How Do We Feel, Doctor?

Здоровья в аптеке не купишь
You can’t buy health at the pharmacy

This popular Russian saying got a second meaning and a new lease of life in the late 1980s. In those years, Soviet citizens would search empty-shelved pharmacies for the most elementary drugs, like aspirin or nose drops. The only consolation was lyrics from a popular Soviet song in vogue in the 30s – от всех болез­ней нам полез­ней солн­це, воз­дух и вода (sun, fresh air and water can heal any disease).

Another Russian folk saying sets a slightly different mood – кто не курит и не пьёт, тот здоровень­ким по­мрёт (“he who doesn’t smoke and drink will die healthy” – i.e. you’ll die anyway so why bother trying to be healthy?).

If you’ve decided not to die healthy, please read on. Sooner or later you will end up seeing a doctor. If the closest one at hand is a Russian, brace yourself. With male life expectancy here falling to 57 years, it’s not surprising that Russians don’t think very highly of their health care system. Hence the incisive wordplay attributed to the famous surgeon Nikolai Amosov: лечить­ся даром – даром лечить­ся (a free doctor will “free” you from treatment).

No wonder then that Amosov, now in his 80s, jogs every morning and doe not smoke or drink. If you do, you’ll end up saying мне не­здоровит­ся, я се­бя неваж­но/паршиво/погано чув­ст­вую (I’m not well / I don’t feel well / I feel bad/ dreadful).

These words may come in handy if you catch that typically Russian disease, the похмелье (hangover). And if a Russian friend catches you gulping down gallons of water in the morning, he may give you a knowing look and say: “Что, трубы горят?” (“Your tubes are burning, are they?” – see page 157)

A good subterfuge (if you don’t feel like admitting you had a night of partying) is to reply to your Russian friend that you spent the day in a stuffy place (в душ­ном по­мещении) and that’s why you have a headache (го­ловная боль). If you’re really in agony you could say: “У меня го­лова раскалы­ва­ет­ся” or “Башка болит” (“My head’s splitting”).

Conditions like diarrhea are also hard to own up to. So, instead of going for the easiest word, понос, use the euphemistic расстрой­ст­во желуд­ка (indigestion).

If you have something straightforward like a runny nose (нас­морк), Russians will probably advise you not to call the doctor but use folk or homemade remedies (обойтись народ­ны­ми / домаш­ни­ми рецеп­та­ми / сред­ст­ва­ми). These include чай с ма­ли­ной (tea with raspberry jam) or мо­ло­ко с мё­дом (milk and honey).

One word of warning: not all colds are what they seem. If someone tells you they have a гу­сар­ский на­сморк (hussar’s cold) give them a very wide berth. This is none other than a very magnificent euphemism for syphilis.

Suppose the worst comes to the worst, and you have to call a doctor? The first question you will probably hear from him is “Как мы се­бя чув­ст­ву­ем?” (“How are we feeling?”) Or, “На что жа­лу­ем­ся?” (“What is our problem?”) Don’t think the doctor’s being patronizing – this is simply a form of address known as the “doctor’s we” – док­тор­ское мы).

If you have aches and pains, there are several ways you can answer. You could say “По­ба­ли­ва­ет” (“It hurts a bit”) or “Тер­петь мож­но (“It’s tolerable”). If it’s not tolerable, say “Мо­чи нет тер­петь” (“I can’t take it any more”), or even stronger – “Хоть на стен­ку лезь” (“I’m about to climb the wall from pain”).

Pain is a common feature of dental lexicon, though God forbid that you should personally experience this particular branch of Russian medicine. Note these phrases for domestic use only – “Зуб дёр­га­ет” (“I have a throbbing pain in my tooth”), “Зуб но­ет” (“I’ve got toothache”). Make sure there are no dentists within earshot when you say this, otherwise you might be offered a root canal – плом­би­ро­вать ка­нал – a particularly unpleasant form of torture.

Finally, even people who stick to a healthy way of life (здо­ро­вый об­раз жиз­ни) have accidents and need to see doctors. If you’ve had an accident at work, the Russian labor code calls it про­из­вод­ст­вен­ная трав­ма (production trauma). If at home, then it’s бы­то­вая трав­ма (domestic trauma), like a си­няк под гла­зом or, in slang, фин­гал (black eye) from a quarrel with the neighbors. If your си­няк is an embarrassment, just say it was a бан­дит­ская пу­ля (a bandit’s bullet). This is a quote from a Soviet comedy film Старики-разбойники (Robber Lads), where a wounded investigator keeps appearing with freshly broken limbs and repeating these words.

If you have just a minor scratch (обык­но­вен­ная ца­ра­пи­на), forget the euphe-misms. Show it proudly to everybody, because Russian women believe scars become a man (шра­мы ук­ра­ша­ют муж­­чи­ну).

On the other hand, if a Russian doctor sees your ца­ра­пи­на, he or she will say: до свадь­бы за­жи­вёт (it’ll heal before your wedding). They like this formula, especially when talking to young men. In this context it means don’t worry, there’s plenty of time for the wound to heal. No ageism intended – words like these are just a friendly formula meant to put you at ease. So even if your свадь­ба is ancient history and you’ve no such new plans, rest assured that your scratch will heal anyway.