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| Stray dogs, bleeding hearts. Suitcase sized? |
Once we arrive at the orphanage, A & M head to their
baby’s groupa. I take Melody
to the locked “gym,” but first I wander halls saying, Isvinichya! Isvinichya!
Knooch, pah-zahl-stah? (excuse me, key, please?). Once in, I am to remove my boots, put on
slippers and my mask, sanitize my hands, and fetch Melody from upstairs.
Her nannies now smile and sing out “XXX (Melody’s real name) momma! XXX momma!”
when I show up for each visit.
At today’s morning visit, an amazing conversation took place
today with nothing but gesturing, a handful of *ussian words, and laughter to
fill up the uncomfortable spaces where no one was understood. The orphanage doctor met me as I climbed the
stairs to fetch Melody from her groupa.
Five minutes of language bumbling later, the message was received: Melody is sick and would I please go to a pharmacy
and purchase medicines for her? A “prescription”
was written which was nothing more than a handwritten list on a three-inch piece
of torn-up scratch paper. Not that that
matters, as medicines are filled here “over the counter” and without a
prescription anyway. As far as I could
figure it, based on my morning visit, Melody had a tad of a cold and a little
rash around her neck … but my required “list” filled an entire sack with
lotions, potions, and medicines including an antiobiotic! I wonder what my shopping list would
have looked like had she been REALLY sick? No point in
entering into a viral-versus-bacterial
debate using hand signals ... things are always better when you just go with the flow. So be it. (Nurse sisters, are you cringing too?)The trouble of the day had to do with the car ride to and from the pharmacy. I am car sick, seriously car sick. The driving here is nuts: There appear to be no rules or limits or road improvement crews, and it felt like we were doing 70 on a busy pot-holey city street with pedestrians walking just a couple feet away. I got dropped back off at the orphanage in just enough time for my afternoon visit with my legs as wobbly as Melody’s. The groupa head nanny was relieved to see the bag of meds and thanked me profusely … and then I had Melody to myself for an hour and a half. Luckily, she was full of spunk and vinegar today and took my mind off my misery for the most part, although I cheated and pulled my face mask down when no one was looking since wearing a face mask when you’re post-car-sick is torture. Besides, I am starting to worry that Melody thinks the face mask is a permanent part of my head and will be frightened when she sees that I have a mouth that moves. Sure enough, her eyes got very wide when she saw the new different me. I put it back on. Go with the flow, go with the flow …
As I was leaving my morning visit today, three groupa nannies surrounded me, earnestly inquiring … something!!! I finally figured out that they were very
worried about what I would name “Melody” when she gets to “America.” I reassured them, “Ah!! (real name, real name)!! Da, da!”
They were so relieved that you could see tears in their eyes, and they
all hugged me. The mistrust that was so
apparent a week ago is washing away. I
love these women, who present Melody to me proudly each visit with a fresh
hair-do, dolled up in her only dress (which I gather is the only garment here
that fits her), and swaddled lovingly in an old stained blanket. They are doing the best they can in a flawed,
sad, and impoverished system, and they love their babies … Melody too. I am grateful.
Limped my way home, still nauseated … I’m skipping dinner,
saying hi and good night to ya’all, and calling it an early night.
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