Read Online Cancer Ward by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn - Free Book Online Page B

stood over there for quite a while, on the other side of the door, round Sibgatov, who had bared his back and was showing it to them. (Meanwhile Kostoglotov had hidden his book under the mattress.)
    Finally, though, they came into the ward: Dr. Dontsova, Dr. Gangart and a portly, gray-haired nurse with a notebook in her hand and a towel over her arm. The entry of several white coats all at once always brings with it a wave of attention, fear and hope; and the strength of these feelings grows with the whiteness of the gowns and caps and the sternness of the faces. The sternest and most solemn of all was that of the nurse Olympiada Vladislavovna. For her the morning rounds were like divine service for a deacon. She was a nurse for whom the doctors were of a higher order than ordinary people. She knew that doctors understood everything, never made mistakes and never gave wrong instructions. She jotted down every instruction in her notebook with a sensation almost of joy—something the young nurses no longer had.
    But even after they were in the ward, the doctors made no undue haste toward Rusanov’s bed! Ludmila Afanasyevna, a heavy woman with simple, heavy features, her hair already ashen but well trimmed and waved, said a quiet general “Good morning,” and then stopped by the first bed, by Dyomka. She peered at him searchingly.
    â€œWhat are you reading, Dyomka?” (Can’t she think of anything more intelligent to say? She’s meant to be on duty!)
    Dyomka did not name the title. He did what many people do, turned over the magazine with the faded blue cover and showed it to her. Dontsova narrowed her eyes.
    â€œOh, it’s such an old one, it’s two years old. Why?”
    â€œThere’s an interesting article,” said Dyomka with a significant air.
    â€œWhat about?”
    â€œAbout sincerity! ” he replied, even more emphatically. “It says literature without sincerity…” He was lowering his bad leg onto the floor, but Ludmila Afanasyevna quickly checked him.
    â€œDon’t do that. Roll up your pajamas.”
    He rolled up his trouser leg, and she sat down on the edge of his bed. Carefully, using just two or three fingers, she began to probe gently round the affected part.
    Vera Kornilyevna leaned against the foot of the bed behind her, looked over her shoulder and said quietly, “Fifteen sessions, three thousand rads.”
    â€œDoes it hurt there?”
    â€œYes, it does.”
    â€œAnd here?”
    â€œIt hurts further up, too.”
    â€œWell, why didn’t you say so? Don’t be such a hero! Tell me when it starts to hurt.”
    She slowly felt around the edges. “Does it hurt without being touched? At night?”
    Dyomka’s face was smooth. There still was not a single hair on it. But its permanently tense expression made him look much more grown-up than he was.
    â€œIt nags me day and night.”
    Ludmila Afanasyevna and Gangart exchanged glances.
    â€œBut have you noticed if it hurts more or less since you’ve been here?”
    â€œI don’t know! Maybe it’s a bit better. Maybe I’m just imagining things.”
    â€œBlood count?” Ludmila Afanasyevna asked. Gangart handed her the case history. Ludmila Afanasyevna flipped through it, then looked at the boy.
    â€œHow’s your appetite?”
    â€œI’ve always liked eating,” Dyomka replied grandly.
    â€œHe’s on a special diet now,” broke in Vera Kornilyevna in her lilting voice, kindheartedly, like a nanny. She smiled at Dyomka, and he smiled back.
    â€œTransfusion?” Gangart asked Dontsova the question quickly and quietly. She took back the case history.
    â€œYes. Well, what do you think, Dyomka?” Ludmila Afanasyevna gave him another searching look. “Shall we go on with the X rays?”
    â€œOf course we go on.” The boy’s face lit up and he looked at her gratefully.
    He thought that the X