Music School. Final exam. I am 13 years old. I hardly hold my tears back when playing. I hate piano. A couple more minutes of “the torment”, and I finish playing, close the lid, as if the one of a coffin, and tell mom: “I’ll never approach the instrument again.”

I’m 8. I study hard in a music school. Above all kinds of tutors in mathematics, drawing, literature, dance, Russian and Ukrainian languages, there is also one for music. The teacher’s name is Christina Hives. She has always had a perfect manicure. Sometimes she praises me. She says, I possess good sense of pitch and a technique. I have an extremely cherished dream to become a pianist. I already imagine how I assemble the halls and play the Moonlight Sonata at a ball in Salzburg. This was how my mind painted success for that occupation. From time to time my arms and back are beaten by a ruler, so that “I kept the posture correctly and held my hands as if there were tiny pads under the palms.” It’s not painful, but pretty frustrating.

I ail much. I am transferred to distant education. It’s even harder to study at home. Once my teacher starts laughing at me and says I will never do well to become a pianist. I am a mediocrity. To punish her I aggressively draw over the music text with my pen. I am being scolded. I lump the blame onto my younger half-cousin brother. Now he is being scolded. I get even more upset over that dishonourable act of mine and confess everything. I am under the silent treatment at home. Though, the teacher keeps on coming.

I am gifted a kitten. I call him Cornflower. I love him very much. He is gray and of Persian breed – a snub-nosed and long-haired fluffy ball. Cornflower is sweet and funny. He kisses my hands and loves to play. He’s always waiting for me from school.

It is a fine spring day. The snow melts outside the window. Boys float paper boats and I am playing music. Really don’t feel like, but I have to. Mom says: “an Individual should be educated comprehensively.” I am still in no understanding to the meaning of these words. Why paper boats are not the education? But there is something very much important in that.

Ms. Hives, the music teacher, closes the door behind her when leaving after the lesson. Cornflower tries to run out after her and the door treacherously knocks off his paw. The paw hangs on the skin only and the kitten cries wildly. Ms. Hives says that it is my fault and I need to look after my pets. She’s probably right, but it hurts me so much. I am bawling my eyes out.

Mom is worried. Since there are no veterinarians in our town, the kitten is brought to a surgeon. He is a God’s gift of a surgeon. I have always admired him. I am taken home. I wail two days through. I think the kitten’s dead. But a miracle happens. The surgeon’s wife calls me and says:

“Marie, come over and take him back.” I could hardly wait for the time appointed. I get in and see the wife of our most humane and true surgeon sitting there. She is holding a gray lump in her hands, crying and saying:

“Meet this guy… It is your new cat. We could not save Cornflower."

I refuse to take him into my hands, but the surgeon’s wife asks me to. I love and respect their family very much and I know for sure – they do support me. So, this is how I got Simba.

Five years have passed since then. My music teacher continued visiting me twice a week. Mom compassionated me, but “there is no better music teacher to find and you have to graduate from the music school.”

I was more than happy when I finished the playing and put down the piano lid. Freedom. I will never see her again. All these years the music lessons for me have been identical to walking bare foot over a razor blade. This is probably how steel is tempered. This is how character is acquired.

Why am I telling you this? I assure, not for the sake of another sentimental story. If it was not for Ms. Hives, then, perhaps, I would have never become a doctor (you need to have guts in our profession). Otherwise, I would have become a pianist to play Flea Waltz to drunken truck drivers' applauses in some “Under the Birch” tavern (no negative attitude, but not my cup of tea, since musical talent is something, I don’t possess indeed).

My sense of purpose engendered when I was painfully taken away from one dream and given the other one. I was given a desire to rescue (also because of Cornflower), to rescue people, to save souls and help those, who feel bad, those, who found themselves in a deadlock.

Human species grow through pain experience, that cultivates them as personalities. Only through cognition we come to the true ourselves and sometimes this cognition is painful. We cannot change the past, but we can influence the future by working over ourselves in present.

Human entity is constantly being exposed to pressures. Only under pressure we are capable of giving dynamics to our lives. Recollect some most terrible and painful situations from your childhood. In present, due to constant scrolling in your mind, they, very often, painfully pop up in your consciousness and then in your life.

Therefore, everyone is in need of the ability to forgive and be thankful. After all, every life situation gives us an impetus to growth. The only thing we can do in present is to imagine that little girl or the boy, mentally transfer 10 minutes before the moment something happened, come up, hug, calm, make him or her understand, that what would happen, could not be overwise. After that, endow him or her with those gifts and qualities that would help endure… We cannot change the course of past events, but we can change the attitude towards them. That’s the way it should be.

Our dialogue with that little me took place in the following way. Having approached little Marie, who was airily exercising in music with Ms. Hives, I gave her a hug and whispered:

“The time will pass and all will be just fine. That path will be of service at your line.

Yes, it will hurt a lot,

But, dear love, I’m next to you no matter what. There, will I stand tall to support,

With care and love, no matter what.

Don’t get upset, be angry or get down, I am beside to hold you, all around.”

Love the child that dwells inside. Free yourself!

Days passed, as if time was set at accelerated pace. Day gave way to night, autumn to summer, Oleg significantly aged. He began to cough more often and closed himself in the office for longer time. The entire patient load was on me and Annie.

Annie finally met her love – a famous plastic surgeon, a handsome heart breaker Maxim. I did all the prescriptions completely automatically and the diagnoses lined themselves up in my mind based on symptoms and syndromes. Only with experience comes the “sight”. Tired, lifeless eyes and the grieving mouth corners suggested depression. Tense manner, wet palms and restless eyes – anxiety disorder. Those patients were particularly acute to side effects of drugs and other drugs compatibility issues.

The question “Shall I not die?” and many other more appeared because the fear of death overshadowed their consciousness. According to volumes of examination documents and comprehensive “healthy” conclusions, people with generalized anxiety disorder were very much upset when appointed to a psychiatrist: “I have an unknown oncology, I’m telling you, doctor,” “a terrible disease,” and it took a lot of effort to convince such to take the antidepressant medication. However, as a therapy result and a release from these thoughts, the precious “Whee, I’m well!” was more melodic than any of Beethoven’s sonatas. People who ate fractionally, fearing to choke, were also tormented by a neurotic lump, which could easily be removed by means of medications and psychotherapy. Patients with obsessive-compulsive disorder evoked boundless joy and inherent delight when succeeded to do away with their obsessive thoughts and actions. Emotionally, it was very difficult to observe people suffering endogenous processes, the devouring bipolar disorder depression, as well as empirical voices, that threatened, condemned and forced to do terrible things. It was painful to observe, but the desire to help and defeat those unknown biochemical process made me get up early in the morning and run to work. When it is something, you live for, the fatigue and injustice of the system pale into insignificance.