, and her husband, Dave, with their three-year-olds, Adi and Mae. We last saw each other about 14 months ago, when Adi and Mae were not even two. So it was delightful to hear them speak full sentences, and watch them play together.

Dani and Dave didn't enjoy the jetlag-with-children aspect of life, but after about four nights, things got better. And they were very patient with staying in our small apartment. Nine people, three rooms (that includes the kitchen!) one bathroom. It had it's hard moments, but overall, it was great!

Waking up sleepy kids is never fun, but D&D managed with humor and patience.

Mae showing Ella what's what.

Ella showing Adi

The first evening, Adi contemplated all the unfamiliar people.