Asta e

Last Friday, Adina came over to my apartment and we went together to the geriatric hospital to see the church her friend the priest built. It was only a five-minute walk from my apartment. Unfortunately, the priest wasn't there, so we took a short stroll around the grounds. The hospital is named after Ana Aslan, a famous Romanian gerontologist who developed an anti-aging drug called Gerovital (also called GH3, or procaine). Supposedly, Gerovital can slow down the aging process and is injected or administered orally to patients with various illnesses or to others who are simply looking for the fountain of youth. I found some Gerovital face cream at the pharmacy for about $3, and despite liberal applications I seem to be looking older every day. Maybe I need to shoot it up instead.

The Ana Aslan hospital is "fara plata," (without pay) meaning it offers "free" state health care. It also offers some services for pay, such as Gerovital treatment. But Adina was quick to note that there is no real free health care in Romania; you always have to slip the doctor a "spaga" (bribe) if you actually want to be treated. The more you slip into his pocket, the more attentive he will be. So it's basically a lot like the American model of health care, only the Romanian system cuts out the middleman. Since the hospital is only for treatment and not a long-term care facility, I asked Adina what happens to an elderly person with no family who is sick or unable to care for themselves. Where do they go? "They die!" Adina said, followed by that quintessentially Romanian expression of fatalism, "Asta e." (That's how it is.) Adina is the full-time caretaker for her elderly husband, who is in the late stages of Parkinson's disease. She told me that through her friendship with the priest who built the church on the hospital grounds, she was able to get her husband into the hospital for a full battery of tests and stay with him in the hospital for two weeks. The priest used his influence to make sure they got proper care, and Adina slipped an extra $30 into the doctor's pocket just for good measure. "I always feel embarrassed doing that," Adina said. "But the doctors don't!"

The church is right next to the hospital, and it's a pleasant little place. It was built by the priest and his family and painted in the traditional Romanian Orthodox style, with colorful icons framed in gold. People from the community donated rugs from their own homes that cover the floor in a patchwork. Adina is not a believer, so I asked her why this church was so important to her. "I think Christian morality is a beautiful thing," she said. "I think that it encourages people to be good. I don't believe in God, but I believe in teachings that make people be kinder to one another." I wanted to say, Too bad that religion is also used as a justification for committing atrocities, but my Romanian wasn't up to the task--which was probably for the best. Adina lived through decades of communism, and she sees the survival of Romanian religious traditions as a sign of her country's strength and resistance to oppression. Her father, an intellectual, was imprisoned and forced into ten years of hard manual labor building a canal, and died a year after his release. For Adina, this small church is a symbol of love and kindness; a place of refuge and calm. Spiritual Gerovital.