VALERII ODAINYK is from Kamianets-Podilskyi. enlisted in the military on a contract basis in 2021. In January 2023, he was injured when his vehicle hit an enemy anti-tank mine in the Donetsk region. when his vehicle struck an enemy anti-tank mine in the Donetsk region. Outside of his military service, Valerii is a coach and lecturer at Kamianets-Podilskyi Ivan Ohienko National University. He considers the Invictus Games a platform to showcase the resilience and strength of the Ukrainian nation.
About work and interests. I worked at Kamianets-Podilskyi Ivan Ohienko National University, teaching the theory and methodology of physical education, functional fitness, and other disciplines. I also coached the university’s student basketball team.
Later, I was offered a position in the military as a platoon commander at the 143rd Unified Training Center.
Additionally, the army provided me with the same salary I earned across all my previous jobs while allowing me to focus on one place of work. This job freed up a lot of time, which I could dedicate to my wife and children. Before that, working three jobs, I physically couldn’t spend enough time with them.
About sports. In addition to basketball, I also played football and volleyball—basically, anything involving a ball. I enjoyed staying active, playing on the field with students, and coaching. There were even years when I coached a women’s team, which was actually more challenging than working with men’s teams. For example, introducing new players to a men’s team is straightforward. But in a women’s team, if the newcomers aren’t liked, they won’t be accepted, no matter how skilled they are.
Sports help me recharge. I love water—swimming and active recreation. Sunbathing doesn’t hold my attention for more than 20 minutes. After my injury, I’ve only swum in a pool, as swimming without legs requires learning a new way to balance. I haven’t tried swimming in open water yet. Unfortunately, our natural waterways aren’t accessible for people with disabilities, and just finding a way to get to a river is a challenge.
About the army. In 2021, I began my service in the Armed Forces of Ukraine under contract. Back then, many were cautious about the possibility of a full-scale war. We didn’t know when or how it would happen, but we sensed it was inevitable.
I wasn’t afraid. I knew that whether a large-scale war broke out or not, I was already in the army, where I needed to be. In a way, I was prepared, staying physically active.
I went to fight because I understood the reason behind it. who still haven’t decided to defend the country would be the first ones Russia would force into their army to fight against others if they managed to conquer us. Russia doesn’t ask if someone is willing to fight or not. They need bodies from occupied territories to serve as cannon fodder, as we’ve seen with the so-called “LNR” and “DNR.” In the early days of the full-scale invasion, men from those occupied territories were the first sent to fight us.
I know a soldier from Crimea who stayed there after the annexation. His military ID states, “Prone to treason.” Not a single state needs those people. While our country accommodates and tolerates draft dodgers, the enemy won’t. They won’t care if you have children, if you’re scared, or if you don’t want to fight.
About participation in the war. At the start of the war, I was a platoon commander, and within a few months, I was promoted to lead a training course, overseeing 129 people. After graduating several groups, I felt compelled to do more, so I submitted a request to join a rotation in the east.
I took charge of a three-man sapper team and transitioned to a demining unit. After completing our training, we were deployed first to the Balakliia area and then to the Bakhmut direction, specifically Ivanivske. There, the Russians were attempting to break through our defenses, and my primary task was to prevent that by laying mines. I worked in the “zero line,” the gray zone. The distance between our positions and the Russians’ was about 150 meters. The fighting took place in wooded areas already destroyed and scarred by artillery fire. We could hear their conversations, and they could hear ours. Sometimes, weeks of combat revolved around just 50 meters of ground, which changed hands multiple times.
Our combat missions typically lasted from midnight until the first light of dawn. I always led my team personally. A commander’s role is to make decisions on the ground and stand with his people. The greatest fear for any leader is losing someone under their command. You constantly worry about what you’d say to their families if that happened.
About being wounded. We were heading out to complete a task when our vehicle hit an anti-tank mine. It was a situation where there was a 90% chance we wouldn’t survive. I was sitting on the side of the vehicle that hit the mine—the right front wheel. Miraculously, everyone survived. The other guys sustained concussions, but the full impact landed on me.
Many have told me that I must have a greater purpose in life, which is why God spared me. But I don’t think about it that way.
At first, I couldn’t breathe, but then my lungs filled with air. My immediate question was, “What parts of my body are missing?” At first, the guys hesitated to answer, but eventually, they told me I had lost one leg, the foot on the other leg was gone, and I was missing fingers.
In addition to losing my legs and fingers, I had a broken jaw and shrapnel injuries to my shoulder and arms. Along with losing my legs and fingers, I had a fractured jaw and shrapnel wounds to my arms and shoulder. There were so many injuries that the team struggled to place tourniquets fast enough to control the bleeding. Thankfully, I was evacuated quickly.
I remember the explosion and being loaded into the vehicle. Even in that state, I spoke to the driver, who was in shock, trying to bring him back to focus.
During the brief moment of clinical death, I didn’t experience any visions or dreams—it was just as if someone flipped a switch. When I regained consciousness, I couldn’t open my eyes due to my injuries. I felt someone touching my throat and heard them say, “We’re going to make an incision here and insert a tube.” I responded, “That will be the last thing you do.” Surprised, they said, “Wow, he’s already talking!” That moment happened at Mechnikov Hospital.
I was fully aware and remembered everything. I even dictated my wife’s and mother’s phone numbers.
While I was being transported through Chasiv Yar, Kramatorsk, and to Mechnikov, my family was already informed about my condition. My wife was given a description of my injuries that made the situation sound even worse than it was.
About accepting the injuries. Once I was stabilized and my wounds had mostly healed, I was sent to Lviv. That’s when a surgeon told me another part of my leg needed to be amputated. For better prosthetics, my remaining knee and the prosthetic had to be aligned. That decision—losing even more—was harder to accept than all my initial injuries.
I’ve learned how important it is to trust your prosthetist and not let doubt in. My wife was my rock, always by my side, and I had a clear understanding from the start that while life wasn’t over, it had fundamentally changed. I wanted to live for my own enjoyment.
This experience taught me that life can end at any moment, and the daily grind from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. seems meaningless in hindsight. My values have shifted. Now, I want to find joy in everything—whether it’s talking to people, playing sports, or exploring new opportunities.
Even without legs or fingers, there’s so much to try and a need to adapt to everything. I still enjoy competitive games, especially ones with psychological elements, like basketball. I’m social by nature and thrive in such interactions.
About supporting other wounded soldiers. I often visit wounded comrades in the hospital after an injury. It’s important for them to see what’s possible. When someone has lost limbs, they’re often overwhelmed by uncertainty. But when a person walks into their room—someone with even more severe injuries, already on prosthetics—it gives them hope. It shows them that life goes on, that they can adapt, and that everything is achievable with time and effort.
About public reactions. K Children often stare at me, fascinated by the man without legs. Some parents take the opportunity to explain, while others pull their kids away without saying anything. If someone asked about my injuries, I’d gladly explain.
Once, while waiting in line at a bank in Kyiv, I was 14th in line, even though there was a sign stating people with disabilities and veterans could be served out of turn. No one, including the staff, offered to let me go ahead. While I didn’t mind waiting, standing on prosthetics for a long time can be physically exhausting. To top it off, a VIP client cut in front of me and locked herself in the booth.
On the flip side, there are times when people insist on helping, even when I politely decline. For example, if someone offers me a seat or assistance and I say no, that should be the end of it. If I need help, I’ll ask. In Estonia, where I received my prosthetics, people always asked if I needed assistance and respected my answer, whatever it was.
A hand over the heart as a gesture of thanks is one of the most meaningful forms of acknowledgment. It respects personal boundaries, doesn’t prompt uncomfortable questions, and shows gratitude. It’s something we notice and appreciate deeply.
About the Invictus Games. I joined my first training camp to reconnect with friends and get back into physical activity. It was during my recovery, right after an operation, and I had just started using prosthetics again. My legs weren’t fully healed, so I arrived on crutches.
The camp wasn’t as comfortable as a rehabilitation center, but it offered the chance to try new sports, see friends, and have fun. Watching basketball after my injury, I used to feel a deep ache, wondering if I’d ever play again.
Life is full of surprises, though. I didn’t think I’d manage to play wheelchair basketball, but with some adjustments to my technique, I found out I could shoot and score. It felt incredible.
About wishes. Now, I focus on fulfilling my own desires and those of my family. I try to correct injustices where I see them—not just for myself but for others. I no longer hesitate to call someone out if they’re in the wrong.
I have everything I once dreamed of. There was a time when I felt uneasy about having a rear-position role while others fought on the front lines. But after going to war, surviving, and coming back, I feel I’ve accomplished what I set out to do. Now, I’m focused on living a life that brings joy and fulfillment.