The Killer Doctors

I fired the doctor. With threshold. For “violation, non-conformity and the other, and the other.” A quiet, calm woman, always seemed to be tolerant and unwavering, but here she collapsed.
Collapse of calls, consistent clinic and acute seizures, consultations.
The challenge - twelve floors, the elevator is not on duty, we walk up to the 11th floor. We get up, resting - the caller stands at the door, shooting us on the phone, and commenting so obsessively "This is how our "ambulance" rushes to call."
We walk in silence without reacting. Madam lives alone, has a bunch of health complaints, without a single clear, basic and favorite "bad, why incomprehensible?“!”
It holds us for more than an hour, demanding consultation on all existing, including exotic, diseases, mandatory scheduling of treatments and recommendations until old age - instead of periodically popping up the names of officials and other cappuccinously familiar FSB sheriffs, who in case of refusal will immediately be called. We leave completely exhausted.

The next challenge is “lost consciousness, does not breathe.” At the other end of the area. We fly, we push through traffic jams. The courtyard of Stalin, the crowd of people, the body of an old lady. The face is blue, the eyes are coloured - the devil knows it, maybe a stroke, maybe - TELA [Tromboembolism of the pulmonary artery], not to say. We have time to get out of the car - the daughter flies to the doctor, spit in her face and clings into her hair. If we pull away, we tolerate the ears of smoking on our heads, we hide in the car from the angry crowd. Long drive, the hell knows where it carries us, more than an hour have waited, creatures heartless, so that you yourself.
Just released from this - repeat to the same address, to the previous aunt, the supervisor on the phone "complains on the quality of assistance".
I go, I get married, the doctor is strangely silent.
Again climbing to the 11th floor, again madam with the phone and already with a girlfriend - in a voice discussing our rush, uncomfortable and unstable.
Question: “The reason for the challenge?” Madam, smiling, "I hit your paper somewhere, where you wrote appointments - write another one." My doctor, a quiet, sweet woman, takes a step forward and with her size. At the entrance, her exhausting scream is heard: “Have you gone, Ssssuka!” Elijah pulled away.
Her acquaintances seemed to have really known her. I was fired by article, without the right to work at the SP at all.
As she left, she smiled, “Yes, fuck them. A job where murderers should be killed, not beaten, is not for me.”
I thought. This lady is a murderer. If she wasn’t with her challenge, we’d be able to get to that grandmother. And to many other grandmothers whose lives have eaten these ladies.
They still live now. And they call. And they take away for the sake of their fast-paced “I” life from those who really need us.
They like to talk about “killer doctors,” it’s fun.