And, after yesterday … … …
Breakfast, again; the short car ride to Slavutych, again; The Green Line Metro, again; Slavutych to Lukianivska, again; a twenty-minute walk to Okhmatdyt National Children’s Hospital, again; retracing my steps from previous times, again.
I am now trusted to walk Okhmatdyt alone; I headed to the ‘Old Building’; Floor 3; The Microsurgery Ward; to meet with Valeriy to buy the much-needed equipment that he had sourced. I pressed the entrance buzzer, the door opened and we headed to Valeriy’s office; he doesn’t speak English but the connection was real.
As you gaze from the window, there is a small piece of grass, maybe 200 yards distant. On the first days, some Russian soldiers made it to this piece of land and opened fire indiscriminately at this, The Children’s Hospital; yet another War Crime? The evidence of bullet ridden widows remains today; the Ukrainian army arrived and took out the perpetrators. The doctors and surgeons continued their work, risking their lives. It was decided to take all the children from all the wards to the hospital basement; I have been to the basement; each child had to be carried as the lifts were unsafe; some children did not make it.
On 24 February 2022, Ihor and Inna tell me they looked from their apartment window; they told me they had a choice to make; to stay or to go. For sure, their professionalism delivered only one answer; for the next two months, they slept on an office floor at Okhmatdyt together with other surgeons; they worked until they dropped, slept a little … again and again and again.
Valeriy had with him Oleksandr, one of his ward surgeons and Ruslana, an intern learning her way under these most challenging circumstances. The first supplier arrived to Valeriy’s office; 100 Hydrogel dressings for burns; cash paid; the second supplier arrived a vacuum pump for wound therapy and a catheter for embolectomy; cash paid (today’s picture, Valeriy (second left) and some of his team with some of the equipment). After this, we needed to head to the local Nova Poshta office to collect goods that had been delivered by this remarkable service; the four of us headed off in Valeriy’s car.
For sure, the goods had arrived; but, for sure, we had the wrong documentation; head scratching. My UK passport wasn’t acceptable but my Ukrainian SIM number was fine; but, to accept my number, they needed a valid Ukrainian passport. Oleksandr could provide the passport but he couldn’t pay otherwise it would affect his status. I’m not quite sure where Valeriy and Ruslana stood in this but it appears I was the nominated recipient; but, with the correct phone number but the wrong passport. I guess, by now, you are getting the drift.
After half an hour of good-natured banter, we emerged with protective x-ray aprons (heavy) and an electric drill biomed; the Nova Poshta system allows for the recipient to pay for the goods; I did despite having the wrong documents but the right currency. The protective x-ray neck collars hadn’t arrived which means a return visit tomorrow; I was assured a simple procedure; time will tell.
We arrived back to the ward; Valeriy disappeared into a room opposite his office; he reappeared and gestured me in; Ruslana led the way. It was Kseniia’s room, there with her Mum, Lada. We sat and talked for half an hour; such a beautiful girl, appearing completely at peace despite her horrific injuries. Halfway through, I asked a question; Kseniia answered ‘no’; so, you speak English, I said; ‘no’. Meekly, I asked if she had any brothers or sisters; ‘yes, a sister’; ‘how old’ I asked; ‘twenty-five’ she replied. We were up and running.
I came to Ukraine hoping to find my ‘Three AAA’s’, my ‘Heroes of Ukraine’; a new Arrival, an Adolescent, an Adult. For sure, Kseniia is a hero; you can read her story here.
After I had finished, I called Ihor as instructed; he told me to head to the Emergency Department where we could meet; I was standing outside when Inna saw me; she beckoned me in; we went to the office for a coffee; Ihor soon arrived; Inna offered us a slice of cherry pie. Homemade, I asked with a knowing twinkle; of course, she replied. Dark days but happy times.
I headed back to Lukianivska for ‘The Green Line’ home; 19p to Slavutych; about half an hour. I’d arranged to meet Dmitry at the Slavutych Nova Poshta office; home for dinner.
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