Part One – There
(Eastern Hemisphere)
CHAPTER SEVENTY – YEARS IN THE MEDICAL SCHOOL (PART 5) – DISTRIBUTION TO WORK
The dean of the medical faculty, professor of medicine Irakli Alexandrovich Tskhirtladze summoned me to his study and confidentially stated,
“Neiman, you shouldn’t appear unpresented on the State Distribution of Workplaces!”
Apparently, my dilated pupils eloquently signaled a matter of life and death, so, after a pause, he continued,
“Without a personal request from a medical institution, the distribution commission will force you to sign a referral to some village, where you will be stuck for three years, maximally reducing your qualifications and forgetting modern medicine. “Get sick,” disappear out of sight, get the necessary papers and then appear again. Good luck!”
I was deeply touched. This was a very honest and courageous step on the part of the official. But Irakli Alexandrovich has always been in my eyes not an official, but an honest person within the official establishment. I knew his story. His father went to war and died, and his mother died of dysentery. The orphan was taken to his parents’ village and raised by his fellow villagers during the hungry years. And young Irakli (Heraclius) vowed to be their protector. He kept his word, becoming a good doctor and second professor at the department of therapy, and accepted private patients from all over Georgia under the patronage of the residents of his village.
We, students, have repeatedly witnessed how elderly peasants, Maro or Miho, limping with arthritic feet in worn-out kalamani (soft homemade peasant footwear) hugged dear Shvilo (son) and dragged other peasants with full khurgins (bags) of food and poultry. I don’t remember that anyone considered this protectionism. On the contrary, the old-fashioned nature of the food offerings and the care for the villagers, in defiance of the total bribery that reigned among medical workers, seemed touching. In any case, I liked the professor. I often went up during breaks in his lectures to chat with him about this and that. It was much more interesting than chatting with young students.
Six months ago, I heard gossip from my well-informed course mates from high-ranking families – another dean was being removed for fraud, and our professor Irakli Alexandrovich might be right for the position. A lover of primary sources, I approached him during recess and asked,
“Have you agreed to become our dean?”
“What do you think, Neiman, should I?”
“Without a doubt. Students should at least sometimes have a decent dean!” I said without hesitation.
The professor blushed. Me too. Somehow, without thinking, I blurted out what could be taken for undisguised flattery. I was never known for flattery, and Irakli did not tolerate it, but that’s why he was a professor, to make the correct diagnosis.
“You convinced me!” he nodded, “Let’s continue the lecture…”
So, five months ago Irakli Alexandrovich became our dean, and now, before the State Distribution of Workplaces, I left his office with mixed feelings.
On the one hand, his advice was invaluable. On the other hand, he demanded urgent action from me, which I don’t like. Where could I get a request for a workplace? It was all incredible. I had no hand in government and had no connections with the powers that be. My dad was a former prisoner and an emigrant who left his homeland. I had to rely on my savvy.
My savvy said that we need to a workplace look in Moscow. The capital is the scientific and educational center of the country, my father-in-law and mother-in-law will be happy to see us, and I can register with them if I marry my beloved wife again. All that was left was “just a little” – to find a place where I would be accepted for residency, and excellent students could be accepted there immediately after graduating from medical school. Typically, residency was required to obtain the position of department head. It confirmed that the doctor has the highest qualifications in his specialty. Although department heads were not appointed on this basis at all, without residency they might not have been appointed. Generally speaking, I didn’t even think about any position as head of the department; I only needed protection from a three-year exile to Tmutarakan (Lord forgotten faraway spot).
I chose the Moscow Scientific Research Institute for Surgeons Improvement (SRISI) because Professor Litovsky, the author of a good book on tendon-muscular plastic surgery (that is, muscle transplants) that interested me, worked there. At the time, I was writing an article about unusual muscle transfers based on my random historical findings in old medical journals.
It turned out that during the years of the revolution everything was updating, including many surgical operations. People were looking for new unbeaten paths, which could be wrong, but human life was worth so little, so many people were dying around, there were so many seriously wounded, that trying to help them in the most unusual way did not looked criminal. And, I must say, some unusual operations led to success. For example, one talented surgeon managed to restore the lost function of a limb by deceiving the body – transplanting muscles to new places and teaching them to perform work that was unusual for them.
It was interesting, and I decided to share my discovery with the professor. I bought a ticket and flew to set up bridges.
In Moscow, I told Aron Naumovich Litovsky about the article I was writing, as well as about my already published article on modern surgical treatment of obstetric paralysis, and showed photographs of operations. For the second time in my life, as when meeting with Professor Russovsky in the Ilizarov center, I saw sincere interest in my words and knowledge.
“If you don’t mind, Dr. Neiman, I’ll call you by name.” My son is your age. Come on, Nick, I’ll introduce you to Academician Raskin. He is our coryphaeus and may remember the doctor whose amazing operations you are talking about. Let’s talk to him – one head is good, but two are better.”
We walked along the endless corridors of the building to the office of an academician, currently just an honorary figure, and not an official one within the walls of this institution, like Professor Okropiridze in Tbilisi. However, he had his own office, where he wrote works and continued to train doctors in advanced courses.
My story about unusual muscle transplants in the early twenties submerged the academician into memories. His gaze, directed somewhere into the distance or into the past, froze for a while.
“I respected Doctor Nikolaev very much,” the academician suddenly said, “He taught me. Your story is like a greeting from my youth.”
“What happened to this surgeon?”
“He felt bad, refused to operate, and died on the way home. His car fell into the river from the Greater Stone Bridge.”
“Isn’t this the same Professor Nikolaev who refused to operate on Frunze?” asked Aron Naumovich.
“It’s very nice to deal with thinking young people, including you, Aron,” the academician joked, “What are your plans, Neiman? Go to residency? To us? I am for it! It’s a shame that I no longer have an official voice in these matters. And the unofficial opinion…” he grinned at some ideas known only to him, “I promise to think about this topic. Sometimes, unconventional methods produce good results as in the case of your journal research. Once again, thank you for the memory.”
Professor Litovsky was friendly and gallant:
“I will give you my recommendation for admission to residency and submit an application for you to the personnel department, but first, you need to go there yourself and undergo an interview,” and he walked me to the gallery in building A.
I went to the administration building and found the human resources department. His boss, an elderly man and a veteran, judging by the khaki shirt and medal stripes on his jacket, carefully looked me over from head to toe.
Under his gaze, I confessed that I was graduating from medical school with an excellent diploma and therefore was applying for enrollment in the residency program at SRISI. He took my statement in his hands and ran his eyes through it,
“Excellent student, articles, recommendation from Professor Litovsky – excellent! So! Your last name is… Neiman?”
“Yes,” I confirmed.
“Nationality?”
“Jew,” I said loudly, as if on a pioneer gathering.
The retired military man blushed.
“Why do you think that the director of the institute, a lieutenant general of the medical service, would want to enroll you in residency?”
“To report to the Minister of Health that there is a full international among the residents he accepted!”
The personnel officer turned purple. He stared at me intently to understand what was behind my incredible impudence, but years and life experience told him that restraint and diplomacy create much less problems than haste and rudeness.
“Is your address listed here? We will notify you of the decision in writing within a week. You can be free.”
And I went home. Another two or three days in Moscow with relatives, a day to return, a couple of days of acclimatization, and the answer will be in my hands. In the meantime, according to the dean’s advice, it would be a mistake to go to the institute for assignment of workplace. And then we’ll see…
On the seventh day, already at home, I received an official response from Moscow. The document stated that a graduate of the Tbilisi Medical Institute, N. Neiman, was accepted into the residency program at the Scientific Research Institute for Surgeons Improvement, subject to the timely submission of all necessary documents.
I’ve got a note from our local MD that I had a flu and rushed to the institute.
“Sorry, I was sick and couldn’t come earlier. Here is a certificate. And here is the official letter that I am being accepted into residency in Moscow.”
The chairman of the commission, a bureaucrat from the rector’s office, did not care at all where I would start working, the main thing was that all the papers were in order and complied with the law. He silently accepted copies of my documents, and only the dean looked at me slyly and said,
“Congratulations to you Neiman, on the state workplace distribution of the current year. The Faculty of Medicine wishes you success!”
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