Angels Work

The birds were chirping early this morning, just before sunrise, those most magical of moments, when the sun has not started its “warming work” for the day, and there is a faint light, not really daylight yet. That’s the best part of the day, for angels I think.

The angels said today “Who will be given an extra burst of wonder?"
"We can also add some beauty in disguise", they say.
Genie, they conclude, will be selected.

As I climb the treacherous nine flights of crumbling concrete stairs, the “elevators” that were present of course do not work. (I wouldn’t get in them even if they were working). I thought, “no wonder Beeva Lubov, (whom I had not yet met), is homebound”.

Beeva was born with clubfeet and other physical anomalies, she has known difficulty all her life. She has overcome the stares directed at her and she has given up on having a lover and a child. No one would choose such deformities to share a bed, a life. The war 16 years ago was just another insult, another loss. She is among the fortunate ones. She still has a tiny flat, 9 stories in the air, in an otherwise decrepit, burned out tenement housing looking place. It smells bad, looks bad, feels bad. Beeva sits on her bed, feet covered, with her threads on a table next to her. She sews. She makes little boxes from old postcards and stitches them together. I have seen these boxes in my office. I wonder if Beeva made them. As I examine, I do not detect any shame or resistance, she has long since made peace with herself. Her little feet are curled and calloused, but they still assist in keeping her upright when she chooses. She hobbles instead of walks. We have a pleasant visit. She is fine.

Miyasnikova Kladvdia is a strong woman, having had a stroke, she said “I get up every day and put a smile on my face”. “That has kept me alive”. And sure enough, I believe it has. Mia knits. She knits thick, strong socks for the sailors that come to port in the winter. A neighbor carries Mia’s coveted socks to the docks and sells them to the sailors. Mia is proud and she is strong. Her blood pressure is a bit high today. I expect her BP is high every day, despite the medicines we give her. She is fine.

Medvinskaiya Zoya is a lovely 86 year old woman, who was very wealthy before the war. She had family, a husband, 2 sons, a daughter. All are dead now. The daughter just died last year with cancer, the rest died in the war. There are pictures, amazing pictures of her family. They were beautiful people. The daughter’s picture was a carbon copy of Kate Winslet. Stunning. Her own picture as a child, whimsical, curly blonde hair, “A tart I was”, she said in Russian. I took a picture of Med with a photo of herself as a child. Her garden was full with tulips. She cut 3 and gave them to me. After she had picked 2 tulips I said “that is plenty”. She said, “Oh no, we never pick 2 flowers, that means death, we pick only 3 flowers, that is for life”. Med is fine.

Efremova Klavdia is 94, bedbound. She too lost her husband in the war. He was injured and died a year later (I wonder what position he held in the war, 15 years ago, when he was 80). She lost her son also. Her grandson, a kind man, is her caregiver. He is grateful for the Pampers we deliver and the dry food. It helps, everything helps. Effie is in bed, cognitively intact, no complaints, just lying there. She offers a small smile. Effie is blind. She asks “who is the new person?” She didn’t see me, she heard me. There is a lovely burst of sunshine reaching into her bedroom, a glow on her face. I ask, as I do with every patient, “May I take your picture?”
Effie shakes her head “yes” and then gently, slowly she removes the tattered scarf on her head that keeps her warm. She takes her hand, as she has done thousands of times, and “fixes” her hair. The mess of glistening white strands on her head, the ones she has not seen for decades become the momentary object of her concern. And so Effie, without much success, conducts this womanly ritual preparing her self for the portrait.

I may not have noticed these moments in another setting, in another place. The language that I do not speak, the words I cannot understand, keep my senses alive. I see things, the resignation on Beeva’s face, the pride on Mia’s face, the lingering beauty on Med’s face and the relentless effort to be a woman, on Effie’s face.

In all of us we find strength and pride and beauty and the relentless quest to be human.

I am grateful for the wondrous, beautiful gifts the angels gave me today.

genie