(русскую версию читайте в предыдущей публикации)

Yesterday at work, we were informed that the hospital was switching to a disaster mode. To be honest, of course, in the beginning this news simply overwhelmed me, I did not expect that everything was so serious, nevertheless, I did not feel fear, I simply felt ready. Why? I only now have understood what destiny means for me.

If at 25 it seemed to me that all my previous dreams were crushed, when I had to quit journalism after I ended up in America, then now, a quarter of a century later, I understand that it was necessary. I was destined to be in medicine from the very beginning. My favorite games during childhood were not so much playing “house”, but rather playing “doctors”. Back then, before AIDS, all syringes were made of glass and metal and were sterilized by boiling, and, respectively, they were discarded if glass cracked. Therefore, we, little girls, had ran sometimes under the windows of a village hospital, begging nurses for real discarded syringes. God! It was such a thrill – to hold a real syringe in my hands, which did not even seem to leak through those small cracks, and squirt a few drops of “medicine” out of it with a plunger just like real nurses did! To be honest, I still love syringes.

Nonetheless, towards the end of high school I dreamed of journalism and about its frightening, but alluring adventures, associated with this profession.  Although I was destined to be a nurse (as I understand it now), nevertheless, the universe allowed me to enjoy youthful dreams, which I achieved back then by just using my brains and efforts. I have studied to be a journalist at a university, where incidentally there was a military department, which means, respectively, the universe at the same time taught me the profession of a civil defense nurse.  So, it would seem that I got what I dreamed for, and even more so: during my students’ years having stumbled upon radio instead of newspaper business  along the way I discovered a love for   sound and the words spoken with emotions, and eventually I became a pretty popular young radio journalist in the Khabarovsk Territory.

I moved to America

 It was journalism that collided me, back then, with a young, charming American, with whom I moved to America after a couple of years. However, soon due to some dramatic circumstances and mistakes, I ended up being all alone with a baby in my arms. I had to start from scratch. I was placed in such difficult situation that journalism was no longer my priority. Instead I had to make other choices to survive. The situation was pathetic:  a single mother, a foreigner, on the street. Then the universe sent me through a really serious test: I had to study, overcoming hunger, lack of sleep, fear of the immigration authorities, and all this while studying in English with Russian-English dictionaries, thick books on medicine, and so on, during the 5 long, seemingly endless  years. The result of which was my second profession, registered nurse.

My second profession, registered nurse.

And now, when life seemed to be very comfortable, everything fell into place: the profession of a nurse within these 20 years has become for me not just a job, or means for survival, but it has become my second love, passion for life, and the meaning of existence. Over the past seven years, I have worked only part-time because I could afford it, enjoying the medicine, traveling around the world, sometimes participating in humanitarian medical missions as a volunteer nurse. And then boom! Corona virus!

It was like a revelation to me from above: the universe was preparing me for this big test. All previous challenges turned out to be just the foundation bricks of strengthening my spirit, my soul, so I could face these difficulties without fear. These challenges at this time were not created by me through mistakes, or by making some choices, but this time the universe sent these challenges to all of humanity. And my task is simple: I just need to do my job, to continue to be there, at the frontline, to help people. This is the meaning of my existence, for which the universe has been preparing me all my life.

Yes, we just need to have a little more patience.

 I feel very grateful to my friends and to my family for their heartfelt emotional support! This is not the end, I consider everything what is happening as just the next stage of this challenge. At least, I feel it and perceive it that way. For some reason, we need to live and survive through these challenges, I guess, they are necessary for our karmic purification. I feel that it will get worse before it gets better, but I know that it will definitely get better soon. To be honest, there is no fear I feel, I feel ready for this challenge. Just plunging in. It is what it is. Whatever the outcome in this case for my life will be, none of these outcomes will be a loss. There might be simply a transition to another reality.

(See English Version in the next post)

Вчера на работе нам объявили, что госпиталь переходит на disaster mode, то есть переходит в режим работы на чрезвычайное положение. Если честно, то, конечно, в начале это известие меня просто ошеломило, я не ожидала, что всё так серьёзно, но, тем не менее, страха не было, а была готовность. Почему? Я только теперь понимаю, что такое предначертанность судьбы. 

То есть то, что в 25 лет мне казалось крахом предыдущих мечтаний, когда пришлось бросить журналистику, оказавшись в Америке, теперь, четверть века спустя, я понимаю, так было надо. Мне суждено было быть в медицине с самого начала. Любимой игрой в детстве была игра не в дочки-матери, а в больницу. Тогда, еще до спида, шприцы из стекла и металла стерилизовали посредством кипячения, ну и, соответственно, списывали их, если стекло трескалось. Вот мы, маленькие девчонки, и бегали иногда под окнами поселковой больницы, выпрашивая настоящие шприцы. Это был кайф – держать в руках настоящий шприц, который даже не протекал через эти символические трещины, и выталкивать поршнем из него несколько капелек «лекарства», так же, как это делали заправские медсестры! Если честно, до сих пор обожаю шприцы. 

Тем не менее, к окончанию средней школы мечталось о журналистике и пугающей, но заманчивой романтике, связанной с Этой профессией. И хотя предначертано мне бало быть медсестрой (как теперь я это понимаю), тем не менее, вселенная позволила мне насладиться юношескими мечтами, которых я тогда достигла своим умом и стараниями. Я выучилась на журналиста в университете, где, кстати, была военная кафедра, соответственно, вселелнная параллельно уже тогда обучала меня профессии медсестры гражданской обороны. И вот, Казалось бы, я получила то, о чем мечтала, и даже больше: наткнувшись на радио вместо газетного дела, я по ходу обнаружила тем самым любовь к звуку и слову, сказанному с эмоциями, и стала довольно-таки популярным молодым радио-журналистом в Хабаровском крае.  

И именно журналистика свела меня тогда с молодым обаятельным Американцем, с которым через пару лет я перебралась в Америку. Тем не менее, вскоре, в силу роковых обстоятельств и ошибок я оказалась одна с младенцем на руках, в такой трудной ситуации, когда уже было не до журналистики, а нужно было делать выбор и выживать. Банальная ситуация – мать-одиночка, иностранка, на улице.  И вот вселенная послала меня на действительно серьезное испытание: преодоление голода, недосыпа, страха перед иммиграционными властями, и всё это во время обучения на английском языке с русско-английскими словарями, толстыми книгами по медицине, и так, в течение 5 долгих , нескончаемых, казалось бы, лет.  Итогом чего стала моя вторая профессия – медсестры.

Оказывается, вот к чему меня готовила судьба.  Все предыдущие испытания оказались первыми кирпичиками закалки моего духа, моей души, для того чтобы без страха встретить вот эти трудности, которые уже не я сама создала посредством ошибок, делая какой-то выбор, а вселенная послала эти испытания всему человечеству. И моя задача состоит в том, чтобы просто выполнять мою работу, продолжать быть там, на передовой, помогать людям. Вот Это и есть смысл моего существования, к которому меня готовила вселенная всю мою жизнь.
 

И я просто испытываю большую благодарность к друзьям и к своим родным за их сердечную моральную поддержку! Да, нам всем еще немного надо потерпеть. Это еще не конец, рассматривайте все происходящее, как следующую ступень  испытания . По крайней мере, я так это ощуюаю и воспринимаю. Эти испытания почему-то нужны  для нашего кармического очищения . Я чувствую, что в целом станет хуже прежде, чем станет лучше, однако я знаю, что в итоге обязательно станет лучше. Если честно, страха нет,  я готова к испытаниям . Какой бы ни был исход в данном случае для моей жизни, ни один из этих исходов не будет проигрышем. Просто произойдет переход в другую реалию.

This is a translation of the article that was published in the Russian Newspaper “Argumenti I Fakti” (Arguments and facts):

***

The Inauguration of 44^th President of the USA will be held on January 20^th. In November of 2008 Americans made truly historical choice – first time in history of their country black candidate became the President of their country.

And shortly after the November events in America our Newspaper “Argumenti I Fakti” (Arguments and Facts), Kamchatka edition, received a letter from abroad written by our country-woman, Far-Eastern born, Svetlana Potton (maiden name Drozdova). We would like to share this letter with our readers.

***

Well, now emotions have slightly calmed down, and the information in regards of presidential elections began to embed into my apolitical mind.

Those who remember me from 90’s quite likely know that despite of my profession as a journalist, I never had a great interest in politics, and was a last reporter in line that needed almost a literate kick in the rear end in order to send me for coverage of some political events such as election. My bosses at the Khabarovsk State TV/Radio periodically scolded me for not reading political columns in newspapers and, consequently, for being nearly clueless about the political world. My credo at that time was entertainment. I had experienced inconceivable joy by making my way through the ticketless crowds and through the guarded doors by waving my magic red covers of the Press representative to any concert, and then by convincing celebrities to give me interviews. In Vladivostok I interviewed Kostya Kintchev (Band “Alica”), and Michael Borzykin (Band “TV”). Besides the rock-n-roll singers I had an amusing interview with the famous mimes of the show “Licedi”. In Petropavlovsk-Kamchatka I talked to Katya Semenova, and did the reporting from a concert of the group “Machina Vremeni (Time Machine)”. My chief of the news department in Khabarovsk at that time especially appreciated my interview with Alexander Politkovskii, one of the leaders of the popular show at that time “Vzglyad (Opinion)”. Taking all of that into consideration most of you would probably understand that it was simply impossible for me to be intrigued by something as boring as elections at such thrilling way of a reporter’s life. Although that reporter was still a callow youth, and that reporter was not stricken yet by many failures. The life for me then was full of excitement, turbulent like a boiling geyser; and there was no room for tedious politics.

So, what have happened? What changed? Why now, in my 40’s, I have suddenly displaced my indifference for politics, and with the feeling of pride and dignity of the American-Russian citizen simply almost sprinted to the presidential elections? With a pounding heart from excitement I have galloped at full speed, nearly racing, if I may say, other Americans to give my voice for democrats. Or, God forbid, what if the deficit of my particular vote would affect the election, and would not allow victory over the republicans? No, seriously, did they really disturb me in my life? Basically, I will say yes, it seems they did. Having survived once the deepest economical crisis in Russia in 90’s, and having immigrated to the USA, I did not expect that here, after going through extreme physical and emotional efforts of getting back on my feet, I would suddenly be threatened to lose it all again. After already established career as a journalist in Russia I had to begin absolutely from scratch in the USA: raise my child, going back to school to be a nurse, and here we go again – crisis …

On November, 4th, 2008 after placing my vote for Barrack Obama I came to the bar-restaurant “The House of Blues” to join democrats of the San Diego city, multiple fans of the young presidential candidate. Whatever media wrote about Obama’s and McCain’s doctrines, from my point of view it did not matter much. The skin color of candidates has played a great role in this battle. At least to say in support of my statement, I did not make it up, but according to statistics, 95 % of Afro-Americans had given their votes for Оbama. My Afro-American brother-in-law, who by profession is a prosecutor, and devoted republican, nonetheless, even he had a bumper-sticker on his car stating: “Republicans for Obama”. Hence, in the evening of November 4th in the above mentioned bar the full democracy was reigned. Friendly patrons of all races were presented in this bar. After mingling a bit with the crowd I have managed to find a truly luxurious sitting spot, in the center of a large room, on a soft couch at front of a huge plasma-screen TV where the last moments of occurring elections were broadcasted. Every time when vote counts in any of the states were closing, and conclusive figures appeared on the screen in favor of Barrack Obama, people simply filled the room with victorious shouts. Even an elderly white woman that was sitting between me and her excited gray-haired spouse, periodically pressed her body closely against me and spraying her saliva over my ear feverishly exclaimed: “Finally! Finally it happened! At last there will be no more of this Bush!” To me it was certainly interesting to observe this entire celebratory picture, but personally somehow I wasn’t feeling wild enough in order to jump and shout, as it was done by many inspired fans.

However, when Obama himself came to the podium, been so simple, so calm, with normal, please notice, natural smile, instead of habitual for America whitetoothed grin, our crowd in the bar instantly silenced. Nobody wished to miss even one word from the newly elected president. Following Obama came out his wife, Michel (in rather original, by the way, dress combined of black and bright red colors, that later has caused subsequently some controversial reaction in media) with their two small daughters in red and black dresses as well. All this looked very touching and solemnly. Then new Mr. President began talking. People had simply rejoiced, both in Chicago, and in our bar-restaurant in San Diego. He spoke easily, without any verbal twists. He thanked us, simple people, for our support. He said that the entire world now can be convinced that our democracy is real. He was talking, and I was looking. I looked at this black man who won in extreme political battle, and mixed feelings began overflowing my heart, forcing treacherous tears filling my eyes.

At this moment I was thinking about his mother. I also was thinking about my black son, Maxim.  Fifteen years ago, my friends at that time having learned that I, a white Russian woman, became pregnant with black child, all of them as one had tried to persuade me: “Do not do it. Get rid of him before he is born. Think about it, in fact he will grow up, and he will probably like black girls, and perhaps he will even marry a black woman. You will end up having black grandchildren.” Later on in life I had to endure even worst statements. During my visit to St. Petersburg one of the colleagues-journalists, having learned that my child is Afro-American, did not hesitate and gave me the whole lecture on harm of blood-mixing. However, it was beyond her comprehension that my child is fluent in two languages from the cradle, and that he is a good looking boy, healthy, also witty, clever, attending gifted programs, and receiving awards for academic achievements… I was looking at Obama, at this brilliant speaker to whom the greater half of all America, if not all world at the moment was applauding; and I thought of his mother, to whom, for certain, people told the same things, that I happened to listened to, if not worst. Yes, everything happened as predicted: her son Barrack has grown, married an Afro-American woman, has brought into the world two charming girls, and now he became the President of the United States of America. I was crying with joy for him, with pride for the people that had stepped over the barrier of racism, and for the hope of much brighter future of my black child, who by the way also, just like me, is the owner of two passports: Russian and American. Therefore, who knows, maybe, subsequently he will also become the first black president of the democratic Russia.

Svetlana Potton (maden name: Drozdova)