Nikolay lives in a small town in Central Russia. His work is at the intersection of testing and programming. When Nikolay was 14, doctors diagnosed him with a very rare disease: diabetes insipidus. It turned out that he had a damaged pituitary gland and his body was producing and processing some of his hormones improperly. Why this happens is not entirely clear. Maybe it is due to an accidental trauma during his kindergarten days, or perhaps the abnormality results from genetic changes.

Nikolay's vision began to decline rapidly in school. By the 11th grade, it had deteriorated to a very serious degree, and continues to deteriorate still. He experiences constant hypoglycemia (lack of sugar), fatigue, confusion and hand tremors. All of these symptoms can appear suddenly and at inopportune moments, when he forgets to drink sweet tea or eat a candy bar.

"While I was at university, in order to receive free medication, I was assigned group III disability. Now I no longer have a formal disability, but my condition has not changed significantly. I need to take pills constantly and always have to monitor my health," says Nikolay.

Nikolay is now 35 and is passionate about computer programming. He hopes that one day he will be able to code his own game. For now, he only has time for work. Additional responsibility has added to his life in the last couple of years – he has even more to do ever since his long-awaited child was born.

What Nikolay can never resist, even as a young father, is a good book. He devours them in just a couple of days, then approaches the bookshelf to select a new amazing story. His favorite genres are science fiction set in space and fantasy. If Nikolay ever creates his own game, the plot will surely be drawn from those genres.

"If something isn’t easy, you will always appreciate it more," says Nikolay. “I think people with disabilities are often more determined. In some ways, they are tougher. They often have to make an extra effort. At least, this is what many of the people I’ve met are like.”

"They wanted to cut off my right leg, but thanks to the doctors we were able to save it," Denis recalls. After several stages of intensive care and a long hospital stay, he literally spent a year and a half learning to walk again. Two crutches, then one. Afterwards, a walking stick. Finally, he was able to stand and walk on his own, without support.

Denis was about 25 years old when this happened. Now he's 45. Three years ago, his second child was born. A slight limp makes it difficult to forget the accident entirely, but over the years he has learned to walk in such a manner that his injury is barely noticeable to those around him. "Yes, from the point of view of our healthcare system, I have group III disability, but I don't consider myself disabled. The way you perceive yourself is very important. That's how you will be treated by others," says Denis. “It’s not easy, of course. At first, feeling sorry for yourself is really tempting. I had to find the strength not to get stuck at this stage.”

And Denis does have strength. His boxing coach, who he trains with at the Kaspersky gym, knows that. As does his partner in regular trophy-raids. Nowadays Denis only rides a motorcycle on vacations in warm countries, but he does like to drive off-road in Moscow’s suburbs. His old UAZ (a rugged Russian jeep), reassembled more than once in his garage after work, is another hobby. But it’s not the only one.

Four strings, seven notes and one "critical core error" — a few years ago, in the depths of Kaspersky, the band Kernel Panic was born, where Denis plays the bass. This name was chosen because almost all the band members are working on Mac products. A kernel panic is a message about a critical kernel error in Apple’s operating systems, and it means a system reset is required. The bandmates like heavy music and specialize in rock and metal covers. Every now and then, you can catch them at the BarKAS restaurant, during Rock Around The K, a corporate music event.

“The skeletal deformities caused my internal organs to shift their positions. The doctors said that if things carried on like that, I wouldn’t make it to 40,” Yuliya said. “But even then, I refused to have the operation for a long time. I was very scared of the long period of rehabilitation that would follow.”

The operation caused Yuliya to grow by 6 centimeters. Her spine was now supported by a metal frame, which prevented it from hunching. The recovery process was long. Unable to sit, Yuliya literally had to prepare for her university entrance exams on her knees.

“My life was split down the middle, into before and after. I’m so happy I decided to go through with it, and now I can live a full life. If anyone is going through the same thing, I’d be happy to share my experiences, tell them what I know and recommend doctors.”

Yuliya had her first operation in high school, but her growing body meant that the frame eventually needed to be replaced. In the early 2010s, doctors suggested fitting a new one. She then had to endure all the hardships of postoperative rehabilitation once again.

Because of the titanium frame, her back is now rigidly straight. Despite this, she’s been able to do ballroom dancing for the last four years. She enjoys tango and waltz – dancing styles where a decidedly straight posture is actually a requirement. For a long time, she didn’t miss a single company event at Kaspersky, and would always enjoy performing in front of her colleagues at the legendary employee show. Once, she even tried her hand as a real aerial gymnast, flying above the stage on ropes. For this number, she had to enroll at a circus academy.

Yuliya met her husband at a company event where was a regular participant in the employee show. She dances and he sings. Now, they’re raising a delightful daughter together.

Lyubov was born in a small village in the Kostroma Region. She grew up on a homestead with all the delights of rural life. At five years of age, a freak accident occurred when she fell into a bucket of water that had just been boiled to prepare animal feed. She received severe burns over her entire body and spent two months in a hospital bed. Afterwards, the little girl literally had to learn to walk again.

The burns gradually healed, but the stress she experienced had an impact. Lyubov underwent kidney surgery in infancy and the congenital disorder had abated, but after the severe burns it flared up again. “There isn’t a single childhood photo of me smiling,” Lyubov says. “Every six months I’d end up in the hospital again and spend a week or two there.”

She was later given group III disability, though she doesn’t particularly like talking about it. “There were several times when potential employers would change their expression after finding out that I had group III disability, and it became clear I wouldn’t get the job. Things have changed a lot since then of course, but it is still an issue in our society.”

After school, she went to study at the Moscow Technical University of Communications and Informatics and became an engineer. A year and half ago, however, she decided to try her hand at cybersecurity. Lyubov is somebody who isn’t afraid of transformation. She wants to change and be changed, and to always try new things.

At the age of 30 she had the sudden realization that, because of her difficulties in childhood, she’d never learned to swim. This needed to be corrected urgently. There were a lot of things she wanted to achieve.

She wasn’t particularly keen on karate, but yoga felt like her calling. Today, Lyubov is a qualified yoga instructor. Naturally, she can swim now too. In 2022, Lyubov participated in the HeroRace, a 6-kilometer race with a number of obstacles. Two years later, she took part in a charity run sponsored by Kaspersky.

“After that it was like something clicked in my head and I realized I could live life without limitations. You do need to be careful with your health and recognize your limits, but that doesn’t mean you have to give up on what you want. Our bodies are strong, and they can withstand a lot,” Lyubov says.

Her journey of self-discovery continues. Lyubov confesses that she’d like to find her own way of making the world a better place. This could mean teaching, or supporting people in difficult situations, but she doesn’t know exactly what form it will take just yet. What she knows for sure is that she wants to be useful, and to give something of herself to those who need help right now.

It was an ordinary day in September. No miracles happened. Quite the opposite.

Olga received a call from her husband at work. He had just come from the doctor, who had told him that their son, Misha, a first-grader, had Stargardt disease, a rare genetic condition which causes retinal dystrophy and loss of central vision. Worst of all, there is no cure.

Almost six months later, Misha's central vision had almost completely disappeared. He was left with peripheral vision, which doesn’t allow him to see everything, but he can make out some things. There is now more light in Olga's house than ever before. Misha carries a lamp with him everywhere and, miraculously, continues to build his favorite Lego sets.

"At first I thought my life was over. The child was blind and disabled,” says Olga Pakulina. “Then I realised that all I have left is today. Today my child was able to go to school - and that's a victory. Today he went to play football and managed to kick a ball - and that’s also a victory and a miracle that must be appreciated." She has been with the company for about two years and leads the team of financial controllers in FinOps. Together with her colleagues, she is responsible for the finances of almost all macro-regions except APAC and North America.

Of course, Olga had never heard of Stargardt's disease before, but now she knows a lot about it, maybe everything. For example, that scientists don't yet know how to treat it, but that the United States is furthest along in its attempts to find a cure. Research is also underway in Russia. The University of Sechenov has developed a computerised treatment model that looks very promising. Scientists would like to start trials, but there is currently no funding available. They need around 3 million rubles ($33,500) to bring genetically modified mice from China to the special laboratory.

Now, together with other parents of patients, she is raising money to help bring closer the day when Stargardt disease is no longer considered incurable. So far, only half of the money has been raised.

Despite the deterioration in his eyesight, Misha has remained in his class and continues to study with good grades. He now has an electronic magnifying glass on his desk. There are other aids to help him keep up with his learning.

After changing almost in an instant, life has gone on. It's very different, but it's still happening. Having overcome her confusion, Olga is now helping other parents who are joining her small community of patients. Together they hope a cure will be found. After all, if every day is a small miracle, there is surely room in the world for other long-awaited wonders.

In Natalia’s house there is a homemade poster on the wall with a message to lift the spirit. Her son Ivan drew a tractor, to which Natasha then added the phrase: "A tractor will not buy itself".

This poster is like a response to any question of what to do. A tractor won't buy itself. A child won't teach himself to swim. School problems won't fix themselves. Autism will not correct itself.

Vanya is studying in a remedial class, on a programme that will allow him to pass the standardised school exam in the future and move on to higher education. Natalia learnt about the fact that Vanya has a special condition when her son was just two years old. "At first, of course, you sob, and then you realise that you have to do something," she says.

The doctor who diagnosed him explained, quite lucidly and in a detailed manner, what would happen next. Imagine a pendulum. On one side is autism. On the other, normal life. This pendulum must be swung constantly, pushing the child away from autism and in the direction of ordinary life. Of course, the pendulum will swing back, but that's no excuse not to swing it again. Swimming, music lessons, travelling and, of course, lots and lots of remedial classes - all this swings the pendulum.

Natalia understands and accepts her son’s condition. But even the most aware people cannot avoid periodic reprimands from society - remarks or retorts thrown in passing by adults to someone else's child who, as they think, behaves in a bad way.

"At such moments, and at other times too, Vanya is my main support," says Natalia. "When I look at him, I see a kind and bright person next to me. I immediately have the strength to swing the pendulum again."

Interested in the details? Ask Roman Fazulyanov if you get a chance. He works as a front-end team leader in the team responsible for NGFW (Next-Generation Firewall). Perhaps he will tell you this "duck tale", as he has already told our future interns in the SafeBoard programme. They say that after his presentation there were a lot of people who wanted to grow in the JavaScript field.

Last year, Roman moved from Ulyanovsk to Moscow with his family and has been working at Kaspersky since March 2023. He has a technical education, but he learned the programming language he uses today on his own. He’s used to doing things on his own. And often in spite of everything. For example, he writes his presentation with the ducks and the code for the NGFW project with one hand, his left.

In his case, "one arm behind his back" isn’t a figure of speech, but a harsh reality. His right arm and leg are affected by cerebral palsy. When he was a child, Roma's knees were always bruised and scratched as a result of him constantly falling over.

A few years ago, the constant strain of working with a computer mouse caused his left hand to fail - carpal tunnel syndrome developed and his hand began to hurt and lose sensitivity. Roman had to give up the mouse and switch to using only a keyboard. He learnt to use the text editor Vim, which allowed him to work without a mouse. And he now has a mechanical keyboard at work with a trackpoint - a way of using the cursor.

Roman doesn’t like undue attention given to his health issue. And if someone suddenly offers him a seat on public transport out of courtesy, he’s more likely to be frustrated than pleased.

"Just ignore the fact that I have cerebral palsy," he says.

He's quite masculine in general. And he's even chosen a hobby to match - he's joined the C-League, where people with cerebral palsy (and other disabilities) can master the art of modern sword fighting.

"It's very important to talk about the fact that there are people with disabilities and to highlight the fact that they can work and live a full life," says Roman. "Very often people with cerebral palsy give up, stop fighting. That’s not the way it should be. Even if God didn't give you better health, you still have a brain! And thanks to your brain and your perseverance, all limitations fall away. Of course it's a challenge, everyone has their own, but you can't give up.”

A few years ago, just before her promotion, Zuzana was diagnosed with a very rare skin condition called prurigo nodularis. The disease progressed and changed her daily life beyond recognition, but not even her colleagues even noticed.

Zuzana smiles with love and sincerity. Despite the challenges, she continues to motivate and encourage her team, which, as you can imagine, has also had a tough time in recent years due to the complicated global geopolitical situation.

"I am very happy that I can continue to lead my team. And my disability card has not been an obstacle for me. We are moving forward, trying to do our job as well as we can. I do this for the company, for the team, for myself and for my child," says Zuzana, whose daughter has autism.

"I have a few close friends, but my main support is probably my daughter. I want her to see me as an example, to know that a disability is not an obstacle, at least in the workplace. You can and should go ahead and do what you think is important, no matter what the circumstances," she says.

*While you won't encounter Zuzana at our Moscow office, in this case the building is a token of our common cause, rather than an effort to be documentarily accurate.

He was born without a left arm. In medical terms this is called a “congenital deformity of the left forearm”. How did this happen? He probably didn’t ask until he was a teenager – a time when people start to have lots of questions about life and themselves. All things considered, Ivan’s parents raised him as a completely normal child, and he had a cosmetic prosthesis by the time he was at school age.

After school Ivan studied law, but he didn’t end up working in this field. During his second year, his father became seriously ill. “He was diagnosed with a brain tumour. My father was the main breadwinner in the family. I was going to have to work, since my mother wouldn’t be able to support me and my older brother alone.”

He found a job in logistics, and his working schedule allowed him to continue his studies. By the time he graduated from university, Ivan was facing the choice of trying out as a young lawyer or continuing his development in logistics, where he was already doing well and earning a stable income. Over time, he transitioned from logistics to procurement. He worked for major international corporations and in 2015 joined Kaspersky. Today Ivan is responsible for purchasing marketing and other services, and helps his colleagues find the best suppliers to meet the company’s needs. Have you come across our stylish souvenirs and boxed versions of Kaspersky products in stores? That’s his job too.

Ivan is also an avid traveler and has visited around 35 countries. Several years ago he fell in love with yachting, studying and passing his exams to become an international skipper. He can now operate a sailing vessel quite adeptly in coastal waters. “I didn’t like talking about what was wrong with my arm in the past. I found it difficult and uncomfortable,” Ivan confesses. “Over time, my self-perception shifted and so did my attitude towards life. I became more open – probably because I also saw all kinds of different people with their own complex experiences while traveling. The most significant changes to my thinking, however, came when I met my future wife and then when we had our daughter Alexia. These events radically changed how I viewed life, and still inspire me to achieve new things to this day. In the past, I was afraid that I might pass on some hereditary issues to my children. These fears were unscientific, but in the end I was only able to shake them when I had a daughter and saw that she was completely healthy.”

The story began when she was coming to the end of her first grade. During a routine health check, elevated blood sugar levels were detected. A hospital visit followed, with a million different tests and a diagnosis: type 1 diabetes. This meant that her pancreas had stopped producing insulin, which is vital for the body’s functioning. Permanent measures would now have to be taken to deal with this because, despite medical progress, diabetes is still incurable.

In the early days, all food became the enemy. You have to calculate the carbohydrates you’ve consumed, constantly working out how much insulin is needed to compensate. Too little insulin and you’ll have high blood sugar and ketones. Too much, and you’ll get hypoglycemia (low blood sugar). Both outcomes make you feel unwell, and proper management of diabetes means maintaining blood glucose levels within a narrow optimal range on behalf of the pancreas.

An artificial pancreas system (APS), which consists of a blood glucose monitoring sensor, an insulin pump and an insulin delivery app, helps to maintain this balance. “Eighteen months to two years ago, mass market APS solutions began to appear on the market, making life easier for beginners. Now you can just go and purchase a readymade system. When we were learning to live with diabetes, we had to figure everything out for ourselves. Fortunately, there is a large international diabetes community, with volunteers working to develop and improve APS software and hardware all the time. To build a custom APS, I had to make the leap from C++ to Swift,” Sergey recalls.

He shared his solutions with other parents of diabetic children, and still does to this day. At one point, as many as 300 people were subscribed to his iPhone build, after finding him through a Facebook* group aptly named Diapapa. There, Sergey talked about what it was like to live with a child with type 1 diabetes, sharing life hacks, advice and scientific research.

It wasn’t just Sergey, but Maya too who helped to raise awareness. She found her first audience at school, explaining to her classmates what diabetes was, and why it wasn’t contagious and didn’t stop people from living full lives. After that, she gave a report on diabetes at a convention for endocrinologists – at the age of eight! – and then on the popular Russian TV show Live Healthy. Maya is very sociable and knows how to get people interested.

She’s 14 now, and diabetes has become a routine, if unusual, way of life. Laughing, Maya describes herself as a cyborg and surprises doctors with her perfect diabetes management: her blood has the same levels of glycated hemoglobin as people without diabetes. That feeling of disaster from the early days has passed, giving way to lots of new habits and an unshaking self-discipline.

“When you’re still coming to terms with a diagnosis, you might encounter charlatans who promise to cure diabetes for exorbitant amounts of money,” Sergey cautions. “Don’t believe them. This is an incurable disease for now, but it’s perfectly possible to live with it. It’s just a question of making the effort, day after day.”

*Meta (operator of the Facebook social network) is currently banned in Russia as an extremist organization.

Ilya’s mother trained as a garment factory supervisor, but she sometimes took on other jobs too. She’s worked in sewing factories and workshops, and as a concierge and cleaner at various points. Sometimes, she would work three jobs at once. Now she’s over 60. “Her life was tough, of course. Even during university she pretty much worked three jobs. Perhaps she already had this disease and just hadn’t been diagnosed because there weren’t any symptoms,” Ilya says.

His mother has multiple sclerosis. “Unfortunately, it’s incurable. People who have it fade away gradually and irreversibly. This happens because the immune system causes the myelin sheath that coats the nerves in the brain and spinal cord to slowly break down. There are therapeutic treatments, of course, but they don’t always work. It’s a question of luck.”

The serious diagnosis was made in 2012. She was registered as disabled, first as group III, then II, and finally I. In the summer of 2023, Ilya’s mother became completely dependent. Now she can’t even move around her own apartment without assistance. Ilya and his wife began to supervise his mother at all times, taking turns to go into work. Fortunately, the hybrid work format means that Ilya can do his job as a programmer from home two days a week. His life completely revolves around home and work, with no exceptions. From time to time, his mother needs hospital treatment and then the usual schedule changes a little.

“It’s in my nature to do everything that’s required of me, so I’ll always do what’s necessary,” Ilya says. “Sending her to a care home is out of the question, especially since I’ve heard so many stories of people being sent to assisted living and then passing away soon afterwards.”

On top of his mother’s multiple sclerosis, dementia has set in and her short-term memory is almost completely gone. Now Ilya has to repeat the same things to her again and again. And he will do it again and again.

They’re six years old now, and Aleksey and his wife have grown accustomed to the peculiarities of their daily lives. Ongoing interventions include treatment with a psychologist, a special needs expert, a kinesiologist and a speech therapist. On top of that, there’s regular music therapy and swimming. The kids can’t skip classes, or else they risk losing all the progress they’ve achieved through hard work.

Each day is both similar to and different from the previous one. Similar not just because of the regular classes, but also their repetitive behaviours. The boys take the same roads when going about their day, and stop at the same places along the way. While things may be moving slowly, Pasha and Dima are making improvements. “For me personally, the biggest boost comes from their progress,” Aleksey says. “There was an autumn festival recently, and the teachers sent us videos from the rehearsals where they’re dancing to music. I was so happy to see them managing to do that!”

The first signs that something was different about the twins came when they were two years old. Their parents were helping them prepare for kindergarten and trying to teach them to speak. Aleksey’s wife found a list of exercises, but the boys couldn’t do them. For example, they didn’t understand what to do when their parents asked them to blow on a feather.

There were visits to lots of different doctors. Some assured the parents that the signs of unusual development would pass, while others prescribed powerful sedatives instead of treatments. The official diagnosis of atypical autism was made only two years later. They were considered disabled persons. At this point, Aleksey didn’t need confirmation from doctors to know what his family was going through.

“By this time, of course, we’d already gone through all the stages: denial, anger, acceptance. During this period, I realised that you don’t need to compare your children with anyone else’s, whether they’re neurotypical or have the same developmental difficulties. All children are unique, and they all develop in their own way,” Aleksey said.

Dima and Pasha recently started attending a group where they’re preparing for school. It’s another small step on the path to progress. Aleksey is genuinely hopeful that more will follow, and that his sons will be able to start the first year of school one day. Maybe not at age seven, as is usually the case, but at eight. Everyone goes at their own speed. The main thing is to continue making progress.