Dial 03 for Speedy Emergency Aid

On duty with the Soviets' efficient ambulance corps

Throughout most of the Soviet Union, dialing the number 03 brings almost instant medical help.

This emergency service works best in Moscow, where 800 ambulances staffed by 2,000 doctors, 5,500 medical assistants and 2,400 drivers answer an average of 8,000 calls a day--at no charge. TIME Reporter-Researcher John Kohan rode with one ambulance team for part of its twelve-hour tour and filed this report:

3:35 p.m. A call comes in to the central ambulance station at 10 Koptelsky Lane. One of 34 telephone operators notes on a lavender slip of paper the time, name, address and problem--chest pains and dizziness. The slip is relayed to a second room of dispatchers who stay in constant touch with the 36 ambulance substations in the city. Most substations serve a radius of two to three miles, but there are specialty brigades in such disciplines as cardiology that cover the city at large.

This call is referred to a cardio-resuscitation group, one of 34 medical teams in a substation adjoining central headquarters. Dr. Vladimir Serov, 33, two feldshers (paramedics) and a driver climb into a white minibus with the words Skoraya Meditsinskaya Pomoshch (Quick Medical Aid) stenciled on its side. It is equipped with stretchers, medications and dressings, an electrocardiograph machine, heart resuscitator and a respirator. The driver flicks on the flashing blue rooftop light and pulls out into traffic.

4:05. At the Vernadsky Prospekt apartment complex, the team finds a corpulent 55-year-old man, clad in an undershirt and slacks, sitting on a couch. Serov asks: Is there pain or shortness of breath when he walks? No. Is he under medication? Yes, for high blood pressure. Does he have a recent cardiogram? The patient's wife nervously flips through a book until the cardiogram drops out. Serov quickly decides that the man should be hospitalized.

4:40. The ambulance pulls up at Hospital No. 51 in the Kievsky district; the patient, clutching a plastic bag filled with personal articles, is escorted inside. While one of the feldshers completes her notes, Serov and the other paramedic take a perekur (smoking break).

4:45. The team is back on the road, heading for Frunzenskaya Street to answer another call.

5:10. A plump 74-year-old woman in a faded nightdress answers the door. Almost incoherently, she explains how she collapsed that morning after walking into the kitchen. Vials of medicine for a heart condition litter the bedside table. The paramedics move in the EKG equipment and take a tracing. "An arrhythmic heart. Arteriosclerosis," announces Serov. "You know it often happens that the best we can do is offer help but not a cure. We can only make things easier for her." Serov decides against hospitalization--the woman did not want to go anyway--and orders her to stay in bed for a day or two. As the team leaves, the old woman, in a quavering voice, offers profuse thanks.

5:30. The ambulance sets out for Koptelsky Lane. Only 3 1/2 hours left on the shift.

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