My life is war - said Sierhiej
Russia-Ukraine war / 12.02.2023: A visit to Sergey
I had been preparing for this visit for weeks, as if I knew it would change me forever. And I think it did.
As I write this post, I am already on the so-called “new” Kiyv-War train (or Kiyv-Kramatorsk), on my way to Donbas. There is no way to go further east. This train service, which was re-launched in October last year, had remained closed since April 8, 2022, when a Russian rocket killed over 50 people at the Kramatorsk railway station. PS. Before February 24, 2022, the Kiyv-War train was called the Kiyv-Lysychansk connection. PS2. I recommend the 2020 documentary “Kiyv-War Train,” directed by Korney Gritsuk.
On the Bolt app, I type in Heroiv Sevastopolya Street 30. That’s where the Kiev City Clinical Hospital No. 6 – Medgorodok, where Sergey is hospitalized, is located. He is a Ukrainian soldier whose fate I have been following continuously since 2015. I met him in Kharkiv, in one of the nationalist clubs called “Scena,” just a few weeks after a bomb exploded there, injuring 14 people.
After three minutes, a white Opel pulls up at the Independence Square stop in Kiev, and inside is a typical middle-aged taxi driver named Jura. He quickly but politely detects my foreign accent and begins to inquire after the classic monologue of complaints about the situation in Ukraine:
- What are you doing here?
- I’m visiting a friend – I reply.
- A soldier? – he probes further. And I nod my head. Jura continues:
- My son is in Bachmut now. It’s already a terrible “shop” (Ukrainian slang for “ass”).
- I heard. I’ll see it with my own eyes in a few days – I reply breathlessly, feeling a sudden rush of cortisol in my blood.
That’s how it is in Kiev, everyone talks about the war, and everyone is personally affected by it. The war is everywhere, but it’s hard to see it on the streets of Kiev at first glance.
- Let your son be careful, Jura – we say goodbye after a few minutes of driving, and my eyes see the green-white building of the City Clinical Hospital.
I don’t go in right away. I stand senselessly outside for a few minutes, feeling foolishly cold, maybe gathering my strength. It’s exactly 2:00 PM on February 12, 2023, and since I like round and symbolic times, that’s when I go in. Natalia, Sergey’s wife, is already waiting for me. We greet each other warmly, and I hug her for a long time, not wanting to let her go. I understand what she must be going through. I wanted to show her with this gesture how much I am with them now. The last time I saw Natalia and Sergey was in July 2022, two days after their official wedding. Sergey was given a leave from the front in Marinka, where he had been stationed since the beginning of this new stage of the war.
A quite aesthetically pleasing hospital. I pass the first security, then the second one. And when they see me with Natalia, I don’t have to show any documents. Now only to the fifth floor. I’m here. Surgery ward.
I must admit, I was surprised by the high standard of the room where Sergey was lying. It was a very nice and spacious room, freshly renovated with a television and undamaged furniture. I was very pleased to see that he had such decent conditions. I have seen various hospitals in Ukraine, but this one was one of the neater ones. There were only two beds in the room, but one was unoccupied. Sergey was lying on the other one.
We greeted each other, and he was happy to see me. He had been waiting for me. I was supposed to visit him before the holidays, but I couldn’t make it. I sat on a chair and started to observe him. He had lost a lot of weight and turned pale since the last time I saw him. It was as if blood was not flowing to his face. He was lying under a blue cover with his characteristic Cossack tuft on his head. Sergey was always proud of his Cossack roots. He started his military career in the Right Sector in 2014, then went to Azov in Mariupol, and finally joined the regular Armed Forces of Ukraine. His whole adult life has been about war, and he knows nothing else, as he himself tells me:
- My life is war – said Sierhiej
I look at his optimistic, emotional eyes as I reply, and I can't stop the tears from filling my eyes.
In a moment, he discovers a blue sheet covering his bandaged legs. He immediately knew he lost two legs amputated below the knee. He still had a screw in his left leg, and his hands had scars several centimeters long. I will never forget this sight; it will stay with me for the rest of my life. However, Sergey seemed calm and resigned. Without any drama in his voice, he began to speak:
“We were in the Kharkiv operation, and on that day, we received another task,” he said and continued, “At some point, we noticed Russian tanks driving towards us. We had little time. We had to hide somewhere, so we chose nearby bushes and ran towards them. Then I heard a ringing in my ears. Nothingness. Tremendous pain. It turned out we stepped on a mine, and my partner died on the spot. I felt a pain that I can’t describe; I screamed and went crazy. I realized what happened when I saw my legs hanging on scraps of cloth or maybe a piece of skin, I don’t know. I wanted to apply a tourniquet quickly, but I couldn’t because the pain wouldn’t let me,” he said, gesturing emotionally.
“Sergei, without morphine, you won’t be able to put on a tourniquet by yourself. There’s no chance. Please get yourself morphine,” I advised, adding, “You can’t beat the pain, and you will bleed to death.”
Sergei was lucky that two of his “brothers” from the battalion heard his screams and found him after a few dozen seconds. They administered morphine and applied three tactical tourniquets, one on each leg and one on the left arm. They had 2-3 minutes before he bled to death. He was lucky. They managed to evacuate him from the front line to the hospital.
I look at his optimistic, emotional eyes as I reply, and I can’t stop the tears from filling my eyes.
“The worst was the awareness that I would be a disabled person,” he said, “Can you imagine me as a disabled person? But I’m not worried about that anymore; I have two hands. It’s better to lose two legs than two hands,” he finished the sentence with a smile on his face.
“I had a friend in the battalion who fought with a prosthesis. I’ll be back, Sebastian, as soon as I get my prostheses and go through rehabilitation, I’ll be back on the war front,” he said.
“What war, Sergey? You once told me about the soldier’s luck in 2015, that you either have it or not. You’ve exhausted your luck,” I replied in a loud voice.
“Do you know what it means to be a Cossack?” he asked and answered himself, “I’ll be even stronger now, like a cyborg, faster and more agile,” he laughed, and Natalia looked at him with a pleading look.
Since two months ago, a Russian rocket fell on our apartment in Wyszogrod, completely destroying it,” Sergei recounted. “Now Natalia lives with me in the hospital. Six of our neighbors were killed in the incident, but Natalia and her mother miraculously survived as they were on the other side of the apartment. Although they didn’t suffer any physical harm, Natalia still has visible scars on her hand which she showed me. I know the building very well, as I lived there for four months back in 2016.”
As Natalia briefly left the hospital room, Sergei added, “I thought she was going to leave me, that was my greatest fear. Without her, I wouldn’t be able to cope with anything. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” I replied, taking a sip of my gin and Sprite.
In memory of all the wives who sacrifice their lives for injured Ukrainian soldiers. You are heroes! Glory to you for your sacrifice!
