Andrej Grajn is an accomplished organ procurement surgeon with a deep-rooted passion for transplant surgery and understanding the ways the world actually works.
Born in the former Yugoslavia, Andrej grew up immersed in a multi-ethnic, culturally diverse environment that fostered his early fascination with science, geography, and the human condition. He earned his medical degree in Slovenia in 2005, following rigorous surgical training and long hours that shaped his enduring work ethic.
Throughout his career, Andrej has sought opportunities across multiple countries, earning respect from patients and peers alike for his precision, empathy, and commitment to excellence. His pivotal entry into transplant surgery has become the cornerstone of his professional identity, where he now focuses on mentoring the next generation of organ procurement specialists.
Beyond medicine, Andrej Grajn is an avid student of classical literature, geopolitics, and mathematics, and he actively explores the legacy of industrial brands from former Yugoslavia. He has also volunteered with humanitarian medical NGOs in the Middle East and Africa, demonstrating his belief in equitable access to care. Deeply curious and globally minded, Andrej balances technical mastery with humanistic insight, making him a compelling figure in modern medicine.
Tell us about your early life in Yugoslavia—how did growing up in a multi-ethnic society shape your worldview?
I was born in Yugoslavia, a country that no longer exists but that shaped me profoundly. It was a patchwork of cultures, languages, and traditions—a place where diversity wasn’t just tolerated, it was part of everyday life. As a child, I was endlessly curious. I used to pore over atlases and encyclopedias, trying to understand not just where I was, but how everything fit together. I think that background made me inherently open to different perspectives. It also gave me a sense of loss when the country broke apart, a kind of geopolitical trauma that made me even more determined to find purpose and unity in my own life and work.
Why did you choose medicine—and specifically, surgery?
Medicine appealed to my scientific mind, but it was surgery that captured my heart. During medical school in Slovenia, I discovered that I was drawn to the precision, the immediacy, and the gravity of surgical work. There’s something incredibly human about holding someone’s life in your hands—literally. I graduated in 2005 after long, grueling years of study, but I always felt the long hours were a small price to pay. I wasn’t just learning a profession; I was preparing to serve people in their most vulnerable moments.
How did you find your way into the world of organ procurement?
That path wasn’t linear. I call it a “seminal moment” in my career because I didn’t stumble upon it—it was a convergence of preparation and opportunity. I was working in transplant units and found myself deeply moved by the idea that one life ending could give life to many others. The technical skill required, the coordination, the ethical weight—it all resonated with me. Eventually, I took on roles in various countries to build the experience I needed. Each transplant, each procurement, is a sacred moment, and that feeling has never dulled.
You’ve worked across multiple countries. What were some of the challenges and rewards of that journey?
The challenges were many—language barriers, unfamiliar systems, different hospital cultures—but I was driven. I didn’t just want to be good; I wanted to be world-class. In some places, I had to prove myself twice as hard, but that forged resilience. The reward was seeing that patients and colleagues, no matter where they’re from, respect dedication and humility. I’ve built friendships and professional relationships that span continents, and each has enriched my personal and surgical practice.
What has mentoring meant to you, especially in training new organ procurement surgeons?
Mentorship is one of the most important parts of my role. I see it as a way to multiply impact. When I train a new procurement surgeon, I’m not just teaching technique—I’m passing on an ethos. This is delicate, sacred work, and it must be done with both competence and compassion. I invest time and attention in my trainees because I want them to carry that forward. Some of them are now leading programs themselves, and that’s incredibly fulfilling.
Outside of medicine, you have some intriguing hobbies—can you tell us about your fascination with industrial brands from former Yugoslavia?
It might sound odd, but collecting industrial brand memorabilia is like curating a time capsule. These brands—whether they made bicycles, radios, or household goods—were symbols of a country’s innovation and identity. Exploring their histories connects me back to my roots. It’s also an act of preservation. When a country disappears, so do its cultural fingerprints unless someone keeps them alive. I’m that someone, at least in my small way.
You’ve also mentioned an interest in AI and medicine. What excites you about that intersection?
AI is transforming how we diagnose, predict, and even perform surgeries. I’m especially excited about its potential in organ matching and transplant logistics, where time is critical and decisions must be razor-sharp. But beyond the tech, I’m curious about how AI might help democratize medical knowledge, allowing remote communities to benefit from expertise that might otherwise be out of reach. Still, I remain cautious—we must ensure that empathy and ethics are never outsourced.
Your interest in geopolitics and classical literature seems like a rare combination. How do these passions influence your life?
Both are, in their own way, attempts to understand the world. Geopolitics helps me grasp the macro—for instance, how conflict zones influence global organ donation policies or refugee healthcare access. Classical literature, on the other hand, connects me to the micro—the timeless truths of human emotion and decision-making. Whether I’m reading Dostoevsky or analyzing a conflict map, I’m ultimately exploring the human condition.
You’ve volunteered with humanitarian medical NGOs in the Middle East and Africa. What motivated that work, and what did you take away from it?
I believe that if you’re fortunate enough to have advanced medical training, you have a duty to share it. Volunteering in crisis zones wasn’t about heroism—it was about solidarity. These experiences humbled me. They stripped away all the bells and whistles of modern medicine and forced me to rely on fundamentals: compassion, improvisation, and endurance. I came back not just a better doctor, but a better person.
Is there any topic you’d rather not discuss publicly?
Yes—thank you for asking. I prefer not to speak about my experience with institutional mistreatment. While those events did shape me, I focus now on the positive impact I can have—on my patients, my students, and my profession. There’s so much work to be done, and I’d rather pour my energy into that than into reliving painful chapters. The past doesn’t define me—my choices do.