Oleksii does not remember much of what had been happening before February 24, 2022. He looks through the pictures on his phone, places he had been to, people he had been there with and does not remember what it had been like being there. The photos are just still frames with no emotions attached to them. It feels like some sort of emotional amnesia.
It had been clear that war was imminent about three weeks before that date. A friend, who is an investigative journalist had told Oleksii that her Western colleagues had told her to buy a good quality UHF radio, as well as a ballistic helmet and a bulletproof vest.
Then, on the evening of February 23, Putin announced “a special operation”. Oleksii did not know how to react, or what to do. There was a feeling of emptiness. Nobody knew what to expect, what was coming next. At 5 a.m. major airports throughout Ukraine were hit with ballistic missiles. Oleksii lived 5 kilometres from Dnipro airport, a major hub in the east of the country, which was one of the first ones to be hit. There was a powerful boom, then another and their block of flats started shaking. First, his brain tried to reject the reality, telling him that his neighbours upstairs must have dropped something heavy. Then, the realization of what it really was hit him heard. He remembers feeling powerless, helpless, unable to come up with any meaningful decision that would help his family, defend them against the terrible unknown that had just broken into their reality, which turned out to be so fragile!
He was paralysed for a few minutes. Then, a phone call from a friend – “Go down to the shop, and buy water, and some bulk foods!” Oleksii was happy to busy himself with an action, which seemed to make some vague sense – he ran downstairs towards a nearby shop. He grabbed a large trolley, filled it with some basic foods and water, and was the first one in the newly formed queue at the cashier.
It was 6 a.m. The war had been going on for one hour, and the Dnipro airport was flattened, but there were no further explosions. Oleksii decided to go to work, but only after making sure that his family was ready to leave at a short notice. They packed their passports, and other important documents along with some clothes, and basic supplies into their car, and planned for Oleksii’s father to drive the family out of the city if things had gotten hairy quickly.
Oleksii works as a trauma surgeon at a general hospital in Dnipro, a large regional centre in the east of Ukraine. He is also a head of trauma unit, so he needed to be at work that day. He knew what was coming, they had seen, dealt with, and had gotten very good at treating combat injuries since the start of the previous war with Russia in 2014. The frontline during that time had only been 200 kilometres away from their city, and the tertiary referral centre where Oleksii had worked at the time received the biggest number of casualties, both military and civilian. That war had come to a stalemate, but had never really ended, so there had been a lot of opportunities for trauma surgeons to keep their skills up to date.
When Oleksii showed up at his hospital on that first day of the war, everybody was already there waiting for it to get very busy, but it took a week or so before they started to admit the wounded from the frontlines. Initially the main frontline was close to Kyiv before Russians suffered a tactical defeat there and decided to shift their “de-nazification” efforts to the east of the country. All Oleksii remembers from those days is being glued to the screens, scrolling through mostly bad news, being sucked into the vortex of doom and gloom. “All I was feeling were fear, helplessness and hatred” – he admits.
Then, after the frontline started getting nearer, and the bombings intensified, they decided that it was time for his wife and two small children to leave the city, and head towards the west, and possibly abroad.
They have two close family friends – Alexander and Lena, who have two girls of 12, and 15 years of age. Oleksii and Alexander planned to get their families out together. Alexander is a fixer – he takes foreign journalists to the war hotspots. He has an old friend and colleague Conrad Shuller from Germany, with whom be had worked very closely in 2014-16 during the active phase of the first Russian-Ukrainian war in the east of the country. It was Conrad who offered to take their families across the Polish-Ukrainian border, and into Germany, where he would find accommodation and help them settle. The plan was for them to drive to Lviv to be met by Alexander there, who would then take them to the border, and hand them over to Conrad.
They had planned to start off on the 5th of March in two cars – Oleksii’s father would drive Victoria with their two little kids (Jacob, who was 10 months old, and Polly, who was 6 years at the time), while Lena would drive her car with her two older daughters – Polina, 15 and Maria, 12. They planned to start off on the 5th of March. The initial plan was for Oleksii’s elderly parents to go with them, but they changed their mind on the last minute. Oleksii remembers his 79-year-old father crying on the night before they left. He was old enough to remember the horrors of World War 2, and it was just too painful for him to see the war returning to their doorstep once again. His crying 79-year-old dad on the eve of his family’s departure is one of the most powerful images of this war that Oleksii keeps coming back to.
They decided that Oleksii’s father will drive his wife and children to the western border. They were accompanied by Oleksii’s friend, who was driving his own family there too. On the 5th of March, a Friday they left early in the morning. Oleksii himself could not join them. As a senior trauma surgeon he had to be available, and be within a 15-minute drive to work 24/7.
Oleksii with his children a moment before they left. He thought it might have been the last time he saw them.
It turned out that half of the city decided to leave on the same day, and in the same direction, perhaps because men were trying to evacuate their families, and then come back before the weekend was over. Motorway traffic was horrible, and in 12 hours they only covered 170 kilometres. Oleksii’s father had to make a quick decision – there was a train station nearby, and an “evacuation train” leaving in an hour towards Lviv, a big city near the Polish border. They all agreed that that would be the best option. Oleksii’s father boarded both his family, and Lena with her daughters on that train, and went back to Dnipro on the following morning spending the night in his cars. Incidentally, it took the only 2.5 hours to get back on an empty road.
What they did not realize at the time was that the train’s route was not a straight line. As its name suggested it was set up to pick up people on its way to Lviv. What was not planned was the sheer number of those people – not only people who had planned to board it beforehand, but also people like Oleksii’s family who were getting stuck in the traffic and had to make a spontaneous decision to get on the train instead of continuing the misery of their car journeys.
Below is the account of their train journey by his wife Victoria. I have tried to keep her style, and translate her emotions, as well as the language.
Victoria’s story
The morning of March 5th was very emotional and sad. We were saying goodbyes to each other, and did not know how long we were going away for. We left at 6 a.m. and got stuck in the traffic straight away. We were planning to drive to Lviv, but after 12 hours of driving non-stop ended up in Alexandria, a town about 170 km from where we had left. The curfew was supposed to start shortly, at 8 p.m.
Then, a call from Oleksii:
“Gather your belongings and board the train immediately!”
“What train, Oleksii! I have two kids and no pram!”
After some prolonged negotiations, I gave up and we headed towards the train station. We had Oleksii’s father with us who helped carry our bags. It was pitch dark at the station, and there was a continuous sound of an air raid siren when we finally arrived there. We saw a complete chaos and panic there – large crowds of people who were lost, and nobody to tell them where to go. When will the train arrive at the station? Will there be a train? We waited for one hour, then one and a half… Then, someone shouted – “Let’s go to the platform, the train is waiting!” A stampede commenced – people, children, suitcases all squeezed together – it was terrifying!
We did manage to board the train, which turned out to be an old Soviet-era wreck with quite uncomfortable hard seats. It was pitch dark inside the carriages. I quickly laid out a blanket on a seat so my son could have a sleep. As the train pulled out of the station, an all-consuming fear and panic kicked in – where, why, for how long are we going? No one told us anything, there was no information about the train’s destination. We stopped at a station, and more people boarded the train. Then we were on our way again towards the unknown.
In the train, some people had to stand for 36 hours.
Oleksii’s daughter is sleeping on a bench.
…and then it was his son’s turn.
We were on a train for about 15 hours, and the children were sleeping sitting up, when the train stopped at another station. Suddenly, someone announced that we had to change trains! I had to dress up my son quickly as it was winter outside, we had to grab our luggage in a hurry. Where are we running to? Where is the other train? Lena, my friend I was travelling with, offered to take my small children, and run towards the new train to secure the seats for us all, so I could take my time carrying our luggage with her children who were older, and easier to manage, so we both agreed it was the best thing to do.
Earlier, we had met a woman who was travelling with her son. They had not had time to take anything with them, apart from a couple of plastic bags as they had had to escape their town in a hurry. They kindly offered their help carrying our luggage. As we came out of the train, we saw crowds of people holding on to their bags, and suitcases – all running in the same direction. The only thing that helped me identify my children and Lena was my son’s bright yellow hat, which acted as a beacon in the sea of people. We jumped off the train and followed my son’s hat. I remember running across the rail tracks with three suitcases, and some bags over my neck with Lena’s children carrying two each, and my new friend and her son carrying more suitcases next to me. Then, we suddenly lost the sight of my son’s yellow hat. I was overwhelmed with panic. Where are they? Have they already boarded the train? Which carriage have they gone to? I called Lena, but her phone was not answering. We were being squeezed against a carriage, and someone was already helping us get our luggage inside. That is how we ended up separated – I was with Lena’s children, and she was with mine. People spared a seat for the children, while I was standing in the hallway of the packed carriage. We train started off the station when I finally got through to Lena.
Which carriage are you in?
We are in number four.
And we are in number one.
Thank God, we have both made it!
Then, I realised that she had nothing for my 10-month-old! No nappies, no formula milk powder, not even water! Everything was inside my bags, which I had packed in a hurry when we had been told to change the trains. I packed up all the essentials and tried to make it towards carriage number four where Lena was, only to realise that all the hallways are completely blocked by people standing and sitting on their suitcases. I sat down on the floor and started sobbing helplessly. I could hear my son crying of hunger when I called Lena. Then, a guy came up to me asking what the problem was. I explained, and then he just took my bag full of baby stuff and disappeared. He returned in 10 minutes telling me that the package had been delivered! I still have no idea how he managed to do it!
Then, a call from Lena telling me that there was no bottle to mix the formula. How could I have forgotten! Where is it?! Then I realised that it was in a bag with my new friend, a woman I had met on a train earlier, who had been helping me carry my luggage when we changed the trains. I also realised that she was nowhere to be seen. In fact, we had been separated earlier when I was forced into the carriage number one by the crowd. I called her and discovered that she ended up in the carriage number 9! I felt lost for words. How would I be able to get to her? In fact, I realised that I did not even remember how she looked like as we had been communicating in complete darkness on that train. How was I supposed to reach her, and get hold of the baby bottle?
I decided to try and get to her carriage once we stop at the next station. The stop was two minutes long, and I would have had time to run on the platform from carriage number one to the carriage number nine than back to one, and drop the bottle off at the carriage number four.
When the train stopped at the station, I came out and ran as fast as I could. I reached the carriage number nine, jumped inside, and started shouting “Woman with a baby bottle, woman with a baby bottle”! I was lucky she was sitting close to the entrance. I grabbed the bottle and ran towards the carriage number 4. There, an enormous woman was sitting on the stairs blocking the entrance.
“I am not letting you through!”
“You bet you will! I need to get this bottle to my baby.”
She left me no choice but to climb over her, which I did before she could fight me off. I stormed into the carriage and shouted “Lena, where are you?!”, then I saw her and handed over the bottle to her. I saw my son crying, but I did not even have time to soothe him – my two minutes were running out. I barely made it back to my carriage, climbing over that fat woman, this time back to front before she realised what happened. I made it!
The train pulled off the station shortly afterwards. I was sitting on the floor in the vestibule, covering myself with my son’s blanket. I was freezing with cold wind blowing through multiple cracks in the walls of the old train. Then Lena called and told me they needed water. I was completely exhausted after my previous run but had to repeat it at the next station. We had one bottle for 6 of us for the entire journey. There was nowhere we could get any more, so we were taking sips only. There was no food for adults.
Victoria is sitting on the floor at a vestibule between carriages, and trying to keep warm underneath her daughter’s blanket.
Finally, after a few trips I had time to sit down and relax, or so I thought… Maybe because of the nerves I had an upset stomach. There was no toilet in the carriage, so I had to hold on…for another 9 hours! Finally, the driver announced that we were arriving in Lviv. By that time, I could not even stand up in fear of embarrassing myself. I had no choice, but to keep moving as I had our luggage to carry, as well as children to take care of. I cannot put it into words, how I felt after 39 hours on that train, dehydrated, frozen down to my bones, with an upset stomach, which was distracting me from how hungry I actually was.
Alexander was waiting for us at the railway station but was not allowed in due to some silly rules. We had to carry our luggage, and children ourselves across the railway tracks as the train stopped at a platform which was the furthest from the parking, and all the crossing paths were closed. At one point I realised that I could not do it anymore. I just sat down by the road and started crying. There was a couple passing by who asked me what the matter was. “Could you help me carry my son to the parking please?” Thanks to them we finally made it. We reached our hotel and fell asleep. We had spent 39 hours on that train with one bottle of water for the five of us, and a little bit of food for the children. I cannot describe that Hell on a piece of paper.
Alexander, Lena’s husband finally met them in Lviv
The family made it to Germany and has since lived in Berlin with Oleksii’s friends. He says that the hospitality, kindness and good will of both his friends, and complete strangers were one of the few things that has touched him deeply in a positive way during this war. He also says that another thing that has truly touched him was the strength and courage of his wife Victoria who managed to get herself and their children to safety surviving the horrors of that evacuation train. He was constantly on the phone with her then, and just tried to stay with her if not in body, but in soul. He had to be at work in the hospital, and hearing about their ordeal without being able to help was very hard. He says, he could truly concentrate on his work only after he was sure that they had made it across the border.
Oleksii says that although there are not that many positive things that he looks forward to every day, all those things are important in keeping him afloat, and making a progress, however small towards victory.
He has a group of friends who used to have a weekly tradition of meetings at the city’s public bathhouse on Thursdays, a very Slavic thing to do. Initially, the war put that on hold – everyone was too busy getting used to their new reality and trying to get their families out to safety, but gradually as things were getting more manageable the group started talking about resuming their traditional meets. Oleksii remembers their first meeting since the start of the war. They all looked like a group of prehistoric humans who had just come out from their sheltered caves, and were now suspiciously looking around and checking their surroundings for dangerous animals. They had all lost 5 to 10 kilos since they had last seen each other and did look like they needed a bath! Before the war, there had been 4-5 core members of a wider group of 10 who would have regularly showed up for those gatherings. That time all 10 came, and it was such a great feeling to see each other in person, rather than speak to them on the phone. They have resumed their regular Thursday meetings since then, and it has become an important point on their calendars, something positive, and uplifting that they all look forward to during the week.
Sport remains an important positive factor that holds Oleksii’s life together. He goes to the gym at least three times a week, lifting weights, and doing some CrossFit training. He has an hour to himself where he feels control over his body, and that gives him a feeling of some control over his surroundings – not a bad thing during the times of great uncertainty. He tries to walk during all his daily commutes doing about 10 kilometres per day. He listens to music, or some war-related and political podcasts while doing so. He also cycles in the company of his friends, or sometimes solo.
At the weekends, he likes to go to his parents’ country house, where he likes to barbeque various meats, and other more experimental dishes for them. Cooking both soothes and distracts him from the war.
He calls his family in Berlin several times per day. His son Jacob is almost 1 year and 4 months now. He started walking, or “just got up, and ran!” as he puts it a week before our conversation. Oleksii says that he feels sorry to be missing all those important milestones, but he is happy to be able to see the videos that his wife keeps sending to him. He watches them with joy, sometimes tears of joy…
His daughter Polly is 7 now. The war, the life away from home have made her grow up faster. She is a loving, tender girl, always telling Oleksii how she is going to hug him and have him tuck her in bed when they finally meet again. This gives Oleksii strength and will to carry on, to survive till they could be together again.
The family did manage to re-unite for Polly’s seventh birthday on May the 28th in Lviv, when they were together for a whole week! Victoria brought the kids from Germany, and Oleksii brought his parents and mother-in-law from Dnipro.
Professional life
Teamwork is everything!
When the war in the East had started in 2014, Ukrainian medics had been caught unawares, and not knowing what to do, how to manage combat injuries that they had been getting flooded with. They had all had a short course on managing wartime trauma in medical schools, but it had largely been based on some outdated principles, which had been developed during World War 2. Some of those principles remain unchanged, especially concerning triage, but many have been proven ineffective, or even dangerous. Oleksii says that the main mistake of a surgeon embarking on the treatment of combat trauma is trying to treat it the same way as civilian ones.
At work.
Since 2014, they have learned about modern approaches to treatment of combat injuries – VAC dressings, external fixators for temporary stabilisation of complex fractures etc. The main factor, that has made the biggest impact is the realisation that they are dealing with high velocity, high impact combat injuries, that the affected area is much larger than it looks during an initial washout and debridement of the dead tissues.
Oleksii’s hospital is a “secondary centre” in the evacuation chain – where possible, the wounded receive initial treatment in field hospitals, where damage control surgery is performed. That might include ligation of bleeding vessels, basic stabilisation of fractures – in short, life and limb-saving surgery. Oleksii and his team provide an intermediate-level care, where they correct, and complete some interventions and treatments that have been initiated at the primary care facilities. As a rule, patients do not stay with them for longer than 24-48 hours and are transferred further up the chain into the tertiary referral regional centres for their definitive care, and rehabilitation.
“Since 2014, we have agreed that we would perform maximum interventions, which could help our colleagues in the tertiary centres, make their life easier, as well as create a solid foundation for a speedier recovery of our soldiers. As soon as a soldier gets transferred to a tertiary centre, we admit another one, sometimes a few. It is non-stop and has been for the past six months. Emotionally, it can be very taxing, but sometimes in situations when you do not know where to start it is easier just to start doing it.”
Oleksii says that the most gratifying thing for him is to receive feedback from his colleagues in tertiary centres about soldiers that he has treated previously, especially if they are doing well, and have a chance to return to their normal life.
Saving limbs …with good results!
Oleksii says:
After reading through my story, and going through all the events one more time, I have realized that from the point of view of a Ukrainian it is not unique in any way, but the very fact that there are 6 to 9 million of such stories makes it very special indeed! We are talking 6 to 9 million of people who have left the country without counting internally displaced ones, which are just as many. Half of the country have had to take a leap into the unknown. This is a mass migration of an entire nation, and that is what makes my story, as well as the stories of the other millions so special!