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October 10, 2021
Good evening
Today is my Mom's birthday. She was born on October 10th, 1938 and died on July 13, 1993. She was only 55. Her cause of death: Socialism.
As most of you know by now, I was born and raised in the former Soviet Union, the "peasants' and workers' paradise," where everything was free and everyone was equal. So, my Mom was a victim of the free Soviet socialist healthcare. For years, my Mom was treated for a heart disease, which as it turned out, was a 'hoax' diagnosis. When my Mom visited me here in the US, after I had already immigrated, I took her to one of the best cardiologists in the Washington DC area. (The
cardiologist, whom I found through a Jewish Community Center, graciously examined her and ran a bunch of tests, all "pro bono" since I didn't have medical insurance for Mom as she was just visiting). The American cardiologist said that my Mom had a heart of a 16 year old teen, in other words, nothing was wrong with my Mom's heart. Yet, she was treated with heavy doze medications for heart disease, for years, in the USSR, and eventually was treated with a
"horse's doze" - in the words of American doctors -- of Prednisone. That's what probably ultimately killed her.
I don't want to bore you with all the details of my Mom's "illnesses." My sister and I speculate that she probably suffered from anxiety because she was stealing meat from the Soviet canteen where she worked, in order to feed our family and our grandma, plus also my aunt's and uncle's families. Under socialism, because there's a shortage of everything -- food, clothes, medicine, you name it -- every person uses their position to survive. I also think that my
mother had terrible menopause symptoms and she suffered from Berylliosis, an acute Beryllium Disease, which is metal poisoning caused by inhalation of beryllium dusts. As some of you may have read it in my book, we lived in Ust-Kamenogorsk, Kazakstan, which served as a center of the Soviet nuclear industry, supporting top-secret military programs in the USSR. At some point, my Mom was close to an explosion in the beryllium plant.
As my Mom was dying in the Soviet hospital, my sister and I climbed up the window to see her. (I arrived from America, urged by my aunt, one day before my Mom died.) You were not allowed to visit a patient in the Soviet hospital. Having spotted us, the Soviet "doctor" yelled at my Mom, who was in critical condition, having suffered an internal hemorrhage. We saw and heard him yelling at our Mother for having her "reckless children, climbing the hospital walls
like monkeys." I jumped down and ran trying to find my way into the hospital to strangle the Soviet apparatchik "doctor." Believe me, if I thought I had the necessary strength to strangle him with my own hands. But as I tried to pry the door open, one of his minions slammed the door, squeezing my foot that I managed to insert before the door got shut.
I never got to speak with my mother before she died.
If you are still reading, thank you. Sorry for being emotional. My Mom is the reason that I and my sister are here, in the United States. We love Freedom and pray every day that we are living in America. Ever since I remember myself, my Mom would encourage me to learn English very well, so one day I could go and live in America, the land of freedom and opportunity. She worked super hard to pay for my English language tutor. I have no idea how she knew about America.
But she did. She was blue collar, not an intellectual type but very tough and had tons of common sense. I wish I had asked her how she knew about America, but as a child and then teenager, you are just not smart enough to ask your parents about things that matter.
You will see that I dedicated my book to my Mom and my Dad, Valentina and Vladimir.
Happy Birthday, Mom. С Днем Рожденья, Мамочка.