Radiology has existed for 130 years already

Two weeks later, Röntgen wanted to demonstrate the significance of his discovery to his wife, Bertha. He placed his hand in front of the tube, pressed the switch, and the image was etched onto a photographic plate. When she saw the skeleton of her own hand appear on the paper—the bone revealed in crystalline white, the flesh rendered transparent—Bertha Röntgen uttered a phrase that perfectly summed up the terror and wonder of the moment: "I have just seen my death."

This sentence expresses more than fear. It encapsulates the metaphysical shock of a discovery that had just crossed a boundary humanity believed to be inviolable. For the first time, it was possible to see inside the body without opening it, without harming it, without risking the patient's death. It was both terrifying—because witnessing one's own death is naturally frightening—and profoundly magical.

Röntgen refused to patent his discovery. He could have become immensely wealthy. Instead, he chose to ensure that X-rays benefited all of humanity, without commercial barriers. For this act of scientific generosity, as well as for the discovery itself, he received the first Nobel Prize in Physics in 1901.

Röntgen's legacy has spread so far that its revolutionary nature is often overlooked. Today, approximately 3.6 billion imaging examinations are performed worldwide each year. In Switzerland, this amounts to several million examinations annually. At an institution like CID Lausanne, thousands of patients pass through the radiology department—a daily flow of scrutinized bodies, of bodily enigmas solved by imaging.

The impact statistics speak for themselves: 80% of medical diagnoses rely on imaging. This means that when a patient presents with vague symptoms—diffuse pain, fatigue without apparent cause, a behavioral disorder—the diagnosis relies heavily on the ability to see what lies beneath the skin.

Take epilepsy. Before Röntgen, seizures were diagnosed through clinical observation and questioning. The doctor noted the symptoms, looked for clues in the patient's history, but never saw the real cause. Today, a brain scan rules out a tumor, a vascular malformation, a scar tissue lesion—each of these discoveries opening up radically different therapeutic avenues.

Or consider schizophrenia. The psychiatric symptoms sometimes resemble those of a stroke. An MRI resolves the ambiguity in about ten minutes. Is it psychiatric or neurological? The imaging provides the answer. And this answer determines everything: the treatment, the prognosis, the therapeutic approach.

Even in seemingly simple cases—such as chronic depression that resists treatment—imaging sometimes reveals the true cause. Hypothyroidism that was mimicking depressive symptoms. Hypothyroidism invisible without imaging, but visible once you know where to look.

There's a kind of amnesia that affects technologies that are too successful. They become so integrated into our daily lives that we stop seeing their revolutionary nature. Electricity has been around for a hundred years, and no one stops to think about Tesla's genius. The internet has transformed information, and we scroll through feeds without questioning how. Similarly, radiology has become part of routine medical practice—we order an imaging test as readily as we order a blood test.

What has been lost is the original purpose. Röntgen asked himself: how can we see inside the body without harming it? It was a radical question in 1895. Today, it's taken for granted. We don't even ask the question anymore.

But this amnesia has an insidious consequence: imaging has become a tool that is misused. Scans are ordered "just to check." Patients are being rushed because an asymptomatic abnormality has been discovered that never needed to be seen. This creates a cascade of anxiety—the patient sees the imaging report, worries, consults a specialist who is also worried, and so a minor discovery becomes an endless medical ordeal.

Gradually, imaging ceased to be a means and became an end in itself. Imaging. All the time. For everything. Because we can.

Despite 130 years of exponential technological transformation, despite cutting-edge algorithms and the ability to see with a clarity that would have seemed magical to Röntgen himself, one fundamental thing remains intact.

The original intention. The why.

Röntgen held an X-ray from his wife's hand and said something that was both scientific and profoundly human: one can see inside a living being without harming it. This statement contained an ethical promise, a break with the medicine of his predecessors, which had to open the body to explore its mysteries.

Today, a radiologist examining a high-resolution brain MRI says the same thing with more detail, more certainty, but fundamentally the same thing: we can see with unprecedented clarity, without risking your life, without injuring you. The promise hasn't changed. The methods have become more sophisticated.

And it is this continuity—this unbroken line connecting Röntgen to every doctor who requests imaging today—that constitutes the true legacy. Not the technology itself. The commitment to see rather than assume. To diagnose rather than guess.

To truly grasp what Röntgen changed, we must mentally go back to the time before 1895. Imagine the condition of the patient who complained of chest pain in 1894. The doctor listened to their heart with a stethoscope. They tapped the rib cage with their fingers. They asked questions. Then they had to choose between giving a probable diagnosis or subjecting the patient to an exploratory procedure—a medical autopsy whose risks were almost equal to those of letting the disease progress.

Or consider the case of a woman with a lump in her breast. How could a 19th-century doctor determine whether it was a benign cyst or a malignant tumor? No imaging. He palpated. He guessed. He might suggest an exploratory procedure—a blind biopsy that carried its own risks of infection and hemorrhage.

Or bone fractures. The diagnosis relied entirely on clinical examination: the site of pain was pressed, the deformity observed, and joint sounds listened to. A spiral fracture, invisible on the surface? Impossible to detect without opening the patient.

Röntgen cut through this diagnostic fog. He said: there is a window to the inside, and it does not require injury.

Today, this victory seems commonplace. But it was revolutionary.

Röntgen's story is not just a historical curiosity. It resonates with the questions we are asking today about medical imaging, overdiagnosis, and the balance between seeing more and knowing what to see.

When you have your imaging done at CID Lausanne, you are participating in a continuum that dates back to 1895. You are benefiting from a discovery that emerged from the curiosity of a man sitting in a German laboratory. You are benefiting from a scientist's choice not to patent his invention, leaving it free for use by all of humanity.

But more importantly, you are participating in an ethic: that of seeing in order to understand, rather than assuming and acting blindly. It is an ethic that demands constant judgment—when to see? how to see? what to do with what one sees?—rather than a mechanical application of protocols.

Predicting the future of radiology is just as risky as predicting the future of any technology. Yet, some trajectories seem probable.

Artificial intelligence will continue to be integrated into diagnostic tools, not by replacing radiologists but by augmenting their capabilities—detecting what escapes human observation, offering statistical analyses on populations, and formulating diagnostic hypotheses. But clinical judgment, the ability to contextualize a finding within the unique life of a patient—this will remain irrevocably human.

Radiation doses will continue to decrease. Today's machines, which capture images with a fraction of the radiation required by their predecessors, will be replaced by even more efficient devices. We will have the diagnosis without the biological cost.

Speed ​​will improve. An examination that takes forty-five minutes will be reduced to about ten. But speed is not the goal in itself — it's accessibility, reduced waiting times, the possibility for more patients to access a clear diagnosis.

And accessibility itself will become an increasingly pressing issue. What does it mean that radiology is the best diagnostic tool if it is only accessible in wealthy countries? Future developments must address this question honestly.

But at the heart of it all, the objective will remain the same. To see. To understand. To heal.

At CID Lausanne, we are not just radiologists who perform imaging. We perpetuate Röntgen's legacy.

Cutting-edge technology + Human expertise = Better health for you.

We use the best machines. We employ the best radiologists. We consider each patient individually. We don't perform imaging "just because." We perform it because it has a purpose. Because it will change your treatment. Because it will give you an answer.

That's what legacy is.

Wilhelm Röntgen died in 1923. He did not live to see the revolution he created. He did not live to see the CT scanner. He did not live to see MRI. He did not live to see AI analyzing images in milliseconds.

But he saw something more important. He saw a skeletal hand on a sheet of paper. And he understood that it would change the world.

130 years later, we continue his work. With his ideas. With his technology. With his vision.

Thank you Röntgen. Let's continue.