I'm tired of living ...

Many people like to read articles from the column "Evil Physician". I, too, is no exception. But their revelations of doctors give the impression that all the patients they come across are somehow too inadequate. Some cause trivialities every day, others are always drunk. That in the apartment there is such dirt and neuhozhennost that it is impossible not to get sick. No, they come across in their stories and quite decent people whom they admire, but they are in the minority.

But our country is huge and diverse. And there are many more decent, decent people in the world. Where are they? And who and how to help them? I live in the provinces and moreover, according to metropolitan standards, in the wilderness. That is, from the district center to my village you still have to get there. And I was not lucky with my health badly. And it would be okay, some disease was attached, with which they were used to fighting and throwing all their forces to its victory. So no. At me it is banal from the very childhood the head is turned. And as a child, nobody paid attention to it, although it was very difficult for me.

And now, when to me has passed for 60, the illness has entered into the rights very impudently, does not give me any respite. Up to 60 years I still worked, and although I often felt very hard, like I overcame myself, I endured, I took myself in hand and went to work. And then it became unbearable. And now I am left with my malaise can be said one on one. No, to me as far as possible, they help in our local medpunka, do injections, prescribe pills. I even have a registration with a regional audiologist who regularly, once every 6 months, checks my ears and writes out pills.

And I'm getting worse and worse. Attacks of dizziness are very terrible. I'm carried somewhere with wild hurricane speed, I grab onto the couch, press myself into the pillow and try not to move my head, Otherwise the wild movement is mixed with a fall into the abyss, and the room begins to roll over before my eyes. All this is very scary. This must be experienced in order to understand me. All this lasts for hours and does not stop. At the ambulance in the arsenal, only drugs that do not help me, but on the contrary, exacerbate the situation.

I always wonder why there is not an effective medicine for such cases, which will calm you down, and will benefit the vestibular apparatus. The last attack, which lasted more than 5 hours, I stopped, taking 5 tablets of fenozepam. I just fell from them and I fell asleep. The next day was bad for the heart. But who cares. This year I lay in the hospital three times. You say, I'm ungrateful. They try to treat me, but I resent it for some reason. So in one hospital I was given pills, from which the head was spinning more than at the beginning of the treatment.

When I told the attending physician about this, she angrily replied that I left my head alone and did not invent. Treatment to me is appointed or nominated correct. In another hospital, when my head began to drip from a dropper, I was told that there is no other medicine for us, or suffer, or refuse to be treated. There is a feeling that I am alone in the whole country with such a disease. And maybe, since I'm already 63 years old, it's time for me to write off. Why should a pension be paid to a person useless for the state? Although I do good to the state or private traders. A third of the pension is spent on medicines, to whom the profit goes to the pocket, while I sit half-starved, as all the money goes to medicines and to pay for utilities.

Someone will say that this is not an article, it's just a complaint. But I tell my story because I'm not the only one who is poor in our country. I have no oncology, no stroke, no heart attack. Perhaps, in the forces of doctors, making my life quite comfortable. But why do not they do it. There are also other people who are also suffering. Maybe they have other problems, but they can be solved. Someone suffers, someone despaired. They always write that the Lord gives a person a test by his strength. But there is a limit of strength. Here he came from me. In addition to fear and desire, so that everything ended quickly, there is nothing left. And nothing is not interesting. But there were so many desires in life, something to learn, because it's not yet a deep old age, just 63 years old, to enjoy free time, to admire the beauty of nature. Yes, little you can find interesting things around.

How can I live on, and is it worth living? After all, such attacks happen more and more often. And I can do nothing more at all. Even read. Always, in moments of terrible attacks, I think that I want to die immediately, I can not stand it anymore, it's impossible. I understand that there are many people who suffer much more years. But after all, all the different forces, different situations. I live alone. My husband died. The children are far away. Come, of course, call to live with yourself. But me and they are not well. Here, in my native village everyone knows me, they come to help, whenever possible. And what to do in a strange city, in which I feel terribly uncomfortable, and where even the ambulance refuses to help.