THE START OF MY JOURNEY TO RUSSIA

I have written before about this but have been asked to write again as old posts are not easy to find. As especially when you are so unorganised like me and can’t remember the name of the blog? Well, there are well over two thousand blogs; I can’t remember all of them. OK. I can’t even remember the ones I wrote yesterday. Jog on? Haha.

 

So first time I went to Russia. It was in 1975 I was six. My Mum heard about the treatment by a man who sent us a newspaper cutting who remained anonymous. We did find out who he was in the end and sadly this man killed himself. Tragic. Even as a tiny child when I met the man, I picked up something really heavy about his soul. I just didn’t understand what it all was about then, still don’t really.

 

Anyway it took my Mum two years to get a visa to enter the USSR. As in those days it was almost impossible.

 

We had a lot of media attention.  We had already travelled around the globe trying to get help for my eyes. But nothing, so of course when my Mum heard of treatment, she went for it, as would any parent I am sure. As especially way back then when we didn’t have the technology we have now days to able us to live an easier life. Blindness way back was not the same as it is now, don’t get me wrong, it’s still to so many people I talk to a death sentence, but as I tell them, the death sentence is waiting for it to happen. It’s the worst part. Then the initial start of the long dark tunnel. Learning how to get used to dealing with things like I wrote earlier about, telling the time, of course now we have and had when I went blind talking watches, but if you do what I did and went blind overnight, a talking watch isn’t going to just pop up and put itself on your wrist. For me it involved being brave enough to call the people from our local blind support team. And that isn’t easy, phoning people? I mean, how? Yes I knew the layout of the phone, but the number? How to get it and in what format? I didn’t know Braille; this was something that was forbidden in my life.  I have written why in the past. So family help? No, sadly, none. How could I ask my parents? They were grieving for me. No support at all. Their whole life of debt and pure existence had been smashed. They were ill and elderly, their fight was all knocked out of them.

 

 Friends? No, at that point I had none. I was a housewife from a teenager to my ex Husband and that was my sole purpose in life. 

 

I memorise the number from our local eye hospital. I called it all they wanted to do was teach me white cane. Great, but at that time I just wanted someone to talk with someone to understand. Someone to tell me I was going to be OK someone who wasn’t going to push things onto me I wasn’t ready for.

 

Well, I did get the talking watch, a dreadful plastic thing, for me no colour. It could have been pink or black, I did learn black. But for me, something that was so important, I got my first item without colour.

 

I had to get used to that. 

 

Anyway, again I digress. Back to Russia. It was horrific. It was ice cold. I remember the air was so shockingly suffocating. Seriously, it was as I imagine a gun to the chest would feel like as I stepped out from the aeroplane.

 

Soldiers met us with guns. The smell of what I learned was Russian cigarettes filled the airport. Soldiers everywhere. Silence too, no one spoke. There was no laughter. No children crying or shouting.

 

Chandeliers hung from the high ceilings and the shiny marble like floors glistened as a typical communist voice could be heard over the microphone.

 

We were met by an Embassy worker and took to our hotel. Outside of the taxi windows I saw grey and red. Huge statues and peasant looking people. Old ladies in head scarfs shovelling snow. Oh snow, it was everywhere. And everyone was wearing those huge Russian hats. The taxi driver wore one that touched the top of the car roof.

 

The whole of Moscow had a smell I had never known of.

 

I know now what that smell was. It was fear and mystery. Yes, it does have a fragrance and it’s not nice. I can’t say it’s unpleasant either, but a smell I can’t explain.

 

Our hotel or I should say my hotel stay was short.

 

I was taken to the hospital the next day. It was a dreadfully dirty building. The steps leading up to it were all smashed. I mean, this was an eye hospital? Gritty feet had made sand like skis under my feet in the entrance and to get in there were nine sets of doors. Double door but nine to pick. All clear and non with stickers on to make it easy to see for those who it would benefit.

 

Our coats were almost ripped from us as we entered. We were given a plastic label. This was to hand in to retrieve our coats. For me, I wouldn’t see my coat for many many weeks to come.

 

My little body was torn from my Mum. I cried for my Mum as a lady ran with me down the long dark pathway to for me hell.

 

I was terrified. There is no other word for it. I wish there was, I really do.

 

I was taking to a cellar where there were the odd lamp lit and gas lights. Cats pushed themselves next to me. I was scared stiff as I didn’t know what they were at the time but learned later that they were to keep the mice away.

 

I was tortured. There is no other word for it. Electric shock treatment was given to me and I was saved by blood sucking leaches by a Doctor and injected instead.

 

I had to give myself electric shock treatment. Of course I rebelled but no one spoke English. I of course didn’t by then speake Russian.

 

I was given painful needles four per day. Under dreadful circumstances.

 

I won’t depress you by telling you anymore one day when my dream comes true, I shall write all down and tell you what exactly went on, but I can tell you, it was hell. No word at all from my Mum, Dad or my hero who was my brother.

 

I was sure as a six year old child, that I again had been put into a home to be adopted. As I knew from a baby I was adopted. I say baby, my Mum told me stories from the age of one about a special little girl. It was part of my bedtime stories so the shock wasn’t as bad when I got older.

 

Hmm. Again, older, I won’t tell of the story I had to face with regards to my past, that will be kept for a very long time. But I can tell you that this was the start of my life of pure pain and boy; did I have to learn how to grow up?

 

I was in hospital for six weeks. Six weeks without anyone talking to me in English. Without seeing any of my family. No TV, no toys nothing. Not to mention a disgusting Pedi file who thank God I was saved from by a wonderful earth angel called Lisa, who very sadly died because of her eye condition. That day I will never forget.

 

So that was the start of my visits to the former USSR.