Natasha, my translator that day, grew visibly more anxious by the moment and I hoped she wasn't going to faint. Steady, girl, I thought,
steady now. She looked at me with panic-ridden eyes that said "I'm not up to this. I didn't sign on for this." What she said was, "I don't know if I'll be able to look at them. How do you do it?"
"See with your heart, Natasha. If you see through the eyes of your heart you'll be fine."
I began to do a heart opening meditation right there on the spot in that hallway to help her, to help myself. No point in waiting. Do it now. Take all this into your heart now and open to it. There isn't another way. Establish a relationship with what is, as it is.
So much fear here, everywhere, absolutely everywhere, I often thought as my unlikely entourage drove through the streets of Moscow. The air was thick with fear. I meditated five to six hours and took three showers a day to keep my energy field clear. The future of my personal quest was uncertain, yet the timing of my being there in the sense of global implications was superb. Guidance had brought me to Russia at one of its most historic moments. I was witnessing history in the making and I knew it. The Soviet Union was collapsing.
Dr. Larissa Gerasmova was a sturdy woman in her mid-fifties, I figured, puffy friendly face, full cheeks, blonde, bright blue eyes, a jovial smile,and a sturdy build. She was all energy, enthusiasm and positive attidude. A cheerleader in a white doctor's coat. Dr. Kharisov was happy to let Natasha translate, I wondered how this interview would go. Dr. Gerasimova didn't project any feeling of concern that I wasn't a blonde,blue-eyed white woman, which always took up the first nano-sceconds of introductions anywhere I went in the United States.
"Well, hello. Shall we have tea?" Dr. Gerasimova brought out a tray set up with tea pot, cups and saucers, a canister of loose tea from a paneled cupboard. She set an electric samovar on to boil. "Excuse me one moment. I like lemon with my tea and we have some inthe refrigerator at the nurses' station. Do you care for lemon or milk?"
"Yes, lemon, please."
Dr. Gerasmova asked many more questions, but she never once asked if I'd worked with burn patients before, so I didn't have to lie. I was given a quick tour of the men's ward immediately adjacent to her office. She spoke with excitement about the latest experiemental protocols in use, including negative ion units. At the end of our hour together, I was welcomed with open arms, assured she'd select patients for me to see, and that we'd document everything that happened in a traditonal medical fashion. I would be allowed into surgeries and debriding procedures. I was to come every day. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Tuesdays and Thursdays in the morning only, so that my entourage and I had time to get to the children's ward by one o'clock. Dr. Kharisov was relieved to bid us both good-bye, but he and I would meet again as weeks passed and our collaboration expanded.
