M has always been very close to me. She joined our hospital’s oncology department over ten years ago as a radiation technologist. Currently, she works as a medical physicist in our department and is the only female physicist in our hospital.

Her presence here is not due to luck or extraordinary circumstances; she has dedicated immense effort to her career. While many of her peers in the same position remain in that role, she ambitiously pursued further education, obtaining a bachelor’s and master’s degree. Currently, she is continuing her specialization in medical physics.

She is ten years older than me. Her story is one of struggles, tears, and extraordinary courage. She is strong, humble, resilient, wise, and has a great sense of humor.

We have differences in age, social circumstances, living conditions, and even daily life issues. Yet, she is one of my best friends. You can often find us laughing uncontrollably in the department corridor, and everyone looks at us as if we’re crazy, unable to see what common ground could connect us.

If you look at the two of us, you might wonder what kind of relationship we have. Honestly, I can’t even remember how we formed this bond or when it happened. The only thing I recall is that I met her in January 2020, which means we have been friends for about five years.

No one knows her as well as I do. She had a very tough life. Although she belonged to a lower-middle-income family, she was the pampered daughter of her father and shared a close bond with him.

She got married at a very young age, right after graduating from high school. Her husband was emotionally immature, and they had one daughter together. After some petty issues, he divorced her and abandoned their daughter.

The young and naïve M fell into a deep depression. However, she wouldn’t have emerged from it as a stronger person if her father had not been there to support her.

Once she became somewhat stable, her youngest brother—her dearest sibling—was diagnosed with stage four cancer and passed away just a few months later.

She was devastated once again.

After the death of her brother, M, who had faced many gloomy and dark days, became a pillar of strength for her father. Although he was devastated by the loss of his young son, he gradually improved with M’s considerable emotional support.

Later on, she got married again and had four children with her second husband. He is a kind man, and he also raised the eldest child from her previous marriage. Coming from a lower-middle-income family, and with a husband who is not very educated and holds a low-paying job, she has done a lot to provide her children with a good upbringing while also taking care of her parents and other siblings. She managed to take the kids to daycare, care for them when they were sick, help them with their homework, and handle cooking and cleaning—all single-handedly, managing countless responsibilities.

She has a daughter who is eight years old. We share the same birthday and have many characteristics in common. M is always worried about both of us because we can be extremely stubborn and tend to make our own decisions. Her daughter, like me, does not listen to her parents very well. She often leaves the house to play whenever she wants, never bothering to ask for permission; instead, she simply informs them of her plans. I do the same with my parents. Her daughter is also talkative, creative, and incredibly curious about everything, just like I am.

Sometimes I feel like she is always searching for Nabia in my face and looking for Daman in Nabia’s face. I find this very interesting.

In 2022, M’s father, a chain smoker, suddenly experienced shortness of breath one day. He was taken to the emergency room, where tests revealed he had small-cell lung carcinoma. Unfortunately, it was already at stage four with metastasis to the brain. We performed whole-brain radiotherapy, but due to the advanced nature of his disease and his poor health status, he passed away just days after the first cycle of chemotherapy.

I have witnessed her deep struggles with depression following her father’s death, so I can imagine how difficult her condition must have been after the divorce. It brings tears to my eyes to think that there was now no one to support her emotionally the way her father used to. I remember the M who remained silent for a year, unable to express her pain to anyone. There were times when she would zone out while the radiation oncologists discussed treatment plans with her. Some days, she would sit in front of the planning console, but it was clear that she had no idea what she was doing.

I don’t know how she found the strength to come back to life after a year, but I am glad for the person she has become. She enrolled in a postgraduate program and will thankfully be earning her degree soon.

When I joined the department, her children were very young. Many days, one of her kids would accompany her to the hospital to see a doctor. Sometimes one would have a sore throat, and as soon as that child improved, the next one would come down with gastroenteritis. Once the second child got better, the third would catch mumps, and the cycle would continue. I have watched those children grow up practically before my eyes.

Her children are very close to me. Whenever they would come and sit in the planning room, I would talk to them, draw things with them on the whiteboard, and take them to the cafeteria when their mother was busy.

Last year, M’s second daughter, Zoha, visited the department due to tonsillitis. While M went to the pediatric department to schedule an appointment, I sat with Zoha in the radiation planning room. During that time, I noticed Zoha was drawing something. She then handed me her drawing, which depicted two swings with two girls sitting back-to-back. One girl was labeled “Zoha,” and the other had “Daman” written on her back.

I have a fondness for keeping pets, and last year, I bought a single rabbit just for fun. After a month, I thought he might be feeling lonely, so I decided to get another one. A few months later, they started having baby bunnies, and they were adorable.

Two of the bunnies quickly became my favorites, and they were still very young when I gave them to M’s children. They were so excited when they heard that the rabbits were on their way, and all the kids sat outside their house in anticipation of the new arrivals.

They often send me pictures and video call me to show how much the bunnies have grown. I feel happy for them and for my rabbits too, who must be enjoying their time with the children even more than they did with me.

Whenever I go out of town, I make it a point to buy her something special; she always appreciates and uses those gifts. Last year, she had the opportunity to visit Turkey for educational training, and she went there by herself. While she was there, she bought a beautiful locket for me, which I cherish and wear often.

She is my friend with whom I have cried, laughed, and shared many important years of my life. I know that M loves me, perhaps even more than I love her. She is always the first to reach out when I haven’t contacted her for some days, asking, “Kahan gum ho?” (Where have you vanished?)

I have never met anyone like her. She has taught me so much (unintentionally) and serves as my role model. I am inspired by her courage, persistence, and hard work.

Sometimes, we form incredibly wonderful connections with amazing people at unexpected times. My story with M is one of those unusual friendships, one that blossomed between a medical physicist and a radiation oncologist.

Damane Zehra is a radiation oncology resident in Pakistan.