"I can't shut myself off from patients' stories just because my own family was affected by the war. I always try to listen, not just prescribe medication."

I remember the morning of 24 February. I was in Dnipro, working as an anaesthesiologist when the shelling began across the country. I got into my car and went to work - just like any other day. I never considered leaving Ukraine. I knew I was needed here.

Within my team, we discussed the situation, especially those whose families lived near the Russian border. The front line was forming there. I was deeply worried because my parents were in Huliaipole, Zaporizhzhia region. Of course, I called and begged them to leave, but like many of their generation, they refused. It was their home.

From 25 February to 7 March, I lost all contact with them. I was terrified. I knew there were active hostilities, but I was powerless, stuck in Dnipro. Then, on 7 March, while on duty, my mother called to say they had left. I knew it must have been serious if they had abandoned their home. They later told me that on 5 March, a shell had exploded in front of their building, blowing out all the windows. They had been in the basement at the time, but still felt the force of the blast. They fled with nothing but their documents. Their only thought was survival.

Now, looking at photos of their home is painful. The building still stands, but the fifth floor is gone. Recent shelling destroyed the windows and balconies. That was my home too. Even though I left at 18 to study in Dnipro, I always returned. I remember summers when my mother’s roses bloomed, filling the air with their scent. But I doubt the city will ever be restored to what it once was. For my parents, it’s even harder. They spent a lifetime building a home, and now, in old age, they are without work, without security, without a place to return to - like so many others.

That’s why I understand my patients in Kherson so well. Most are elderly, left behind with no family, no home, and no means to leave. They rely on our care. There are few young people left in Kherson, and although we see some war-wounded patients, but the majority of our patients come with chronic medical conditions that have reached a critical and life-threatening stage.

I joined Médecins Sans Frontières in January 2024, but I already had experience with humanitarian organisations and war related traumas. I was prepared for the unpredictable work. I wanted this experience.

Of course, working in a fully equipped hospital is easier, but right now, my skills are needed in places where resources are scarce. I value that MSF not only provides medical care but also essential supplies, which are in short supply here.

I recall a day when shelling intensified near the hospital, just 10 km from the front line. Patients were moved to the basement for safety, but at that moment, a new patient arrived - injured while out on the street. Despite the worsening attacks, she needed immediate care. This situation creates a kind of hardening — one that affects not just our work, but also our daily lives. We must be prepared for various situations.

Every patient has a story of loss - loved ones killed, homes destroyed, families trapped in occupied territories by Russian military forces. I listen to all of them because I want to understand, not just treat.