З життя
Мила, коли ж нарешті приїде “швидка”? Температура майже “сорок”, не знижується
– Дівчино, мила, ну коли ж “швидка” приїде? Температура майже “сорок”, ніяк не збивається…
– Усі бригади зараз на викликах, – втомлено відповів жіночий голос. – Очікуйте.
Ледве стримуючи сльози, Оксана поклала трубку і кинулася до дочки. Маленька Соня лежала на дивані, укрита легкою простинкою, важко дихаючи. Тіло п’ятирічної дівчинки палало від гарячки: температура вперто не хотіла знижуватися, невблаганно наближаючись до сорока градусів.
Дзвінок у двері пролунав несподівано голосно. Оксана різко підхопилася, ледь не впавши, і побігла до дверей.
-Температура знижується, роботає “тройка”. У дитини хрипи з обох боків. Я би радив госпіталізацію, – високий сивий чоловік втомлено потер перенісся, спостерігаючи, як молода медсестра ховає шприц у бокс.
– А вдома не впораємось?
– Не впораєтесь. Поїдемо в лікарню, на нагляд.
Оксана з паспортом і пакетом з речами вийшла в коридор:
-Зараз Соню одягну і… Ой, а ви хто?
Відкритими дверима заходила бригада “швидкої допомоги”: кремезний, бородатий лікар близько сорока років, худорлявий тридцятидворічний фельдшер в окулярах із медичним чемоданчиком і веснянкуватий рудий інтерн.
-“Швидку” викликали? – уточнив бородатий лікар.
-Так, але… Був же інший лікар, – розгублено промовила Оксана.
-Який інший? – втрутився молодий лікар-інтерн.
– Нуу… Високий такий, сивий. Він температуру Соні збив і сказав, що треба їхати в лікарню, – розгублено сказала молода жінка.
Лікар із фельдшером переглянулися:
– Семенович!
-Дві бригади на один виклик направили? – здивувався інтерн.
Бородатий лікар звернувся до молодої жінки:
-Одягайте дівчинку. Відвеземо вас у лікарню.
Оксана пішла в кімнату. Здивований інтерн запитав у лікаря:
-Що, навіть оглядати не будемо?
– Семенович ніколи не помиляється!
-Так що за Семенович такий?
Фельдшер усміхнувся:
– Семенович – найкращий спеціаліст на “швидкій”… був. Його навіть у Київ запрошували не раз, а він завжди відмовлявся. Казав, що його робота людей рятувати, а не в кабінеті сидіти.
Рік тому бригада Семеновича їхала на екстрений виклик. А якийсь дурень вирішив перед “швидкою” проскочити.
Фельдшер замовк, опустивши очі в підлогу. Бородатий лікар поплескав його по плечу і продовжив:
– Загалом, в тій аварії ніхто не вижив. А через сорок днів у місті почали відбуватися дивні речі.
На вулиці шпана молодого хлопця порізала. У диспетчерську надійшов анонімний дзвінок: колото-різана рана в області печінки. Було наше чергування. Приїжджаємо. Хлопець, якого порізали, лежить на асфальті, з пов’язкою, а крапельницю якийсь чоловік тримає. Ми до нього, хто першу допомогу надавав? Чоловік головою крутить, каже: “Та “швидка” щойно була, лікар такий високий, сивий і медсестра з ним, молода, ще дівчинка зовсім. Вони допомогу й надали, крапельницю поставили. Сивий сказав тримати ось так… Я тільки на хвилинку відвернувся, на хлопця глянув: дихає-не дихає. А тут ви приїхали. А де ж сивий?”
У нас аж мороз по шкірі. Бо за описом виходить, що це Семенович із бригадою першу допомогу надав. Хлопця в лікарню відвезли, в картці написали, що до нашого приїзду першу допомогу надали. Про Семеновича промовчали. Це після про нього на підстанції відкрито заговорили. А того дня ми у шоці були.
-Та й не повірив би нам ніхто! – хмикнув фельдшер. Бородатий лікар поправив на шиї фонендоскоп і продовжив:
-Через кілька днів робочий на складі впав: інсульт і черепно-мозкова травма. Поки міська “швидка” приїхала, “високий, сивий лікар і молода медсестра” першу допомогу надали: крапельницю встановили, кисень дали і діагноз озвучили. “А потім зникли, як крізь землю провалилися.”
-А про пологи на світлофорі пам’ятаєш? – усміхнувся фельдшер, поправляючи окуляри.
– Що, привиди й пологи приймали? – здивувався рудий інтерн.
– Ти зі словами обережніше, – насупився лікар. – Не знаю, ким “бригада Семеновича” стала, але вже точно не привидами. Скоріше міськими ангелами-охоронцями.
-Пробачте… – Інтерн почервонів. Навіть вуха запалали. – Так, а що там з пологами?
– Та віз таксист жінку в пологовий: тридцять чотири роки, другі пологи, тридцять дев’ять тижнів. Зупинився на світлофорі, а тут передчасні пологи розпочалися. Таксист у паніці, машину на “аварійку”, в “швидку” зателефонував, а що робити – не знає, бігає довкола машини і кричить: “Допоможіть”. Йому диспетчер відповідає: “Чоловік, не хвилюйтеся, перемкніть телефон на гучний зв’язок, я вам розповім, що робити”. А в чоловіка істерика, нічого не тямить.
Тоді-то Семенович прийшов йому на допомогу зі своєю медсестрою. Дитина сідничками вперед йшла, та ще й пуповина навколо шиї обмоталася. Загалом, якби не вони, дитина не вижила би.
Ну, а там вже і “швидка” приїхала, забрала щасливу маму й кричащого здорового малюка.
Скільки таких випадків за рік було – і не злічити. “Бригада Семеновича” з’являється лише в найважчих. І якби не Семенович, до приїзду міської “швидкої” ніхто би з тих пацієнтів не дожив. Такі от справи.
-Ми готові. – Оксана з донечкою вийшли в коридор. Бородатий лікар забрав у жінки пакет з речами і усміхнувся малюкові:
-Тепер усе буде добре!
She Was Never Truly Alone: An Ordinary London Morning with Grandma Violet, Filly the Cat, and Loyal Gav the Dog
She Was Never Alone. A Simple Story A slow winter morning dawned over London. Out in the communal courtyard, caretakers...
No One Left to Talk To: A Story “Mum, what are you saying? How can you say you’ve got no one to talk to? I call you twice a day,” her daughter asked wearily. “No, sweetheart, that’s not what I meant,” Nina Anderson sighed sadly. “I just don’t have any friends or acquaintances left who are my age. From my time.” “Mum, don’t talk nonsense. You still have your school friend Irene. And honestly, you’re so modern and you look much younger than you are. Oh, Mum, what’s wrong?” her daughter fretted. “You know Irene has asthma; when she talks on the phone she starts coughing. And she lives all the way on the other side of the city. There were three of us friends, remember I told you? But Mary’s been gone for a long time. Yesterday, Tanya from the flat next door popped in. I made her a cuppa—she’s a lovely woman, often drops by. She even brought over some buns she’d baked for her family. She told me about her children and grandchildren. She’s got grandchildren, even though she’s about fifteen years younger than me. But her childhood, her memories—they’re so different from mine. I just long for a chat with peers, people like me,” Nina Anderson explained, though she realised perfectly well that her daughter wouldn’t understand. She was still young. Her time wasn’t gone—it was just outside the window. She didn’t yet yearn for memories. Sveta was wonderful and caring; it wasn’t about her. “Mum, I got us tickets for a night of classic ballads on Tuesday. Remember you wanted to go? No more sulking—put on your burgundy dress, you look stunning in it!” “All right, darling, everything’s fine. I don’t know what came over me, good night, we’ll speak tomorrow. Go to bed early—you hardly get any sleep,” Nina changed the subject. “Yes, Mum, goodnight. Bye,” and Svetlana hung up. Nina Anderson gazed silently at the glittering evening lights outside… Year Eleven, also spring. So many plans. It seemed so recent. Her friend Irene fancied Simon Mallory from their class. But Simon liked Nina. He’d call her every evening, invite her out. But Nina thought of him as just a friend—why raise his hopes? Later Simon left for the army. He came back, married, lived in Irene’s old house. Back then everyone had a landline. The number… Nina Anderson dialled the number from memory. The tone didn’t come at once—then someone picked up, there was rustling and then a quiet man’s voice: “Hello, I’m listening.” Maybe it’s too late? Why did I call? Maybe Simon doesn’t even remember me, or maybe it’s not him at all! “Good evening,” Nina’s voice rasped a little with nerves. There was more static on the line, then suddenly she heard an astonished voice: “Nina? Is that really you? Of course it is. I’d know your voice anywhere. How did you find me? I’m only here by chance….” “Simon, you recognised me!” A wave of joyful memories swept over Nina Anderson. No one had called her by her name for ages—just “mum”, “granny”, or “Mrs Anderson”. Well, except Irene. But just “Nina” sounded so wonderful, so fresh—as if the years hadn’t passed at all. “Nina, how are you? I’m so glad to hear from you.” Those words made her ridiculously happy. She’d feared he wouldn’t recognise her, or her call would be out of place. “Do you remember Year Eleven? When Simon and Victor took you and Irene out in that rowing boat? He’d blistered his hands on the oars and tried to hide it. Then we ate ice cream on the riverside while the music played,” Simon’s voice was soft and wistful. “Of course I remember!” Nina laughed joyfully, “And that class camping trip? We couldn’t get the tins open, we were so hungry!” “Oh yes,” Simon chuckled, “Then Victor opened them and we sang songs by the campfire. Do you remember? After that, I decided to learn the guitar.” “And did you?” Nina’s voice rang with youthful delight at all these shared memories. It was like Simon was reviving their happy past, recalling detail after detail. “So, how are things now?” Simon asked, but immediately answered himself, “Actually, I can tell from your voice you’re happy. Children, grandchildren? You still writing poems? I remember: ‘To dissolve into the night and be reborn by morning!’ So full of hope! You always were like sunshine, Nina! You bring warmth to everyone, no one could be cold around you. Your family’s so lucky—to have a mum and granny like you is pure gold.” “Oh, come off it, Simon, I’m long past that. My time’s over, I—” He interrupted. “Come on, you give out so much energy I think my phone’s about to melt! Just kidding. I don’t believe you’ve lost your zest for life—not a bit. That means your time isn’t over yet, Nina. So live—and be happy. The sun shines for you. And the breeze chases clouds across the sky for you. And the birds sing for you!” “Simon, you’re still such a romantic. What about you? I’m going on and on about myself…” But suddenly there was a crackle and the call cut out. Nina sat there, phone in hand. She wanted to ring back, but it was late—better not. Another time. What a wonderful chat they’d had—so many memories! The sudden ringtone made Nina jump. Her granddaughter. “Yes, Daisy, hello, I’m still up. What did Mum say? No, my mood’s fine. I’m going to a concert with Mum. Are you coming over tomorrow? Wonderful, see you then. Bye.” In an unexpectedly good mood, Nina Anderson went to bed, head full of plans. As she drifted off, she found herself composing lines for a new poem… In the morning, Nina decided to visit Irene. Just a few stops on the tram—she wasn’t a creaky old nag yet. Irene was delighted: “At last! You’ve been promising for ages. Ooh, is that an apricot tart? My favourite! Well, spill, what’s brought this on?” Irene coughed, pressing her hand to her chest, then waved Nina’s concern away. “It’s all right, new inhaler—I’m better. Come on, let’s have tea. Nina, you look younger somehow—come on, tell me!” “I don’t know—my fifth youth!” Nina laughed as she sliced the tart. “Yesterday I rang Simon Mallory by accident… remember your crush in Year Eleven? We got to reminiscing—I’d forgotten half of it. What’s up, Irene? Not another asthma attack?” Irene sat pale and silent, then whispered: “Nina, you didn’t know? Simon passed away a year ago. He lived in another part of town—he moved from that old place ages ago.” “You must be joking! How? Who was I talking to? He remembered everything about our school days. My mood was terrible before talking to him. But after we spoke, I felt life was carrying on—that I still had strength, and joy for living… How could it be?” Nina couldn’t believe Simon was gone. “But I heard his voice. He said such beautiful things: ‘The sun shines for you. And the breeze chases clouds across the sky for you. And the birds sing for you!’” Irene shook her head, sceptical of her friend’s story. Then she surprised Nina by saying: “Nina, I don’t know how, but it really does sound like it was him. His words, his style. Simon loved you. I think he wanted to support you… from the other side. And it looks like he did. I haven’t seen you so happy and full of energy for ages. One day, someone will piece your tattered heart back together. And you’ll finally remember—what it feels like to be… simply happy.”
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A Grandson’s Request: An Uplifting Story “Gran, I need to ask you something—it’s really important. I need a lot of money.” He arrived in the evening—nervous, restless. Normally, Daniel popped round to see Lilian twice a week, happy to fetch her groceries or pop out the bins. Once, he even fixed her old sofa. Always calm, always confident—never like this. Lilian always worried—it was a strange world out there. “Daniel, love, can I ask—why do you need the money? And how much is ‘a lot’?” Her voice was steady, but her heart thumped. Daniel was her eldest grandson—a good lad, kind at heart. He’d finished school a year ago, working part-time while studying. His parents hadn’t voiced any concerns, but why would he need so much cash? “I can’t say yet, Gran, but I promise I’ll pay you back—just not all at once…” “You know I’m only on my pension,” said Lilian, torn, “How much exactly?” “One thousand pounds.” “Why not ask your parents?” Lilian asked absently, already guessing his answer. Daniel’s dad—her son-in-law—was strict, expected children to solve their own problems and not stick their noses where they didn’t belong. “They wouldn’t help,” Daniel replied, confirming her thoughts with a sigh. Had he got mixed up in something serious? Would giving him the money only make it worse? But what if not giving it made things even harder? She studied him with concern. “Gran, it’s nothing bad, I swear. I’ll pay you back in three months—promise! Don’t you trust me?” She probably should lend it, even if he never returned it. There ought to be someone in his life who has his back; someone he can trust—so he never loses faith in people. She did have that money set aside for emergencies. Perhaps this was the one. After all, Daniel had come to her. Funerals could wait—life was for the living. It’s family—family you must trust. They say if you lend money, be prepared to lose it. The young can be unpredictable… but Daniel had never let her down. “All right, I’ll lend you the money for three months, as you said. But wouldn’t it be better for your parents to know?” “Gran, you know I love you, and I always keep my promises. If you can’t help I’ll try to get a loan—after all, I do work.” The next day, Lilian went to the bank, withdrew the money and handed it to Daniel. He beamed, gave her a grateful hug, and dashed off: “Thank you, Gran, you’re the best. I’ll pay you back—I promise!” Lilian returned home, brewed herself a cup of tea, and pondered. So many times in her life she’d desperately needed help. Every time, someone came through. But now, these days, everyone looked out for themselves. Times were tough. A week later, Daniel popped in again, cheerful. “Gran, here’s the first bit back—I got an advance at work. Oh, and can I bring a friend round tomorrow?” “Of course, love. I’ll bake your favourite—poppyseed cake.” She smiled, relieved—whatever it was, she’d soon know. Daniel came that evening. Not alone. A slender young woman stood by his side. “Gran, this is Lisa. Lisa, meet my lovely Gran, Lilian.” Lisa blushed, “Hello, thank you so much, Mrs Taylor!” “Come in, both of you,” Lilian relaxed—they seemed good together. They sat and chatted over tea and cake. “Gran, I couldn’t tell you before. Lisa’s mum became suddenly very ill; there was no one else to help and Lisa was so worried—she made me promise not to explain why I needed the money. But it’s over now—her mum’s had the operation. The doctors say she’ll recover.” Daniel looked at Lisa, squeezing her hand. “Thank you—you’re so kind. I can’t thank you enough,” Lisa said, turning away to hide her tears. “I told you, everything’s all right, don’t cry,” Daniel smiled, “Come on, Gran, we’d better be off—getting late.” “Take care, dears, goodnight—may everything work out for you.” As they left, Lilian crossed herself (old habits die hard). Her grandson had grown up—a solid young man. She was glad she trusted him. It wasn’t really about the money; it brought them closer. Two months on, Daniel repaid her in full. “Just think, Gran. The doctor said if we hadn’t acted so quickly, it could have ended much worse. I didn’t know how I could help Lisa. I realise now—there’s always someone willing to step up when things are hard. And I’ll always look after you, Gran—you’re the best in the world!” Lilian ruffled his hair, as she had when he was little. “All right, off you go—and bring Lisa round soon!” “Of course,” Daniel grinned, hugging her. As she closed the door, Lilian remembered what her own gran used to say: “You must always look after your own. It’s the English way—never turn your back on family. Remember that!”
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