Doc vows to do job ‘till the end’
Dr. Dmytro Hanych became the head of his hospital’s surgical department in Ukraine in February. Three days later, the invasion of the Russian army started. He told his story to ABO Local Media Development Agency, a collaboration between 45 newspapers and 300 journalists spread across Ukraine. They are linked by a common website — Svoi.global — and now the Boston Herald.
On March 4, I came to the hospital in Popasna (about 40 miles west of Luhansk) to take over the duties from another surunit geon. I thought I would finish my shift and go home to Svitlodarsk. But an hour later, our block was shelled by Grads (a type of rocket). One rocket exploded right next to the hospital, near the lab. The blast wave shattered all the glass in the intensive care and the OR.
On the same day, we admitted five people with severe wounds. A man from the town center had second-degree burns over his entire body, another man had a tibia fracture. A wounded woman had to have her leg amputated, another one was brought with shrapnel head wounds. I tried to pull the shrapnel pieces out, but they were stuck firm in the skull bones. Fortunately, they didn’t penetrate through them. She was conscious; we provided first aid to her. On the same day, we sent all five of them with the ambulance that had come from Lysychansk.
The ambulance service doesn’t work in Popasna anymore, so people get to the hospital on their own. Many of them come with wounds from window glass, broken by blast waves. A man came from the town center with a shrapnel fragment in his leg. I operated on him, but
we can’t do complicated surgeries anymore, because the large operating theatre, which we used to gladly invite our international colleagues to, is destroyed.
After we had moved here, two men (later I found out that their names were Oleksandr Chemrat and Andriy Tkachenko) brought us several sandbags to barricade windows at least in our makeshift OR-cum-dressing room. When they came for the second time, they came under shelling, but they are fine.
The shelling here is frequent, severe, and horrible. A missile hit the roof of the hospital. There was a fire, but a brigade of rescuers managed to put it out.
There are only two of us remaining at the hospital out of the entire medical staff – Natasha the nurse and myself. She is from another department, and I don’t even know her surname. It is so irrelevant now that I haven’t even thought of asking her about it.
Seventy-seven people, mainly the elderly, live with us in the basement. They are local residents who have moved in from the wooden barracks, built by German POWs back then.
Today, the volunteers finally got through to us. They have brought food. Now I am going with them to Svitlodarsk, where I want to hug my 7-year-old son, take off my shoes and clothes smelling of war for the first time in 10 days, and take a shower.
Tomorrow I will come back to the hospital and do my job till the end, till the victory. Glory to Ukraine!