ROMAN POLTAVETS was injured during the Ukrainian Armed Forces’ counteroffensive in his native Kharkiv region as a result of enemy shelling in June 2022. Prior to the war, he was an avid football and futsal player. A passionate advocate for sports, he has always enthusiastically embraced invitations to participate in competitions, both before the war and now. According to Roman, it signifies: “I won’t break.”
About himself and personal views. I have a volatile personality. My mood can fluctuate; sometimes I’m upbeat and social, but at other times, I sink into depressive moods. Recently, this has been tied to the loss of comrades and friends, who often appear in my dreams.
I can be quick-tempered, especially if someone insults or acts unfairly toward my family or friends. I detest gossiping behind someone’s back; to me, it’s the most despicable act. Of course, you can’t please everyone, but speaking ill of someone, especially without knowing them well, is deeply disrespectful.
I cannot stand injustice in any form.
Interests and Hobbies. Before the war, I was passionate about football and futsal, traveling to nationwide competitions. I worked as a school facilities manager because the job allowed me weekends off to play football.
From 2018 to 2019, I served as a local council deputy, which gave me opportunities to compete in tournaments for deputies, traveling annually to Chornomorsk in Odesa region and other parts of the country.
My village’s development has always mattered to me. While many rural areas face decline, I wanted ours to thrive. We had a great village head who built a modern mini-field and park. I worked with children, coaching football for free and buying balls, trophies, and everything needed. I even brought my cotton candy machine, spinning treats for kids.
I remember how excited they were the first time they tasted it. They begged for more, and the next day, each child brought a kilogram of sugar. They devoured the cotton candy, even packing it in bags to take home to their siblings and parents.
When I ran for the council, I was confident in myself and the people around me. I believe failure is part of progress; only those who do nothing avoid mistakes. Although my party didn’t win enough votes in the last election, I wasn’t disappointed.
About participation in the war. In the first days of the full-scale invasion, I went to the military enlistment office, requesting to serve in my home unit, the Kharkiv-based 92nd Brigade. Initially, the enlistment officer sent me home, but by March 1, I was already in the army.
Although I had prior experience with artillery during my conscription and professional training, I was assigned to an anti-tank platoon in the brigade, later joining an armored group.
The Russians advanced quickly into the Kharkiv region, occupying parts of it. Despite stereotypes about our Russian-speaking region and family ties with Russians, the locals strongly opposed the occupation. Civilian support was extraordinary, and their help was invaluable to us.
About the injury. At first, I kept thinking, “Why did this happen to me?” Over time, I realized my injury wasn’t the worst. The hardest part now is knowing that the guys who carried me out and saved me are no longer alive.
It was our last mission. We entered a village and dug in overnight in a wooded area. The commander informed us that at dawn, we would launch an assault and clear the village of Hrakove in the Chuhuiv district of the Kharkiv region.
I was part of the second group, with 12 men in total. We could hear gunfire—mostly rifles and machine guns—to the right. As we moved into overgrown dacha plots, one of the guys tripped a tripwire with grenades rigged on both sides. I managed to warn him, and he immediately stopped, freed his foot, and walked away. I held the tripwire in place so the group could pass, and we continued forward.
I was the last to go through. Just a few meters later, I heard a metallic “click.” The next moment, I was in the air, surrounded by dust and spinning debris. At first, I didn’t feel any pain. A comrade ran to me, shouting, “Roma, don’t lose consciousness!”
The Russians were flanking us and firing. I removed my vest and tried to protect my head. There was about 20 meters between us.
Our unit retreated temporarily, but the guys returned for me. They tried to carry me, but I was heavy, and the unbearable heat of June 19, 2022, made it even harder. I ended up hopping on one leg for a couple of kilometers, even crossing a river, until we reached the evacuation point.
About coping with the injury. I remember being in intensive care and sleeping constantly. One day, a medical intern came to my room. I asked him if he could wash me, as I hadn’t had the chance to bathe during the two weeks we’d spent in the woods. After he washed me, I felt so much better and fell asleep again, as if I could finally catch up on all the sleepless nights.
I was heavily bearded and had lost a lot of weight—so much so that even a fellow villager didn’t recognize me.
My family quickly realized something was wrong because I used to check in every morning to let them know I was okay. At night, I’d always bury my phone to avoid it being found by a Russian reconnaissance group in case we were overrun. Strangely, on that last mission, as if I anticipated something, I didn’t take my phone with me.
The support from family and friends was invaluable. They visited me almost every day. Still, at first, I was afraid to go outside. Being in a wheelchair felt deeply uncomfortable. The first time a comrade convinced me to go out, I was overwhelmed by the crowd. But over time, I started going out on my own and learned to handle the wheelchair.
I didn’t think much about my leg. From one hospital to another, all I wanted was to go home. My family knows me well—they can sense when I’m happy, sad, or down, and they know how to respond. I longed to be in a place where I felt at ease.
At home, I have a special room where I can shut the door and immerse myself in World of Tanks. When I play, I don’t feel phantom pain. If I start thinking about it, the pain kicks in, so I need to stay focused—whether by gaming or driving. It’s my way of coping and moving forward.
After the Injury. After my injury, I was deeply worried about my comrades. We had an incredibly close-knit team.
Now, I dedicate all my time to duty. I’ve been reassigned to the same military enlistment office where I was originally drafted. My role now involves coordinating the burials of our fallen soldiers and handling cases of those who are missing in action. The hardest part of my job is before I inform the families—knowing the news, realizing I have to deliver it, and actually breaking it to them. It’s an immense emotional challenge.
I’m sociable, have many connections, and know how to talk about such difficult topics. I guide families on the next steps and do my best to ensure the burial is conducted with utmost respect and precision. For grieving families, laying their loved ones to rest with dignity is incredibly important.
About support. Month after month, I eagerly awaited our training sessions for the Invictus Games. When I first attended, my spirits lifted, and I felt genuinely at home. The training sessions are my sanctuary. I enjoy having multiple workouts a day. Though I feel physically tired afterward, a quick shower brings immense relief. Before the war, I used to feel the same after training.
I’m slightly apprehensive about falling into a depressive state after Canada, once the event concludes. However, the Invictus Games have shown me how much I thrive among like-minded people, so I plan to seek out similar events. My only obstacle right now is my service obligations.
About gratitude. Honestly, I don’t like being thanked just because I wear a prosthetic. Gratitude should go to many people. For example, the civilians who brought us food in the early days of the full-scale war. We had no food supplies, and they risked their lives to feed us. Without them, we might not have survived.
A friend of mine spent a fortune buying two bulletproof vests for me—one of which I gave to another comrade. That vest saved my life. There are countless people who have made significant contributions to Ukraine’s survival.
My decision to join the war was deliberate. What happened, happened. But I believe gratitude shouldn’t be based on visible wounds alone. There are soldiers whose injuries aren’t apparent, volunteers who provide immense financial and logistical support, and psychologists who pull others out of mental abysses.
We will truly thank each other when we win this war.
Translated by Green Forest English School