From Onandjokwe to Ukrainian battle fronts
The war in Ukraine is a reality that military doctors like Dmytro Mialkovskyi, who served as a general surgeon at the Onandjokwe State Hospital in Namibia for seven years, can no longer afford to hope will end soon.
The 42-year-old lieutenant in the 128th Mountain Assault Brigade of the Ukrainian armed forces and a military and vascular surgeon, Dmytro has been separated from his family for three years, seeing them only twice a year for two weeks at a time.
This separation has taken a heavy toll not just on him but on his family as well. The pain of being away from loved ones is compounded by the daily horror of performing amputations on young soldiers. In an interview with Republikein, he described these experiences as “deeply painful.” Equally heartbreaking is having to inform families that their son, husband, or father, who was once perfectly healthy, is now in critical condition with a bleak prognosis.
From 2013 to 2020, Dmytro served as a general surgeon at the Onandjokwe State Hospital in Namibia. Seeking to expand his expertise, he moved with his family to Anguilla in the British West Indies in 2020, where he performed more laparoscopic surgeries. However, in December 2022, longing for their homeland, the family returned to Ukraine. When war broke out, Dmytro escorted his family to the border, enabling them to cross into Slovakia and eventually return to Anguilla, where his wife found a position as a doctor at the Hughes Medical Centre. Their children resumed school in Anguilla, but Dmytro remained in Ukraine to fulfill his duty.
Psychological toll
The psychological impact on military doctors is immense. Dmytro admits that they have been forced to quickly adapt to the horrific reality of severe injuries, large wounds, and pools of blood. Despite the chaos, the act of amputating limbs - often due to severe injuries or the improper use of tourniquets - is still profoundly painful for him. Communicating with the families of the wounded soldiers adds to the emotional burden. He describes how devastating it is to witness young soldiers waking up in the intensive care unit, only to realize that they have lost all their limbs.
The impact of treating wounded children remains particularly devastating for Dmytro. Although his current role no longer involves treating civilian casualties, the memory of those moments continues to haunt him. The majority of injuries he deals with now are caused by explosions and artillery fragments, with a significant portion linked to drones. About 70% of the trauma cases involve limb injuries, including traumatic amputations, alongside chest, abdominal, neck wounds, and even open head injuries.
Medical care challenges
Despite the improved availability of equipment and medical supplies compared to three years ago, the occurrence of mass casualties remains a substantial challenge. The nature of these injuries - often multiple and severe - demands complex and time-consuming treatments. This includes initial surgeries and the subsequent routine of changing bandages and wound care.
Casualties are evacuated in stages, moving from Role 1 to Role 2 and 3, and eventually to medical facilities further from the frontline. This fragmented system of care, where no single doctor follows a patient from injury to discharge, can sometimes negatively affect patients' outcomes. Dmytro acknowledges that this approach, while necessary, makes it difficult to provide continuous care and creates an additional layer of stress for the medical staff.
A relentless routine
Dmytro’s days at the military hospital - referred to as Role 2 - begin with rounds in the intensive care unit, followed by staff meetings and visits to other departments. After a quick breakfast, he spends the morning on tasks such as evaluating prescriptions, dressing wounds, and performing elective surgeries. However, the arrival of wounded soldiers immediately shifts priorities to emergency surgeries.
Most casualties arrive in the evening, making it the busiest time of day. After each surgery, Dmytro must complete detailed documentation for each patient, a process that takes about an hour per case. The cycle of treating new patients, preparing those admitted for evacuation, and managing the endless paperwork seems never-ending.
When his shift finally ends around 16:00, Dmytro takes a shower, connects with his family on WhatsApp, and tries to rest before the routine starts all over again the next day. Ironically, despite working in a more structured hospital environment now, the sheer intensity of the workload makes it far more exhausting than his previous assignment at Role 1, a stabilisation point near the frontline that was constantly under bombardment.
Back then, despite the extreme danger and having to sleep in trenches, Dmytro felt a strange sense of calm. Now, within the relative safety of a hospital, the relentless demand for surgeries and care feels overwhelming. The reality of war, with its unending cycle of casualties and trauma, leaves little room for rest or recovery - for both soldiers and the doctors striving to save them.
The 42-year-old lieutenant in the 128th Mountain Assault Brigade of the Ukrainian armed forces and a military and vascular surgeon, Dmytro has been separated from his family for three years, seeing them only twice a year for two weeks at a time.
This separation has taken a heavy toll not just on him but on his family as well. The pain of being away from loved ones is compounded by the daily horror of performing amputations on young soldiers. In an interview with Republikein, he described these experiences as “deeply painful.” Equally heartbreaking is having to inform families that their son, husband, or father, who was once perfectly healthy, is now in critical condition with a bleak prognosis.
From 2013 to 2020, Dmytro served as a general surgeon at the Onandjokwe State Hospital in Namibia. Seeking to expand his expertise, he moved with his family to Anguilla in the British West Indies in 2020, where he performed more laparoscopic surgeries. However, in December 2022, longing for their homeland, the family returned to Ukraine. When war broke out, Dmytro escorted his family to the border, enabling them to cross into Slovakia and eventually return to Anguilla, where his wife found a position as a doctor at the Hughes Medical Centre. Their children resumed school in Anguilla, but Dmytro remained in Ukraine to fulfill his duty.
Psychological toll
The psychological impact on military doctors is immense. Dmytro admits that they have been forced to quickly adapt to the horrific reality of severe injuries, large wounds, and pools of blood. Despite the chaos, the act of amputating limbs - often due to severe injuries or the improper use of tourniquets - is still profoundly painful for him. Communicating with the families of the wounded soldiers adds to the emotional burden. He describes how devastating it is to witness young soldiers waking up in the intensive care unit, only to realize that they have lost all their limbs.
The impact of treating wounded children remains particularly devastating for Dmytro. Although his current role no longer involves treating civilian casualties, the memory of those moments continues to haunt him. The majority of injuries he deals with now are caused by explosions and artillery fragments, with a significant portion linked to drones. About 70% of the trauma cases involve limb injuries, including traumatic amputations, alongside chest, abdominal, neck wounds, and even open head injuries.
Medical care challenges
Despite the improved availability of equipment and medical supplies compared to three years ago, the occurrence of mass casualties remains a substantial challenge. The nature of these injuries - often multiple and severe - demands complex and time-consuming treatments. This includes initial surgeries and the subsequent routine of changing bandages and wound care.
Casualties are evacuated in stages, moving from Role 1 to Role 2 and 3, and eventually to medical facilities further from the frontline. This fragmented system of care, where no single doctor follows a patient from injury to discharge, can sometimes negatively affect patients' outcomes. Dmytro acknowledges that this approach, while necessary, makes it difficult to provide continuous care and creates an additional layer of stress for the medical staff.
A relentless routine
Dmytro’s days at the military hospital - referred to as Role 2 - begin with rounds in the intensive care unit, followed by staff meetings and visits to other departments. After a quick breakfast, he spends the morning on tasks such as evaluating prescriptions, dressing wounds, and performing elective surgeries. However, the arrival of wounded soldiers immediately shifts priorities to emergency surgeries.
Most casualties arrive in the evening, making it the busiest time of day. After each surgery, Dmytro must complete detailed documentation for each patient, a process that takes about an hour per case. The cycle of treating new patients, preparing those admitted for evacuation, and managing the endless paperwork seems never-ending.
When his shift finally ends around 16:00, Dmytro takes a shower, connects with his family on WhatsApp, and tries to rest before the routine starts all over again the next day. Ironically, despite working in a more structured hospital environment now, the sheer intensity of the workload makes it far more exhausting than his previous assignment at Role 1, a stabilisation point near the frontline that was constantly under bombardment.
Back then, despite the extreme danger and having to sleep in trenches, Dmytro felt a strange sense of calm. Now, within the relative safety of a hospital, the relentless demand for surgeries and care feels overwhelming. The reality of war, with its unending cycle of casualties and trauma, leaves little room for rest or recovery - for both soldiers and the doctors striving to save them.
Comments
Namibian Sun
No comments have been left on this article