Irina goes from one room to another with a series of papers in her hand. It’s his medical history, he indicates as he walks. After going through the GP, now look for the urologist. “I have a kidney stone, I let myself be taken advantage of,” he says while waiting for a young woman in a blue sweatshirt over which she wears a bulletproof vest to ask for new information. “These people are a great help to us… Many cannot go to the city”, he says before continuing his search.
Next to her, a dozen people, mostly women and all elderly, line up in the narrow corridor of a building made possible by the organization made up of volunteer doctors Frida. “Many of the people here can barely walk. It’s hard for them to cross the street, imagine going to the city,” says Irina.
Priozerné is a small town in Kherson province marked by war since the beginning of the invasion. The first days were invaded by Russian forces: “The soldiers lived in those same rooms – points out Tània-. I and almost everyone avoided leaving the house.” Like most, take the opportunity to have a general review and go through each of the specialists. He explains with irony that everyone wants to see the ophthalmologist, for some reason the war has affected his sight.
They have no pharmacies, and even fewer doctors. Many have neglected long-standing health problems. “The young women are leaving, so there are only women over 50. We often find cervical cancer because they haven’t been to the doctor for a long time”, explains , a gynecologist from Kyiv who is part of this group of doctors who give their weekends away to provide assistance to heart populations of the war
He recognizes that many times patients have advanced illnesses that cannot be treated with a single visit. “We take them to Kyiv, many times we operate on them. We pay for everything, including the recovery,” he says. His team serves in a van qualified as a traveling gynecologist hospital. They have a bigger one, in which they can do small surgeries, but they haven’t brought it in so as not to attract the attention of one of the Russian surveillance drones. The situation in this part of the country is delicate, but the morning is calm, no earthquakes are heard; they explain that it is strange. “I’m even worried. I always prefer them to shoot”, says Tània.
Since the Russians were pushed across the Dnieper River as a result of pressure from the Ukrainian army in November 2022, Priozerné, like all the towns on the east bank, has been under constant attack. Going out has great risks. Irina says she is panicking waiting for the bus. The road to Kherson is a Russian roulette. To complete the situation, Kherson, the capital, is no different. “It is not easy for anyone to go to the doctor. It is not our priority. Only the bravest go there and do it because they will work”, says Irina, who has learned to live with pain. Like many
Valentina, 80 years old, explains that she had cancer in her neck years ago and that the doctors think it has come back. He waits in front of Dr. Olana’s office, who this morning shares a room with Oleksander, the two osteopathy specialists. Olana, who is 28 years old, works in Kyiv and has been participating in these missions for more than 12 months. “It’s my way of collaborating, it’s what I know how to do”, he says. He recognizes that in every town he visits in different parts of Ukraine at the heart of the war, the situation is the same. “All of them have deteriorated health, they are decompensated by many factors – explains this young woman. They need everything. But above all people who listen to them, who embrace them, who understand them. And obviously they need doctors, but it’s even more important for them to know that they’re not alone.”
In another room, Katerina has set up a desk to see her patients. Calmly check the ears and eyes of a woman who says she is 72 years old. “They suffer a lot from their hearing, the explosions have affected them. Many have great losses”, says this young woman originally from Kherson who was displaced by the war to the city of Zaporizhia. “People are very, very grateful to us, they simply cry because we came”, he confesses.
Around half past two, the facilities are being emptied. Everyone knows that the attacks intensify in the afternoon. Another group has been called for the next day before heading back to the cities. Irina has already put on her coat and cap and is smoking a cigarette outside the building. “One can see the flower or the pansida leaf. I always see the flower and I’m sure we’ll get out of this city”, says Irina, who confesses that she has spoken Russian all her life. Like almost everyone here, he now speaks Ukrainian.
He thinks about it for a while and then starts talking about the war. He says he doesn’t like the fact that many people have gotten used to living off the help of volunteers. “When the Russians were here we had very little and we all shared what we had. We helped each other. After the liberation, no one does anything anymore because they think the volunteers have to give it to them”, says this woman, who acknowledges that there was a party in the town the day the Russians left. “Salt trees, among us. We sang, we danced… But then the bombings came”, he explains. Since then they were locked up again and living in fear. No longer in terms of being captured, disappearing or suffering abuse, but in terms of being shot down by artillery or missiles. Or of dying from invisible diseases, only detected thanks to the visit of volunteer doctors who risk their lives to reach them.
