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The journey to Ukraine began before we even crossed the border. Our driver Luda, a lactation specialist from Lviv, shared heartbreaking stories as we travelled from Warsaw. The war has created a maternal health crisis – stress, PTSD, and depression have left countless women unable to breastfeed. Many of her patients are refugees from eastern Ukraine, displaced and traumatised.
“The birth unit and NICU are now underground,” she explained matter-of-factly. “So we don’t have to evacuate during air raid sirens.”
When Luda heard about our medical mission, she was overwhelmed with emotion and thanked us for coming. “There is so much pain and death,” she said through tears. “It’s so hard to deal with.” Her children still carry secondary trauma from interpreting for frontline medical workers.
She spoke of a friend fighting near Kursk. “Every day I wonder if he will be alive. He tells stories of how 20 men moved forward and only four survived.”
What struck me was her reflection on faith. Before the war, she said it was “easy believing.” Now, they’re forced to develop a deeper understanding of God as they grapple with death and suffering daily.
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The Pull of Ancestral Lands
We hadn’t even crossed into Ukraine when I felt it – that inexplicable tug at my heart seeing those Eastern European landscapes. The forests, farmlets, birch trees, and rows of freshly tilled soil stirred something in my blood.
I know it sounds corny (and I would have done some eye-rolling myself hearing someone else say this), but crossing the border brought a surge of connection that’s hard to put into words. These fields of Ukraine somehow felt like home.
Our border crossing was surprisingly swift.
We checked into our flat and slept soundly.
The next day we were met by Tania from CMA, a former graphic designer now training as a combat medicine instructor, complete with a tourniquet pack on her back – a stark reminder of the reality here.
Driving through Lviv, we passed the cemetery I’d visited in July 2023. We later went to visit it and it had doubled in size and was being further extended. Heart-wrenching.
The Field of Mars cemetery
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Medical Training Amid Air Raid Warnings
At the medical school’s simulation centre, the director casually advised us: “If there’s an air alarm, move to the shelter. It’s only been about once a week lately. Oh, and be quick – a hypersonic missile can reach us ten minutes after launch.”
The equipment wasn’t the best, but we’d make it work. These students desperately need these skills to keep their healthcare system functioning during war. Dr Chris brought a heap of extra equipment for us to practice with and put together a great program. We ran through simulations and theory sessions. It was greatly appreciated. We did two days of this with the second day being with the trainers so they could upskill and continue to pass the skills on.
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Medical Aid Warehouse
We then had a tour of the warehouse where medications and equipment and supplies are sent as donations and then CMA sorts and distributes to where it is needed most. The CMA warehouse manager who was new since I’d last been here July 2023, shared her motivation: “In these times, we can’t say we won’t work weekends. We have to keep going and think about what our people are going through.” She emphasised how donors hesitate to support anything “military” – not understanding that in Ukraine, the military are their friends and family. Without them, they wouldn’t be here.
“The injured numbers are much greater than we think,” she confided, “including mental injuries.” She described visiting a hospital treating wounded soldiers, many suffering phantom pain. Teachers are heroes too – trying to educate children between air raid shelter runs. They’re building underground classrooms so education can continue.
Medical staffing is critically short, with many sent to military service. Others fear training in medicine might send them to the front. “Russians specifically hunt medics,” she explained. “They figure one medic might save ten soldiers, so it’s a good score.”
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From Lviv to Odesa: Life Goes On
After two days of advanced life support training in Lviv, we took an overnight train to Odesa, where I reunited with a translator I’d met during my previous visit.
The Ukrainian resolve to maintain normalcy amid war is remarkable. For many, they try to continue life as normal even despite the repeated air raid sirens.
As we drove around, we spotted military recruitment officers interviewing men on streets. Everyone must carry documents showing their mobilisation status.
In a telling cultural shift, my translator friends mentioned how almost everyone now wants to switch to Ukrainian language – a statement of identity and resistance.
On Sunday, we woke to unseasonable snow. A cold front had come through and we weren’t quite prepared for how cold it would be!
Our taxi driver pointed to a beach, saying it was closed because it had been mined. “Russian ships have come close, trying to capture the area for access to Mykolaiv.” He showed us where he’d been sleeping when Shahed drones hit the building. Thankfully, he’d made it to a shelter.
“We need to build a big wall between us and Russia and never have any interaction again,” he stated firmly. He told us how once someone got in his taxi who said they supported Russia and he kicked them out.
There was evidence of Shahed drone damage on many buildings. There were several air raid alerts whilst in Odesa but no explosions. A matter of days after we left there were a couple of more serious attacks that caused fires, damage and more injured people.
Russian monuments throughout the city were covered or torn down. Street names that echoed past Russian occupation or regimes were being changed Ukrainian flags weren’t just flying – they were painted on walls and gates, acts of defiance declaring “We are Ukrainian.” As one local put it, they’re perhaps even more patriotic than in the West, despite common perceptions.
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Teaching at universities and medical conferences
We had a full schedule of teaching arranged. Lectures at the university in emergency medicine and patient communication. Then a full day seminar with other speakers organised by CMA on antibiotic use, emergency medicine and more ALS training.
We went to the flat to pick up all the medicines and equipment with the other volunteers and pack the van for clinic the next day.
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Village Clinic Near the Frontline
Monday brought an early start – zero degrees! Three vans travelled to a village once near the frontline, now “safely” 45-50km away. We stopped for a bathroom break, knowing the village hadn’t had water for a long time.
At the service station, I was confused when the cashier stepped back and wouldn’t serve me. Then I realised – it was 9am, time for the daily minute of silence held across Ukraine for fallen soldiers.
The village showed extensive destruction. Many houses were damaged, with replaced roofs and windows. A rocket shell embedded in the road had simply been cut off so people could drive over it. The clinic building was badly damaged, all windows blown out and replaced with USAID funding – which, of course, is no longer provided.
Only a couple hundred civilians remain, but military units use it to rest and rotate from frontlines. We’d planned to see soldiers who were “resting,” but many visits were cancelled – some called into action, others had been under attack all night and just wanted to sleep.
One soldier told us some comrades ended up in hospital because Russians were using banned chemical weapons. He showed staff a photo of a chemical bomb dropped on them – thankfully, only one of four canisters detonated. Also see HERE
Another soldier had suffered a brain bleed in a war-related car crash 18 months earlier, spent 6 months in a coma, and had a year of rehabilitation. Yet he was back fighting. The few soldiers who did come looked utterly exhausted, both physically and emotionally.
The damaged clinic had no heating. Our hands went numb from cold, making it difficult to feel patients’ pulses. By day’s end, we were approaching hypothermia despite wearing all our jackets. On day two we lost power too so couldn’t even boil the kettle to warm ourselves until they were able to hook up a generator. There was no running water so we had to bring our own water.
After we left our friend told us that the army vehicle with multiple antennae parked near the clinic all day was a jamming and drone reconnaisance vehicle there to protect us.
As we left, we saw a totally destroyed house with people living in a container outside. We learned it belonged to the woman who had cooked us a lovely lunch of borscht and dumplings.
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The Human Face of War
The next day brought more patients – elderly women with heart problems, some seeming to just want a hug and reassurance. An old man wondered if his lung condition resulted from living in a basement for seven months as battles raged around him.
Several soldiers had conditions that should have precluded military service, but they didn’t even ask about it. Some had recently been in ICU comas before returning to fighting. One had lung problems but was smoking – there was an unspoken understanding that now wasn’t the time to ask him to quit. It reminded me of my clean-living grandfather who told me he smoked throughout World War II because “you figured you were going to die anyway, and it helped relax.”
My translator Tanya and student helper Nastya were wonderful. Nastya prepared little gifts of filter coffee, sweets, and encouraging Bible verses for each soldier, thanking them for their service.
An elderly woman shared her trouble with knee pain. When I showed her exercises, she mentioned she liked bike riding but became sad explaining her bike was wrecked from riding over sharp shrapnel.
In Mykolaiv, public water tanks lined streets where people filled bottles. Due to war damage and the Russian bombing of the Kakhovka dam, many in this region still lack water.
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Rest day in Odesa
I joined the CMA girls at the church of a friend of theirs. It was a nice little service and the church was in a basement to avoid interuptions from air raid alerts or rocket attacks. Then we had some spare time in the afternoon so took the chance to see a little of Odesa and to finally see the Black Sea. My grandfather used to speak about it frequently. Last time I wasn’t able to see it as all access was blocked off and under military guard but the Black Sea is less of a threat now and some beaches have been de-mined.
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Women’s Crisis Center and Moving On
We spent time at Holly’s women’s crisis and pregnancy care center, supporting women in crisis, many now displaced. Walking the few hundred meters to her work, we passed an apartment block hit by a Shahed drone a year ago, killing her friend and baby. Outside stood a memorial of children’s toys and flowers.
Pastor Leonid, who drives for the mobile clinic, counsels patients, and does aid work alongside pastoring his church, drove us to the train station. Before leaving, he asked if my church prays for Ukraine. When I assured him they do, he said, “Thank you so much. Please send greetings from our church here in Odesa – we really appreciate your prayers.”
That night on the train, air raid sirens sounded across the country for a massive Shahed attack, including in Odesa where we’d just left.
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Kharkiv: On Russia’s Doorstep
We arrived in Kharkiv to heightened security. During an emergency alert, we headed to the metro station for shelter. At Kharkiv University, we met with the medical school dean and visited their simulation center and dental school, which had impressive donated equipment.
The dental school lab had blown-out windows and huge wall cracks – matter-of-factly, they told us the building had been hit by Shahed drones a month ago. When Regina thanked them for their bravery and commitment, the director fought back tears.
Our lectures were held in the bomb shelter – cold but convenient, as we didn’t have to interrupt for air raid sirens, which sounded multiple times.
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On the Frontlines of Care
We moved to Bohoduhiv region north of Kharkiv. We went with the team of Mykola and Oksana to isolated villages around 20km from the Russian border. We travelled past dragon’s teeth and other reinforcements. Again a soldier stood nearby with jamming equipment.
Friday brought more patient encounters. About 80% reported stress, anxiety, or insomnia since the war began. One woman suffered a concussion when a bomb hit her neighbour’s house, killing them. Another mentioned having virtually no neighbours, as so many had fled.
We travelled with Mykola and his wife Oksana, staying in their apartment usually shared with Mykola’s sister, who had gone to live with in-laws while her husband fought. Mykola’s mother cooked amazing feasts of local delicacies as we discussed his innovative mobile palliative care clinic. We heard how Oksana has to juggle being a doctor and mother with also now homeschooling as the children cannot go to normal school due to the constant air raids and attacks. And then on top of this they also do an amazing amount of volunteer work with the mobile clinics and running a mobile palliative care clinic.
That night, four or five air raid alerts sounded – a chilling reminder that we were only about 20km from the Russian border. The alerts barely stopped the whole time we were there.
Saturday’s journey took us over steaming fields of freshly tilled black chernozem soil, past rows of dragon teeth, trenches, and bunkers dug between fields. Multiple military checkpoints reminded us how close Russia was.
In the village, crowds waited to see us, mostly elderly. With our translators’ help, we heard countless stories of war stress, departed neighbours, and family members fighting or killed. Some men had been injured in the 2014 invasion.
An 88-year-old woman, deaf but proudly dressed in farm clothes and boots, demonstrated how she still squats to feed chickens and told tales of working in Soviet-era mines.
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Resilience Amid Chaos
On Sunday, we attended Mykola’s church, where the congregation was thankful to hear Australians were praying for Ukraine and sent greetings back.
Navigating Kharkiv proved challenging as Google Maps malfunctioned – apparently regularly affected by jamming signals designed to protect the city from aerial attacks. After circling the city six times, we were approached by police. Surprisingly, one recognized Mykola: “It’s okay, I know this guy – he was my grandma’s doctor!”
Our hotel was one of the newer ones built in bunkers and basements for safety during air raids. We wondered if it had had a former or alternative purpose as it was huge with dancing poles, coloured lights and mirrors above the bed!
Walking through a shopping mall, I watched children playing virtual soccer on the floor. A sobering thought struck me – other malls like this had been hit by Russian missiles. I took a photo as if to defy any future claims this was a military target.
Outside, police and military were checking documents of conscription-age men. Those without proper documentation are taken directly to the army. Some men rarely leave home, fearing mobilisation.
On Monday, at the train station, we weren’t allowed through the main entrance. Someone with a megaphone announced they were still under air alert – we needed to use the underground shelter entrance instead.
And so continues daily life in Ukraine – a strange mix of determination, adaptation, and the constant shadow of war.
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Please don’t look away. Pray. Share. Support.
And if you’re able to help us keep going—so we can train more medics, equip more clinics, and stand beside more of these incredible people—please donate here:
www.passingthrough.net/donating
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