Thank you for your kind words and for sharing your thoughts so sincerely. Your letter really touched me.
And first of all—thank you for your compliment. It made me happy, honestly. I don’t always take them easily, but hearing it from you was truly heartwarming. And since you sent a photo, I’m sharing mine too—just as I promised.
How was your day? Mine was quite eventful, filled not only with photos and cameras, but also with real human stories. In the morning, an elderly woman came to see me; she’d made her way here on her own from a remote area, holding a worn-out bag and a referral from her primary care doctor. She complained of chest pain, but was afraid they wouldn’t find anything again, because she’d already sought help for this problem—only at a different hospital. She spoke softly, her eyes filled with fear: “Doctor, I want to see my grandchildren…” I was deeply moved by this.
I tried to be as gentle as possible, explained how the procedure would go, helped her get into the right position, and placed a pillow under her lower back to make her more comfortable. When the X-ray was ready, I examined the details—and it turned out that there were indeed changes in her lungs requiring urgent monitoring. But most importantly, she wasn’t left alone with her fear. I hope that thanks to the timely diagnosis, she’ll still have plenty of time to enjoy the joys and antics of her grandchildren.
Then there was another case—a young man, a construction worker, who fell from a ladder. He came in with severe back pain, pale, but smiling through the pain. He told me, “I need to get better quickly; my family is waiting.” The X-ray showed a compression fracture. I saw him clench his teeth as we were positioning him, but he never once complained. And then he quietly asked, “Will I be able to work again?”
I answered honestly, but with hope: “You will… The main thing is not to waste any time now.” And he nodded, as if accepting this as a new challenge. I so wanted to believe that everything would work out for him…
But the hardest moment came toward evening. A six-year-old boy was brought in after a car accident. His mother was sobbing in the hallway, his father stood silently by the door, deeply worried about his son. I took the X-ray, trying to speak calmly and gently so the little boy wouldn’t be scared. He was trembling, but trying to be brave. Fortunately, there were no serious injuries—just bruises. But at that moment, I was worried for him, because every mistake, every delay—and someone’s life could change forever.
Sometimes it seems to me that people don’t understand how important our work is beyond the technology and radiation. We don’t just take images—we’re the first to see what’s hidden beneath the skin: disease, injury, and sometimes the hope of recovery. And whether treatment begins in time depends on how closely we look.
I often wonder: why is there so little support for those who find themselves in trouble because of their health? Why do so many have to choose between medicine and food? Why does the system sometimes view the patient as an object rather than a person?
I believe that medicine should be not only precise, but also humane. Behind every image lies someone’s pain, fear, love, or dream. And that compassion is not a weakness, but part of professionalism.
Sometimes I feel exhausted to the bone… But then I remember the look in that grandmother’s eyes or the smile of the boy who said: “Thank you, auntie, you didn’t hurt me”—and I realize: I must keep going.
I’d like to hear your opinion. Do you think it’s possible to combine diagnostic accuracy with genuine care for the person? And how, in your view, can society better support people who find themselves in trouble because of illness?
And you know, Ralph… You wrote that you feel comfortable with me and can tell me anything. I want you to know: I feel the same way. It’s rare to meet someone you can open up to without feeling tense. And yes, it really is amazing—to find each other among millions. I often think about this too, and I’m glad we crossed paths.
I’ve also reread your words about relationships many times—about the 60:40 balance, about the ability to give and take, to accept each other with our strengths and flaws. You know, I agree. This idea resonates with me. I also believe that any relationship (even our correspondence) isn’t about arithmetic equality, but about flexibility and mutual generosity. And it’s especially valuable that you’re willing to give a piece of yourself unconditionally. That speaks to maturity.
You asked (in your first letter) about sharing experiences—and here I am sharing them with you. Yes, I see both development and growth in this. Thank you for listening and hearing me. And for your trust—it’s important to me. I also want you to know: I feel that I can trust you. For now—in these letters, in these thoughts. And that is priceless.
Sorry for talking so much about work… But sometimes it’s important to share what touches the heart. Anyway, let’s change the subject! How are you doing? What have you been up to lately? If you ever need someone to talk to, know that I’m always ready to listen. That’s why I’m so grateful to you for letting me share my thoughts with you. Thank you for that—I really appreciate it and hope I can always return the favor.
And separately—about your thought that we’ve only known each other for a few days, but it feels like it’s been a long time. I feel the same way. It’s a strange and pleasant feeling—getting to know someone and at the same time feeling like they’ve been somewhere nearby all along. Thank you for that ease.
I’m home now. I just wanted to tell you how many patients I had today and how much is going on behind the scenes…
And of course, I haven’t forgotten to share my photos with you.
I’m looking forward to your letter.
Wishing you warm evenings,
Lyuba
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Lyubov <sky.dreamcloud@outlook.com> (Gelesen: 239 mal)
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