ILLIA PYLYPENKO, a veteran of the Ukrainian Armed Forces from Vinnytsia, faced life-changing challenges during his service. In September 2022, during a combat mission, Illia’s tank hit a mine. He regained consciousness surrounded by flames, and despite severe burns and an open leg fracture, he managed to escape the fiery trap on his own. Illia suffered extensive burns and ultimately lost a leg.
Today, he dedicates himself to helping other veterans discover adaptive sports as a pathway to rehabilitation. Illia firmly believes that sports competitions provide an excellent means of recovery and integration into civilian life.
About war and injury. Before the war, I worked as a realtor, selling apartments in Vinnytsia. My decision to join the fight wasn’t about public recognition; it was about protecting my loved ones and defending the state. The state, after all, is not just its people but also its territory. I never wanted to be a soldier. Having completed my conscription service in 2011–2012, I knew the military back then wasn’t for me—it felt like hitting rock bottom.
When the full-scale invasion began, I sent my daughter and ex-wife abroad. I spent a few days thinking about what to do. Ultimately, I decided to enlist because the situation was dire, and I wanted to contribute my small part to the overall victory.
During my conscription service, I trained in a tank unit and briefly operated a firefighting tank. When I showed up at the recruitment office, they looked at my records and said, “Oh, a tanker! You’ll join the Marine Corps.”
During one mission, our tank hit a mine, and I lost consciousness as it caught fire. I could hear my now-deceased commander shouting over the radio, “Iliukha, brother, get out, get out! Iliukha!” I heard him through the haze of unconsciousness but couldn’t respond.
When I regained consciousness, there were flames everywhere. The others had moved away, knowing the tank could explode at any moment. I tried to operate the controls and get myself out.
Sometimes I wonder what woke me up. Why did I regain consciousness at that moment, just when I had a chance to survive? Why didn’t I burn alive in the tank?
A tank has a turret and a cannon. The cannon typically points straight ahead, and below it is the driver’s hatch—where I was seated. Before we hit the mine, we had fired a few rounds, and the cannon was slightly turned to the side. That tiny detail saved my life. Usually, when a tank hits a mine, the cannon collapses over the hatch, trapping the driver inside. Most tankers’ greatest fear isn’t just dying—it’s burning alive inside.
I managed to open the hatch and climb out. My comrades rescued me and evacuated me quickly. My leg was broken from the explosion, with shrapnel piercing through the armor.
It dangled uselessly, but I begged the doctors to save it. I had just decided to get a motorcycle and couldn’t imagine losing my leg. I refused to consent to amputation. The leg was ultimately saved, but the injuries were severe. During one of the early surgeries, my heel crumbled, and all the toes on that foot were broken.
I was eventually discharged, but I couldn’t walk. Without a heel, I couldn’t put any weight on my foot. The pain was excruciating.
I often tell people, “I was born under a lucky star, but its light wasn’t strong enough.”
About accepting my injury. I went to every specialist I could find, and my medical case was shared with experts in the U.S. and Israel. No one could guarantee success in saving my leg—my chances were one in a hundred. They told me that if I opted for amputation, I’d be walking again in a few months. For a long time, I refused to accept that option and kept searching for solutions.
There was a period when I didn’t leave the house at all. I smoked two packs of cigarettes a day. The idea of going for a walk or to the seaside in a wheelchair was unbearable to me. I used to be a runner, and now I felt incomplete. That thought weighed on me heavily.
Eventually, I began reading about prosthetics and what’s possible with them. That’s when I decided to go through with the amputation.
For almost two months, I couldn’t eat or sleep. My mind was consumed with thoughts about my leg, endlessly replaying different scenarios. But after the amputation, I woke up, saw that my leg was gone, and felt a sense of relief.
I fully came to terms with my injuries after undergoing all the reconstructive surgeries. It took a long time for me to accept my appearance—I wanted to look better. At first, I avoided spending much time outside. The burns on my face made my skin extremely sensitive; it would crack and blister quickly in the wind. The healing process from the burns was long and not entirely smooth, leaving noticeable scars. But at least the sensation in my skin remained intact.
Adapting to a prosthetic took time. There were complications with inflammation that delayed my progress, and it took about six months before I could walk on it properly. Patience isn’t my strength—I’m someone who needs results immediately. I’ll fight, push, and explore every option to move forward. Waiting quietly and dealing with uncertainty is just not who I am.
Today, I’ve come to terms with my injuries and the phantom pain that comes with them. I’ve learned to accept myself, scars and all, and I’m at peace with my new reality.
About personal growth and helping others. I’m currently working on developing the veteran community in Odesa. I’m enjoying life—swimming in the sea, appreciating the little things. Sometimes I feel like a child again. After training, I dive into the sea with the same joy I felt when, after a week in a tank, I could finally wash myself with a bottle of water.
To be honest, I’ve transitioned away from military life and settled into civilian routines. It’s a shift I notice in myself, and honestly, it feels good.
After my time in the war, I want to focus not only on my own life but also on helping others find their path. When you’ve been through this journey, you see people who need help, and if you know how to support them—why not?
I’m really inspired by the Invictus Games—the sense of teamwork and shared goals is incredible.
About society. I feel no resentment toward civilians. I don’t harbor anger or go around asking, “How much did you donate today?” But I do notice how uncomfortable some people feel talking to me. Many can’t even look me in the eye.
I understand that not everyone will fight, and yes, it’s unfair. For example, I can’t imagine walking around constantly worrying about being approached by someone from the recruitment office. Still, I doubt those avoiding service are living their best lives, always being afraid of mobilization.
In 2023, I had the chance to compare how veterans are perceived in Ukraine versus the U.S. In Odesa, people stare at you. In the U.S., I spent two months walking around with other guys on prosthetics, and no one paid us any attention. It’s just normal there.
That said, people in Ukraine are also starting to adapt. Society is changing—some offer help, others respond differently. Many times, people have asked if they could hug me. Honestly, it’s a bit of an awkward question. Some days, I don’t feel like being touched.
The most extreme incident happened in Lviv, in the foyer of Unbroken. I was having coffee with a psychologist when a woman approached, kissed my hand, and thanked me before wailing about how someone so young could live without a leg. I asked the psychologist how to handle such situations, and he said, “I don’t know, but historically, that was the highest form of respect.” In villages, priests were once the most revered, and people would kiss their hands. Still, it felt like a major invasion of my personal space.
I don’t need thanks or bows from anyone, but when people place their hand on their heart, it feels meaningful. It’s nice to know that people value the sacrifice I made.
Translated by Green Forest English School