The hospital that day buzzed with its usual flurry: nurses hurried down the corridors, patients nervously shuffled papers, and someone kept glancing irritably at the clock. In the waiting room, timeless monotony reigned— the scent of antiseptic, murmurs of voices, and tense anticipation filling the air.
And then, in the doorway, appeared an elderly woman. Short, in an old, faded coat and a worn hat. In her hands, she held a neatly clasped leather bag, just as old as she was. She looked around, said nothing, and quietly settled onto a chair in the corner.
A few people exchanged glances. A young couple whispered with a hint of amusement:
— Does she even know where she is?
— Maybe she got the departments mixed up…
— Or she can’t afford the consultation, — someone added.
Their laughter was soft but sharp. The woman didn’t react. She sat upright, calm, as if unaware of the curious stares. In her face was something unusual—fatigue, yes, but without shame.
Ten minutes passed. Suddenly, the operating room door swung open. A tall man in green scrubs entered—the renowned surgeon whose name was known not only to patients but also to the press. His arrival instantly shifted the atmosphere: conversations died down, and some people even straightened in their seats.
He said nothing. He walked swiftly straight to the elderly woman. Seconds later, he stood before her.
— I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, — he said quietly, with a trace of childlike awkwardness. — I need your advice… I’m not sure about this decision.
The room fell so silent that the ticking of the wall clock was audible. People exchanged puzzled looks: the famous surgeon—asking advice from an elderly woman in an old coat?
Then the administrator at the desk gasped:
— Wait… That’s Professor Sokolova! The one who headed the surgical department twenty years ago!
Everything became clear.
This modest elderly woman had once saved dozens of lives. She had trained the very doctors now considered the country’s finest. And the surgeon—before whom colleagues now bowed—was her student.
He had brought her in because he faced a rare and complex case—and he knew: only she could provide guidance, see what no one else could.
The woman lifted her eyes and gently said:
— Then let’s go take a look together.
They walked into the operating room—teacher and pupil. Meanwhile, in the waiting room, the people who had been laughing moments ago couldn’t lift their eyes, suffused with shame.
