I never thought I would be a writer.
I have always been a doctor.
In the ancestral sense.
My family did not insist that I should take their path by all means. It was me who longed to be a doctor. I simply and naturally grew up with the notion that I will be a surgeon. In my childhood ambitions the man with a scalpel was ‘the doctor of doctors’. I was so much obsessed with this dream that I dug in the old cupboard of my grandfather, a surgeon and gynecologist. I played with the entire set of instruments – speculums, wooden stethoscope and ecarteurs.
I asked myself how could doctors of old times define an exact diagnosis and treat the patient with no proper instruments. How did it feel to personally visit ill people in their homes and donate to them your own blood. To deprive yourself of sleep, of your personal time and that with the family, for the sake of duty.
And what it felt like to save a life.