Он был из первых моих больных в Киеве....

He was one of my first patients in Kiev. We had no wards yet. And there was nothing.
Svyatoshino - the place that serves the hospice - is full of five-story panel houses of yellow color. There are dirty entrances and an indestructible smell mixed in urine and sour cabbage. On the fifth floor lived Serge. His name was Earring. A thirty-year-old guy, his wife left, she sees her daughter every three weeks. They were afraid of getting infected from him. Doggy style. My mother Seryoga told me about this in the kitchen. Cried. She asked to be taken to a hospital somewhere, because his character became unbearable. He was angry with the whole world, healthy and prosperous, women, including his mother, friends who did not come, because of this. that he was coughing up phlegm with a bad smell. He did not wash or shave for many days.
I ate like homeless people sometimes - folding the first and second in one plate at once.
There was one icon in his room. Nicholas - The Miracle Worker. When I entered for the first time, he pointedly turned this icon to the wall. I violated his space. He was not going to share it with me.
A sofa, relatively clean linen, three blankets - he was cold all the time. Stool with a plate and a glass of water. An ashtray with water at the bottom and three soaked butts. A half-liter jar with bloody sputum at the bottom.
On the floor is a worn carpet. On the wall is a whole carpet. Mother gave for the wedding. Three magazines. A pack of newspapers with crosswords.
Under the sofa are bottles of wine.
"I drink a glass when it hurts a lot."
That was his "Hello."
- And it helps?
- No, it doesn’t help. Who are you anyway?
- I'm a doctor.
- Ah ... And we have no more money. Mother gave the last. I also pay child support. Daughter. So there’s nothing to talk about.
- Is free.
- Lived. Are you a Baptist?
- No.
- So what do you need?
- I will examine you and try to help.
“And you cannot help me die.” I want to leave this world. Will you help?
- No.
- Then - to the garden.
He laughed hoarsely and coughed for a long time.
He spat in a jar and showed me.
She took the jar in her hands - he looked into the contents with me.
- And this is blood?
- Yes.
- Poorly.
He sat down, tried to smoke, but changed his mind. He twisted a cigarette in his yellow fingers and crushed tobacco on a blanket.
- Well, what about you? - asked.
- Come on.
- Che do something? - Doomed so asked, I even remember intonations. Probably, they ask cops or hostages that are exciting.
- Nothing. I myself. Breathe as usual, I will listen.
Thin. On the left, breathing was carried out, on the right - silence. The right lung was gone. Inspected. Everything was very bad.
“And what do you say?”
- Let's get anesthetized, and we’ll find something for coughing.
- Will help?
- Yes. Should help.
- You're lying.
- Why?
- Everyone lies.
There was no point in denying it. He was telling the truth. I was deceiving him.
She gave me medicines, called on the district oncologist to prescribe painkillers for him.
“I'll call you.”
- Yeah, you will.
“And the day after tomorrow I will come again.” And you or mom say helps or not.
He did not answer.
- Goodbye, Serge.
In response - not a sound. I came to him in a day. He shaved and washed. The bottle stood on a stool. The can with sputum was covered with a napkin.
- Hello, Sergey.
“You don't leave me.”
- I will not give up.
“And your sisters, let them come.”
- Good.
“Just don't leave me.”