The walls of the children’s oncology department of the regional children’s hospital in Yaroslavl were decorated with wonderful pictures – cartoon animals jumped on the walls, clouds on the ceiling seemed kind and light. But behind this bright wall there was a special silence – the one that lives in places between the life and the d3ath.
Ward 308 was no exception. At the head of the bed stood Dr. Andrei Kartashov – a famous pediatric oncologist, a man whose work had saved dozens of lives. But now before us was simply a father – sad, crushed by grief, with flushed eyes behind his glasses.
His son Yegor lay on the bed. An eight-year-old boy, lacking of hair, complexion, strength. Acute myeloid leukemia had taken away his childhood, and Andrey’s faith in medicine.
He found the monitor: a weak cardiogram, barely noticeable chest movement…
A knock on the door abruptly broke into the silence. Andrey turned around, predicting a nurse. But a boy of about ten stood in the doorway, in worn sneakers and an oversized T-shirt.
“How can I help you?” the doctor asked tiredly.
“I came to see your son,” Nikita answered.
“He doesn’t receive guests,” Andrey said briefly.
– I know how to help him.
Andrey even laughed:
– So, you know how to cure cancer?
“I don’t know much,” Nikita answered cooly. “But I understand what he needs.”
The smile faded from the doctor’s face.
– Look, boy. I did everything I could. Consultants from Moscow, Israel, Germany. Do you think anyone could have missed a simple solution?
“I’m not offering hope,” Nikita said. “I’m bringing something real.”
“Go away,” Andrey said.
But Nikita didn’t move.
“What are you doing?!” the doctor said.
“He’s afraid,” the boy replied. “Not just of passing. He’s scared that you’ll see him like this – weak.”
Andrey froze. His heart worsened. Nikita carefully hold Yegor’s hand.
“I was sick too,” he muttered. “Even worse. I didn’t speak for a year. Everyone thought I had brain damage. But in reality, I saw… things. Things I couldn’t express.”
“What exactly did you see?” Andrey said.
Nikita’s eyes flashed with something unexplainable.
— It didn’t say it. It felt it. It told me to come back. That I wasn’t done yet. That I had to help him.
“Are you kidding me?” Andrey barked. “You think my son needs a storyteller, not a doctor?”
Nikita didn’t answer. He closed his eyes, muttered something barely audible and touched Yegor’s forehead.
For the first time in many days, he moved hardly.
His fingers trembled slightly.
– Yegor? – Andrey witnessed, rushing towards him.
Slowly, with effort, the boy opened his eyes.
“Dad…” he muttered.
Andrey almost fell to his knees. He grabbed his son’s hand.
– Can you hear me?
Egor bobbed.
“What did you do?” the doctor whispered, looking at Nikita.
“I reminded him why he’s still important,” he said. “But he has to believe it himself.”
– You’re just a kid. A volunteer. You’re not a doctor! – Andrey raised his voice.
“I’m bigger than you think,” Nikita answered cooly. “Ask nurse Irina. She knows everything.”
One of the nurses frowned in surprise when Andrei asked the medical staff who let the boy into the ward:
– It’s impossible. Nikita left a long time ago. He hasn’t been here for over a year. He overcame a rare neurological disease. We didn’t even try to explain it then – we called it a miracle.
Andrey froze.
Meanwhile, in ward 308, Yegor was sitting in bed and asking for juice.
The next day he was more alive than he had been in months.
Later he sat down next to Irina:
“Tell me about Nikita,” he asked.
“Why?” she asked.
– He was at Yegor’s. He did something. I thought it was just kindness… but now I’m not so sure.
Irina put the tablet on the table.
— He came to us at four years old. He didn’t speak, he didn’t walk. There were no diagnoses. He lay in a coma for seven months. We called him “the sleeping angel.”
— What happened next?
— One night, during a thunderstorm, he suddenly woke up. He sat up and said one word: “Live.” And then he started to recover. And in the morning, Nikita woke up.
Irina was surprised.
— After that, he changed. He became very sensitive. He felt things that others did not see. He asked to go to sick children. He just sat next to them, holding their hands.
Andrey could barely breathe.
— Where is he now?
— We left for Altai. Mom wanted to begin all over again. And forget about it.
“Do you remember the boy?” he asked.
“I remember,” Yegor muttered. “He said something before he left.”
– What exactly?
– That everything will be fine with you.
Three weeks later, Yegor was fired.
The disease had not totally gone away, but had entered a durable phase. He started drawing again, wanted to go for walks, and laughed – often and loudly.
And Dr. Andrei Kartashov, once a skeptic and a realist, now announces every parent one thing:
— Medicines heal the body. But love, closeness and faith support the strength to live.
