The exhibition features personal items that these patients and caregivers from Kosovo, Moldova, Ukraine and Switzerland have used in their daily lives, and which are meaningful to them. From smart watch to family photo, they highlight the often-overlooked struggles, adaptations and resilience of people living with chronic conditions.
A Travel Companion
Jeton Muriqi, Patient, Kosovo
32, DJ and businessperson
When Jeton was only thirteen, he began to feel an exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix, a thirst that no glass of water could quench. Frequent trips to the bathroom became his daily routine, until one day the truth arrived: he had diabetes. At first, he and his family struggled to believe it. He was so young, and nothing in his family’s history had prepared him for this.
That same year, his father brought him a small, sturdy case from the hospital. It was not much to look at, but for Jeton it became more than an object; it meant security. The blue case with a white inscription on it carried his insulin, needles, and supplies, keeping them safe through school, family trips, and later, his adult life. Whenever he travelled, whether to nearby seaside in Ulqin or the bustling streets of Istanbul, the case was his quiet assurance that he could go anywhere.
“There are good days and bad days. The balance between the two is what pushes me forward.”
Almost twenty years later, Jeton is a thriving DJ and runs his own clothing store. He enjoys traveling, working, meeting friends. Everything he might have done even without diabetes he continues to do with it. The condition has not defined him; it has only taught him balance. He eats more thoughtfully, avoids unnecessary stress, and values physical activity as part of his lifestyle.
“I live a normal life. With a little extra care, diabetes does not stop me from working, traveling, or dreaming,” Jeton says. His message to others is one of calm and resilience: “There are good days and bad days. The balance between the two is what pushes me forward.”
A Wall of Strength
Maria Nicolai, Caregiver, Moldova
73, Teacher and Psychologist
Maria Nicolai has always believed that harmony isn’t something found but rather something made. A teacher and psychologist, she spent her life listening, guiding, and helping others find balance. At home, she wove that same harmony through meals cooked with care, clothes stitched by hand, and stories shared with her family over quiet evenings. Two years ago, that balance was shaken. Her husband, Constantin, once a strong and spirited presence, was hospitalized after a severe complication from diabetes. For weeks, Maria watched his body weaken, his energy disappear. The man who had built their home, who danced at their son’s wedding, now needed help to sit up, to eat, to live.
One afternoon, their granddaughters came to visit her at home. In their hands was a small surprise: a photograph, once believed lost, of Maria and Constantin at their sons, their only child’s wedding. They were dressed in their finest clothes, smiling with quiet pride. That moment captured before illness arrived felt like a window into the strength they once held.
“This photograph gives me strength and reminds me that love, cultivated in a couple, can overcome illness.”
Maria placed the photograph on the wall of her sewing room, surrounded by other family photos. From then on, it became her daily ritual: to look up at that image before threading her needle or preparing Constantin’s meals. It reminded her of what they had built: a family and a life.
Constantin is better now. He moves slowly, speaks softly, but the spark in his eyes has returned. Much of that recovery, Maria believes, came from love, not only medicine. “In moments of fatigue and fear, I look at this photograph and find my strength again,” Maria says. “It is proof that love, cultivated in a couple with faith, care, and hope, can overcome illness and keep us united.” To her, caregiving is not a sacrifice but a natural extension of the life they built together. The photograph is the promise. “This photograph gives me strength and reminds me that love, cultivated in a couple, can overcome illness.”
A Watch That Witnesses
David Zacharie-Issom, Patient and Advocate, Switzerland
38, Assistant Professor
Could what he felt inside be proven on the outside? David first bought a smartwatch eight years ago, more out of curiosity than certainty. Living with sickle cell disease meant living with symptoms no one could see: fatigue, shortness of breath, irregular heart rhythms. But what if those feelings could be tracked, shown and understood? He tested the device, compared the data with medical exams, and discovered what he had long suspected. His feelings had a pattern, and the numbers confirmed it.
When his oxygen dropped at night, the watch recorded it. When he was more exhausted, the metrics followed. Eventually, the data helped doctors take action and more tests were ordered, home oxygen was prescribed, and the treatment changed everything.
“Emotion and reason must go together. Data may guide us, but it’s compassion that helps us act.”
The watch became more than a device. It became a witness. “Before that, I had to prove my symptoms, explain my fatigue, and justify what no one could see,” he says. “Now, if they don’t hear my words, they hear the data. And that gives me back some of the power I lost.” For David, the smartwatch is about control, not over the disease itself, but over how it is perceived and treated. It helps him feel seen, and it strengthens the conversation between patient and provider.
He hopes the medical system learns from this. “Trust the patient,” he urges. “Just because pain is invisible doesn’t mean it isn’t real.” From this journey, he’s learned something lasting, that he can trust himself and has more resilience than he knew. And what keeps him going is a simple truth: “Emotion and reason must go together. Data may guide us, but it’s compassion that helps us act.”
A Battle on Two Fronts
Nadiia, Patient, Ukraine
37, Endocrinologist
Nadiia was just a child when diabetes entered her life. Constant thirst and exhaustion revealed the diagnosis that would shape her daily routine onwards. “I did not choose this condition, but I have learned to live with it,” she says. Over the years, she became an endocrinologist, guiding other patients with diabetes to live well.
Life in Ukraine brought battles beyond diabetes. In 2014, when Russia occupied her hometown of Luhansk, Nadiia was forced to flee and rebuild her life in free Ukraine. Then, in 2022, war arrived again. Air raid sirens, shelling, and displacement pushed her resilience to new limits. “During heavy shelling, my blood sugar spikes, and even insulin doesn’t help. Stress has a huge impact on diabetes,” she shares.
“I fight every day: for my life, and for the lives of others.”
Like many with diabetes, she carries the essentials: glucometer, insulin, and sweets. But her bag also holds one unexpected item: a whistle. In moments of shelling, if trapped under rubble, it could be her only lifeline to signal for help.
The war has made living with a chronic condition even harder. Shortages of medicine, power outages blocking e-prescriptions, and humanitarian aid denied to occupied territories. Yet Nadiia continues to fight for herself and for others. After the liberation of the Kyiv region, she shared her own insulin with those left without.
“I fight every day: for my life, and for the lives of others,” she says. Her story is one of resilience, where care and courage survive even under fire.
