SERHIY

This patient provided consent for the use of their image, name, and personal story. 

 "Olya, it's me! I'm alive. I'm in Chechnya." 

Clutch the phone in your hands, never let it go, wait for the call. 

And when it finally comes, one first feels terror–and then happiness and joy without end.

"I'm alive." 

While we work with many people at Neopalymi, we understand that each and every one of them offers a uniquely powerful story. 

In October, we welcomed a new patient to Neopalymi, Serhiy, and his story was no exception. His particular story serves as a direct testimony to Russia’s gross violations of international law–the Geneva Conventions in particular. 

While Serhiy was in captivity, Russian soldiers branded his forehead with a swastika–arguably the most hateful symbol in human history–thus exposing the true nature of the ongoing genocidal war. This, along with other forms of torture he endured as a POW, underscores the central role played by ideology–meaning, totalitarian terror and its propaganda campaigns–in the deeply inhumane treatment of Ukrainians.

On February 23, 2022–the otherwise unremarkable final day of peacetime–Olha and her husband decided to take a rare day off in the middle of the week. For the first time in a long time, they planned to spend a brief vacation together, so they drove from Vinnytsia to their country home [dacha] to relax, leaving their children with a sitter in the city. 

It was the next morning, as Serhiy got up and made coffee, when he heard the first explosions. Suddenly, there was no time for coffee; they had to focus on evacuating their children, no matter the unprecedented traffic jam–a situation described by Olha as an endless stream of cars stretching from Vinnytsia to Kyiv. “Everyone was leaving the city, but we were heading back because our children were there!" Olha remarked, describing the endless stream of cars stretching from Vinnytsia. 

Thankfully, they were able to evacuate their children in a timely manner. 

A few days later, when public transit resumed, and it was once again possible to get to the recruitment office, Serhiy enlisted in the army (AFU/ZSU). After completing training, he was sent to the front line. Then, one day, he went on a mission with a group, one member of which returned wounded; another died in the line of duty; and as for the others, nothing was known at the time–so Olha feared the worst. In official documents, Serhiy was listed as missing – but…

 So, don't let go of the phone. Keep it on and charged all the time. Don't leave it in another room. Don't sleep deeply. Wait for the call.

And then the call came, and the voice on the other end was familiar. After two long weeks of waiting, Serhiy finally had the opportunity to call home. His wife initially didn't recognize him, the voice on the phone was so unexpected that it seemed unbelievable.

Olha’s mind had gone to the worst possible places. 

"Olya, it's me. I'm alive." 

During this call, Serhiy said that the treatment he had received was normal–that everything was fine. (What else could he say?)

But through the video connection, it was clear he was wearing a knit cap. This in and of itself seemed strange; otherwise, too, it was abundantly clear that something was deeply wrong.

He also clearly couldn't say much, but he still managed to convey the number of prisoners and other crucial information. 

After receiving this long-awaited call, Olha threw herself into gathering information: searching for relatives of other prisoners held in the same facility, writing countless statements, and spending many hours waiting outside the doors of various offices. Following these exhausting bureaucratic processes, the prisoners of war were finally brought home, largely thanks to the efforts of the coordination headquarters. 

Serhiy returned home on Easter for “a double holiday,” as his wife put it. He was granted two months for rehabilitation and psychological support. After that, he had to return to service–a duty he accepted without hesitation–"if it's necessary, it's necessary." This statement highlights a broader issue, one that goes beyond Serhiy’s individual experience. 

Surviving Russian captivity inevitably changes a person; it alters the very core of their being. Ukrainian soldiers who return home bearing the weight of such experiences are far from being in an optimal moral or physical state. They need time and care to recover–to feel at home again–and to reconnect with the sense of freedom they once knew. Two months is simply not enough time to return to oneself in any meaningful way.

Under conditions of captivity that comply in full with the Geneva Conventions, a prisoner should feel like a human being and on that basis retain their dignity–meaning, they ought not to lose sight of that innate freedom which is the foundation of our value and worth. But in Russian captivity, the Geneva Conventions are rendered meaningless. There, their captors routinely attempt to strip away everything that makes one human; this program of dehumanization forms the foundation for committing atrocities that, in ordinary life, would never cross any rational mind. 

Thus, a petition was created to demand the right for servicemen to be promptly discharged upon returning from enemy captivity. Olha and many others of like mind publicly promoted the petition, and it ultimately gathered more than twenty-six thousand signatures. Yet, despite surpassing the review period, the petition remains under consideration–with no actionable set of outcomes in sight. This delay is deeply frustrating; numerous actions should already be underway, including ones that ought to have already yielded results.

The Ukrainian Armed Forces, like other armies, function based on legitimate orders; discipline and obedience are essential for the collective to operate effectively as a whole. However, enemy captivity is a place where orders are not about teamwork and efficiency, but rather about violently stripping people of their free will and basic dignity. 

This stark contrast illustrates why Ukrainian POWs, upon their return to the Ukrainian Armed Forces, are often triggered by orders, no matter how legitimate they may be. Commands, in general, can (and often do) evoke traumatic memories. This, in and of itself, underscores the vital need for sufficient recovery time. Words and actions must be chosen carefully; they can, and often do, inadvertently cause harm. 

Once one has endured something truly inhuman, the desire to forget–to erase the traces of unimaginable albeit real experiences–all too often proves overwhelming. 

Serhiy wore a hat for a time to conceal his scars. So, Olha sought out a way to both heal his wounds and restore her husband’s life to something resembling normalcy–and, in the end, turned to our Neopalymi-affiliated clinic. 

After only one procedure, Serhiy’s scars had become less noticeable. This offered him a glimpse of normalcy. 

Two more procedures are scheduled for Serhiy. We anticipate these will continue to further reduce the physical remnants of the ordeal he endured in Russian captivity. 

Recovery demands immense effort, both from the individual and their community. Support and collaboration, however, often come from outside as well, as is the case with our international project. Many people and organizations around the globe are invested in and contribute to the recovery of heroes like Serhiy. And this must continue to be the case for the foreseeable future, for even after the unspeakable joy of unexpected phone calls like the one Serhiy made to his dear wife Olha, innumerable challenges await these heroes upon their return. These challenges must, and will, be overcome.