In civilian life, IVAN LAVRENIUK worked as a sales representative and was a fan of team sports. His decision to join the war stemmed from two reasons: to liberate the country from the occupiers and, as he admits, to add some adrenaline to his life. He says that his experience in the war has actually improved his sense of humor, despite the injuries he sustained.
About himself and civilian life. I’ve been talkative since childhood. Over the last eight years, I worked in sales. I’ve been a sales representative, supervisor, regional manager, and back to being a sales representative. My work has always been people-oriented. but when I got home, I often just wanted some peace and quiet, to relax and recharge. However, I do enjoy meeting new people and learning interesting things from them.
I have a difficult character. I’ve always been restless and energetic since childhood. My parents really kept me in check. I was always involved in one thing or another, but I couldn’t move on to something else until I finished the first task. Everything fascinated me. My father passed away ten years ago; he was a truck driver. From the age of 5 or 6, I traveled with him on his routes to places like Poland and Italy. My younger brother studied construction, and I was interested in that too. I worked in decorative plastering for a while. There was a time when I went to the Czech Republic for work. I liked the city and the people, but I felt drawn back home—by my family, loved ones, and sports. There was no time for sports there; it was all about work.
About sports. I started playing football at the age of five and played until I got injured, around 32. It’s very hard for me to accept that I can no longer play. I’ve always been involved in sports: football, basketball, volleyball—I participated in all the competitions at school and university. Wherever there was a ball, I was there. Now, I attend charity matches and ask to hold the ball, stand in gates, and score goals. It’s full of emotions and satisfaction, but unfortunately, I don’t have the same skills as I did before. But I don’t let it get me down—I watch the European Championship on TV, listen, and cheer for our team. In general, I support the French team, my idol is Zinedine Zidane. Besides football, I also did boxing, but not for long. It was tough.
I didn’t like school though, I played truant, and I only got “C” because I always participated in all the competitions. I loved history in school. I was interested in wars, kings, and Cossack leaders. With my imagination, I could describe and tell stories about battles quite well.
About hobbies and love. I’ve always loved fishing. Even after losing my sight, it didn’t stop me from continuing. I still fish, though I struggle a bit with a rod and float, but I can still catch pike and carp with a spinning rod without any problems. My skills are still there—I remember everything instinctively. In the past, I used to go fishing on river trips with big groups. I enjoy catching predatory fish the most. It only takes me two to three hours to figure out whether there will be fish or not. But I never came home empty-handed. I don’t eat the fish myself—I don’t like it. I either give it to my wife or take it to my mom for her cat, who absolutely loves pike.
I really love cats. My godfather gave me a cat when I was one year old, and it lived with me for 16 years. I also had a cat that lived for 13 and a half years, but unfortunately, she had cancer. My friend gave me a Scottish Fold cat as a gift. Sometimes, I visit my mom because my cat is there. When I visit, I enjoy the peace and quiet. My mom is at work, my wife and child are out, and I get to spend time with my cat however I want.
I also love children. I find it fun, interesting, and simple to be with them. Maybe, when I play with little ones, I imagine myself a little bit as a child again.
On the army and war. I didn’t serve in the military due to numerous injuries. But when the full-scale war began, a friend told me about it, and I didn’t believe it at first. I was just going about my day, preparing for work. On March 19th, I received my call-up notice. My family tried to stop me: “Don’t go, don’t go!” I told them, “How can I not go? Who, if not us? If everyone starts saying, ‘Don’t go,’ and no one wants to fight out of fear, who will defend us?”
I’m not a super-soldier, not a cyborg, not a terminator. I understand that I’m not going to save the world—I’m not Superman. I think none of us want to go to war, but we must.
Initially, I wasn’t accepted into the army due to a lack of combat experience. When I went to the enlistment office the day after receiving my notice, they told me they would call me later. I waited a year and a half for that call. At first, I was very focused, working on my physical fitness, talking to military acquaintances. But after a while, routine and work pulled me back. Still, I knew things weren’t improving. I didn’t want to live in fear anymore. That’s not life.
By the time the New Year holidays came, I had already made up my mind: I was going to fight, but I didn’t tell anyone yet.
I passed the military medical commission in just 15 minutes. I simply told them: “I’m fine, I need you to confirm that I’m fit for service.” I never feared something bad happening to me.
On my injury: I was wounded on March 5, 2024. A shrapnel hit my eye. On the 6th, I was taken to the Mechnikov hospital, where they removed the remains of my left eye. The shrapnel, about a centimeter in size, lodged in the optic nerve of my right eye, and it is not sensitive anymore.
The best part of those days was hearing that I was going home to Vinnytsia. The train ride home was extremely hard: other wounded soldiers were moaning and crying in pain. Meanwhile, all I could think about was smoking. I kept shouting, “Someone give me a cigarette!” but no one did.
I didn’t lose hope that I would see again. Every day, I woke up and tried to look at the sun. I knew which side it was coming from, where it was warming me, but I couldn’t see anything.
Now, I have hope for restoring my sight, and I will do everything I can to achieve that.
About support, care, and needs. From the very first days, there were queues of visitors—family, friends, acquaintances. It was emotionally overwhelming at times.
When rehabilitation specialists and psychologists came to assess my condition and how I was interacting with people, they didn’t approach me directly. They simply observed me from a distance and noted if I was “adequate.”
There was a strange situation in the ward: a guy kept shouting in my ear, “Hi, my name’s Vlad!” I said, “Don’t shout, I’m blind, not deaf.” He replied, “Well, I’m deaf!” Another guy was lying there, unable to speak. I went to the chief doctor and asked, “Is this some kind of joke? How could you put a blind, deaf, and mute person in the same room? Are we supposed to be a team?”
It was tough when visitors would leave, or when the others in the ward were asleep and I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Those were the times bad thoughts would creep in. I used to think, “Who would want me like this? I don’t want to be a burden.” But now, I’ve learned how to handle those thoughts better.
I get very irritated when doctors talk to my wife instead of me. I want to know all the details, not just hear it secondhand. It’s my problem, and they should talk to me. It’s hurtful when doctors say to my wife, “He won’t ever see again.” She starts crying and gets upset. Sometimes, I asked everyone to leave the room so that the doctors would only speak to me.
About daily life. In the hospital, I knew my phone, cigarettes, an apple, and water were on my bedside table. But in the mornings, I’d find them gone, stashed away because people were trying to keep me from losing or breaking anything. This “overprotection” was annoying because it left me unsure where my things were. I don’t want this at home, either—I want to arrange things myself, so I know where they are. I want to be able to go to the kitchen, find my plate, frying pan, and knife. I know where the eggs, sausage, and meat are in the fridge. Cooking is still enjoyable, and I have no issue making something like Olivier salad or borscht. The only thing I need help with is the gas, which my wife supervises. I don’t use a slow cooker—I grew up with the belief that food tastes better from the stove. Cooking with love has always been my way.
I enjoy heading to the kitchen now and making things myself, finding my daughter’s doll in her room, or even learning to play her piano. I’ve become more patient and don’t let little things bother me as much.
About society and imagination. My friends say they don’t notice my injury. They’ve noticed that blind people tend to move slowly and look downward, and maybe I’m like that now too. Sometimes when talking to strangers, my wife will stop me, saying, “Don’t say anything more; he’s already walked away.” Some people just turn and leave without saying anything.
But I don’t turn down those who genuinely want to help me. I know that refusing might discourage them from helping others in the future, even if I don’t need it. I want to prove to the world that I can achieve everything I want on my own.
I don’t categorize people anymore based on appearance. In my mind, everyone is now a part of this “black picture”—my black family, my black brothers and sisters. I recognize people by their voices and can usually guess their age or height. But however I picture them based on their voice is how they’ll appear in my imagination. I don’t do the face-touching thing, like in the movies. Occasionally, people offer, but it doesn’t bring me any satisfaction. Sometimes, I picture someone in a way that’s so imaginative it makes me laugh. I know they don’t look like Mario or a leprechaun, yet my imagination sometimes runs wild, making them look like something from a horror movie or a cartoon.
For my family and close friends, they’ll always stay as I remember them—beautiful.