YAROSLAV SHARKYI was 25 years old when the full-scale war began. He was working as a paramedic and had an exemption from military service. However, he chose to join the fight and became a combat medic in a special unit. Yaroslav hopes to inspire wounded soldiers by his own example, he strives to inspire wounded soldiers to keep moving forward and overcome their challenges, believing that the biggest obstacles are in the mind.
About childhood. I grew up in a village and had a typical rural childhood. My friends and I loved climbing trees, falling off them a couple of times. We played tag up in the trees, enjoyed climbing hazel bushes, cracking walnuts with our teeth, and eating green apricots. My childhood was great. We didn’t have the internet, but I had a cassette player where I listened to Rammstein and Linkin Park. When I got a phone, around seventh or ninth grade, I started listening to rap, like 50 Cent. And when we got the QTV channel, I loved watching wrestling.
At around six years old, I realized I wasn’t meant for village life. I never understood why people worked so hard in the garden if some of the vegetables would rot in the cellar anyway, and they still had to buy more. Life in the village involves a lot of hard work that doesn’t pay off. I also encountered a lot of two-faced people who would smile in your face but talk behind your back. In small towns, everyone knows each other, so the gossip never ends.
Before first grade, I wanted to be a police officer because my father was one. But later, I realized it was a thankless job. My dad would ride his “Ukraina” bicycle for 15 kilometers to work, no matter the weather, and in the 2000s, his salary would often be delayed for months. I realized that this job wasn’t worth all that effort. I began dreaming of working in rocket science, but then math killed that dream.
By ninth grade, I still didn’t know what I wanted to do, but I knew I wanted to leave the village. My father suggested I study law, but I chose medicine. It’s great — you help people, and they are grateful.
About himself. My mom used to call me a narcissist when I was growing up. I was stubborn, self-centered, and didn’t have much love for anyone. But my first love really changed me. I was around 18-19 years old, and I realized that I had ruined that relationship by acting selfishly. That’s when I understood that I needed to change. However, I truly transformed after the war and my injury. Even my friends say I’m a completely different person now.
As a child, people would often tell me things like, “Don’t bother, it’s not going to work,” or “To succeed, you need to be born into the right family.” I often doubted myself. But in the war, I realized how fleeting life is and that there’s no time to waste. There’s no time to hesitate—you have to act. In those moments of fear and doubt, you still have to push forward. You might want to go back to your mom, but you’re stuck out there, taking fire, and have to keep moving. The war gave me a lot of confidence in my own abilities.
About the medical work. I had practical experience in different departments, including the ICU and emergency services. I really enjoyed medicine, but I was also terrified. In reality, a lot of doctors are afraid of losing a patient due to their own mistakes. I knew that fear was in me, so I chose this profession to overcome it. To defeat that fear, you have to face it head-on. The same goes for war.
I worked as a paramedic in two villages and eventually realized that I wanted more serious work, so I joined the ambulance service. My confidence grew after my very first call. It was a car accident. An elderly couple was driving their grandson, who was sitting on his grandmother’s lap in the front seat. They were hit by a car at 140 km/h. The grandmother had a fractured pelvis, and the child was also severely injured, but we managed to save them. Ambulance work is very stressful, but over time, it toughens you up.
On the ambulance, we responded to civilian calls, but during the war, there was a shortage of medics. I wanted to save soldiers. Also, the film “Hacksaw Ridge,” about a combat medic who saved lives without carrying a weapon during WWII, had a huge impact on me. After watching it, I thought, “I want to do that too.” Every man should defend his home, without exception. If you don’t, then you’re not a man.
About the war. At first, I was really scared. During training, I viewed the veterans as superheroes. But when we were brought to the front line, and the guys started talking about the heavy shelling, and how it would be good to survive at least a day, I realized that I had a one-way ticket. But I believe in fate and understood that whatever was meant for me, I would survive.
Initially, I was assigned to the infantry. Then I told the intelligence commander that I was a medic, and he offered me a position with them. Honestly, at that time, I didn’t care—infantry, intelligence… I understood the risk, and that I might never speak to my parents again. You only think like that until a shell explodes nearby. In that moment, all you want is to stay alive.
Among the scouts, I turned out to be the youngest and the least experienced. They all called me a fool for coming to the war at 25. The only person who supported me was the intelligence chief, who called me in. I realized I had to earn their respect.
In the war, to earn respect, you have to go on missions. Our first mission lasted eight days, and we were hit by everything possible. After we returned, they started to treat me not like a kid but as an equal.
I never turned down a mission, no matter the fatigue or fear. Over time, you start to get used to the realities of war. But I got injured the day I stopped being afraid.
About the injury. After nine months of war, I was so worn out that I became indifferent to a lot of things. A Russian “Storm Z” unit came to our sector, and we were attacked five to six times a day. The day before I got injured, I listened to the radio and kept hearing: “200, 300, 200, 300.” I realized that the infantry guys I knew were no longer with us. I was shocked, but what I wanted most was to rest.
I was supposed to go home on July 10, and my commander had agreed. But I still had a task left: to recover the bodies of the fallen soldiers. I really didn’t want to go on this mission, and for the first time in my service, I thought, “I’ll go out, twist my right leg, and stay behind.” Then my conscience hit me hard.
At first, everything went wrong. We left at an unexpected time, right as dawn was breaking. We hadn’t even gotten far when a tank and mortars started shelling us.
We collected the bodies of the fallen soldiers, and two infantrymen who were with us tried to take a Browning machine gun from the position. It had a tripwire attached. We only got about 30 meters away when we heard artillery fire. A 152mm shell hit, followed by another one. We knew the third would hit right where we were. We grabbed one of the fallen soldiers and ran, but not far. The third shell landed where we had been.
After that, a drone spotted us. Six of us were dragging our fallen comrade’s body. Two of the guys couldn’t handle the stench and sight, and two others started to panic. Meanwhile, we were under fire. We received coordinates for a rendezvous point where reinforcements were supposed to meet us. It turned out the enemy knew exactly where that point was as well.
When we reached the meeting point, I lay down under a tree, stretched my right leg out, bent my left leg, and lit a cigarette. The sapper team lay nearby, and I didn’t realize how close we were all packed together.
Then there was an explosion. My ears rang, and my vision shook. I didn’t understand what had happened right away, but I felt my cheek burning. Then my legs started to hurt terribly. My left leg was intact, but the bone in my right leg was exposed. Four “Vasilki” rockets hit us. Then the shelling from “Grad” rockets began.
One of the sapper guys was hit so badly in the back that his kidney ruptured, and he started bleeding out. I couldn’t help him. Besides my leg, I had severe injuries to my gluteal area.
I was extremely thirsty, so I drank from a puddle. I wanted to sleep so badly. One of the guys, “Elvis,” sat next to me and kept asking questions to keep me awake. I begged him to shoot me because I didn’t want to die in agony. There were only two of us left, and I knew I wouldn’t make it five more kilometers. The infantrymen who had gone for the Browning just ran away immediately, as did two others from my unit who had panicked earlier. They’d been boasting about their combat missions, but when the time came, they just stepped over me and fled.
The two youngest guys stayed with me. I had little faith in them because they had never been on combat missions before. But they stayed with me until the evacuation came.
I lay there thinking, “I’m only 25, I’ve never been abroad, I haven’t tried much in life, I don’t have a family or children, and tomorrow won’t come for me.”
Then I heard the wounded sapper stop screaming. I turned toward him and saw that he had frozen with his eyes wide open. That image, like a screenshot, will stay with me for a long time. I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing his face. I couldn’t eat properly for a while because I could still smell the earth, gunpowder, and dead bodies. And the pain in my legs was so intense that I couldn’t sleep for 23 days.
About support. When I was first brought to the Kharkiv Surgical Hospital, I crossed paths with a man. He had a button phone and asked if I had a phone. I didn’t know where mine had gone. This man gave me his phone. I asked, “How will I return it to you?” and he said, “You’ll pass it on to someone else.” That’s when I began to believe in people again.
Later, I encountered incredible people at the Irpin hospital. At first, I regretted surviving— the pain was so intense, I thought it would never end. I even asked the surgeon to do something about it. But he scolded me for that. He ended up being a huge help. The orderlies and nurses took care of me as if I were a child. When I saw such care, I decided I wasn’t going to die.
The first person I called was my sister, to tell her what happened. She told our parents. My dad called and said, “It’s good that you’re wounded, but alive.”
In my family, support was mutual. Though sometimes, I had to support my loved ones too. My father bore it bravely. He’d come in with a stone face. You could tell he was hurt, but he never showed it. My mom cried. But my parents visited me every week from Poltava. My mom would cook different treats and bring them to me.
I had time to reflect on my future. I decided that when I get my prosthetic, I’ll put a Maserati sticker on it. When I meet girls, I’ll say, “I’ll pull up in a Maserati.”
About the changes after the war. Before, I was very hot-headed. Now, that has changed. I’ve gained a lot of confidence. I want to live. Not just exist from day to day, but truly live. The thing is, today is all you have. When there are days when I don’t feel like doing anything, I sit and play games calmly.
My attitude toward life has changed a lot. Before the war, I didn’t know what happiness truly felt like. But in the war, I experienced it. You’re happy just because you exist. You wake up in the morning and you’re already happy. You don’t need money; you don’t need anything. You’re simply awake. You drink “MacCoffee,” watch the sun rise, and realize you’re alive.
Translated by Green Forest English School