He’s running out of fight

But I’m not running out of words. An update on Vadim.

Journalism is too opaque and misunderstood. Chills gives a behind-the-scenes look at how dangerous investigative journalism gets made. 

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Mr. Doctor Driver

Last summer, I walked down a concrete ramp from my apartment in Kyiv to meet a waiting bright-orange car. My fixer was in it. He introduced me to our driver, Vadim, who also happened to be a pediatric neurosurgeon. He quickly became my Mr. Doctor Driver.

Between my fixer and Vadim, I always felt protected. They knew what they were doing and went out of their way to make sure everything worked and was safe for me — driving me all over the place and setting up interviews with traumatized survivors of Russian aggression. Each morning when they would pick me up, Vadim would get out of the car to take my heavy backpack, armored vest and helmet. He’d refuse to let me carry them, which would normally annoy me — I don’t need a guy to carry things for me. But this was sheer kindness, not a weird show of masculinity, and I appreciated it.

Last time around when I wrote about Vadim, now 33, I told you he had a benign brain tumor that was giving him terrible headaches and seizures. It turns out that wasn’t true, which I didn’t learn until recently. The tumor was malignant. Vadim just didn’t want me worrying too much about him. Now he is at a critical point. Either the next few rounds of chemo work, or things are not looking good.

You all funded his operation and treatments about five months ago. Ever since, he has been at a loss for words at everyone’s — every stranger’s — generosity.

He and his doctors thought the tumor was all gone. I don’t know if he lied to me about that too, but it’s definitely not gone, and again, he can no longer work as a surgeon, or return to the front lines of the war, where he spent months as a medic. On occasion I would hear from him out there in the field. I could tell he felt that this was the only place he should be. Treating the injuries of his fellow soldiers, who are literally fighting for the land they stand on.

Now, he hopes to both continue his work as a medic and surgeon so badly, I can feel the screen vibrate as he types.

Vadim is suffering physically, yes. But his mental anguish is what really moves me. He hates asking for help, and he hates worrying his loved ones and brothers-in-arms.

“It is so hard be in the patient place,” Mr. Doctor Driver said. “You know, my doctor side absolutely understands what needs to happen, but the other side of me is so scared.”

What I find most frustrating about what’s happening is that the Ukrainian health care system is not doing anything to defray the massive costs for all these treatments. The man has been a doctor for the state and has already served months on the war’s front lines, even in places close to where his parents live under extreme threat.

One of the Russian war objects Vadim is offering to donors.

It seems to me that Vadim has fulfilled his duty to his country enough to have the right to decent treatment for his disease under his socialized health system. I know that for him, watching his loved ones worry and scramble for money they don’t have to help him obtain treatment, that’s the hardest part. Still, he expresses empathy for others in comparable situations, for his patients.

“Not only to me,” he said today, “this is not fair. It’s the same for everyone in a similar position.”

I can’t really express how much your donations have meant to him, because he can barely express it. I’ve heard over and over again: “I have no words.”

But I do. They are thank you.

To help fund Vadim’s chemotherapy and a possible new surgery, you can donate here. In exchange, if you’d like, Vadim is offering Russian relics from the front.

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