Do No Harm: Stories of Life, Death, and Brain Surgery

by Henry Marsh

We had arrived in Kiev early in the morning on the overnight train from Moscow. The line crosses one of the long bridges over the great river Dnieper which flows through Kiev, and as we approached the steep western riverbank we could see the golden domes of the Lavra monastery above us catching the light of the rising sun – a dramatic contrast to the dark railway stations we had passed through during the night and the grim apartment blocks on the outskirts of the city. I had lain in my bunk, under a thin blanket, drifting in and out of sleep, listening to the old-fashioned, rhythmic sound of a train running over bolted rails, travelling southwards across Russia, stopping at dimly lit stations where I could hear incomprehensible announcements echoing over the empty, snow-covered platforms.