Originally from the Kherson region, YEVHEN KAUS admits he’d never even been to the Black Sea before his service — he’s always been drawn to his hometown’s Azov Sea. A lifelong hard worker, Yevhen now envisions a future dedicated to rehabilitation and training programs to support fellow veterans on their journeys to recovery.
About himself. I’m a family man, with three kids — two sons and a daughter. I’d like to think of myself as a kind person; it takes a lot to get me worked up.
Right now, I’m into rowing on yawls in the Odessa region. During the power outages, I’d pass the time assembling puzzles. My hobbies depend on my mood; sometimes I crave something active, and other times I just want to do something a bit more relaxed.
After my injury, I spent a lot of time stuck in bed, so now I feel like I need to keep moving. Before that, free time wasn’t really a thing for me. My mom always said, ‘There’s no such thing as ‘can’t’ or ‘don’t want to’ — there’s only ‘have to.’’ I am the only child, and was raised by her alone, and she taught me the value of hard work. She worked multiple jobs, and I handled the household chores. I had a lot of energy back then — used to work all day, help around, hit the club in the evening, then get up in the morning and do it all again. I remember getting frustrated sometimes, especially when my friends went out while I had to look after the geese and chickens. Once I threw a stone and accidentally broke a goose’s leg. I even had to make up a story, saying it got tangled and broke it on its own.”
Before the War. I’ve always had multiple jobs; there was no sitting around at home. Our house was free, and I was always out working to support my family. My home region in Kherson is occupied now. I used to often attend military training, and in 2019, I signed a contract to serve. I could sense that a bigger conflict was coming. There were rumors among us that something was brewing, although commander didn’t say anything outright.
Full-Scale War. When the full-scale invasion began, my priority while on duty was to find a way to get my family out of our occupied home. It was morally draining. As soon as they occupied Kherson, the Russians began going house to house where military families lived. My family had a very tough time getting out.
About Injury and Coping with Trauma. I was injured on August 23, 2022, on Flag Day. We were in the village of Oleksandrivka in Kherson, and an artillery strike hit my legs—I could see them hanging by threads. I shouted at the guys to shoot me down, thinking I couldn’t live like that. Losing my legs or arms had been my worst fear in the war.
On the next day, Independence Day, I woke up without my legs. I didn’t tell my wife right away. I don’t even remember if she heard it from me or from my comrades. My mom definitely didn’t hear it from me.
When I did call my wife, the first thing I told her was, ‘Find yourself a good husband.’ I still have moments like that, where those words come out. Then, it feels okay again. I’ve just seen too many cases where wives left their wounded husbands, and I can imagine what those men must’ve felt. It’s a terrifying thing.
At first, my wife was by my side. But once I could manage a bit and move around on my own, I sent her back to the kids. Since then, it’s been hard to ask for help; it’s uncomfortable, and I find it easier to handle things alone. I don’t want to be a burden.
My legs had always fed me. I worked all kinds of jobs, always moving from one place to another. Losing them, I thought, ‘That’s it. I’m finished.’ The kids are growing, they need to be fed, and I couldn’t see how I’d be able to provide. I felt desperate, totally lost.
But my kids don’t see me as disabled, and that matters to me. My family supported me, as did my comrades. There were six of us in the ward, and that support was essential. I drew strength from showing the guys I wasn’t giving up. Maybe I even inspired them, seeing as they had their limbs but were injured, while I was learning to move without my legs.
It was hard and frightening to be at home without others around. Alone with my thoughts, I wanted to do things with my wife and kids, go places with them, but I couldn’t. My thoughts weighed heavily on me.
At first, I was scared to be out in public, embarrassed that people might see me like this and think or say something. There was a sense of being incomplete. But it was important to go outside, even if I didn’t want to. Working on school assignments with my kids kept me occupied; we’d spend half the day on their homework.
Today, I’m incredibly grateful to the guys who pulled me out and saved me. Unfortunately, most of them are gone now.
About society and city inclusivity. One time outside a store in Pivdenne (which used to be called Yuzhne), a woman tried to give me money. I refused, of course—it was quite uncomfortable. But a few days later, we ran into each other again, and this time, she gifted me a pillow with a picture of a puppy on it.
Overall, Pivdenne is accessible enough, but there was one time I had to be carried to the dentist because the clinic didn’t have a ramp. They had to carry me inside and up to the second and third floors to different specialists.
It’s a nice feeling when people simply place a hand over their heart or nod in acknowledgment when our eyes meet.
I really want to be able to stand on my own, walk with my kids, and not rely on electricity. Living on the eighth floor, when the elevator’s out, I’d manage to go down three floors in my wheelchair with my wife’s help, then make my way down the rest on my hands. Getting back up, though—that was even tougher.
Once, I had a meeting early in the morning. The car was waiting below, but the elevator wasn’t working. We reached out to the building supervisor, but the elevator technician said, ‘My day starts at 9 a.m. Can’t help you.’ So, I had to make my own way down. A taxi driver helped me that time.
About sports. I was never really into sports, but after my injury, I started archery as a part of my rehab. My coach from Odesa sent me a link about the Invictus Games, and that’s how I ended up here.
I needed something to keep me moving, something to focus on because all kinds of thoughts—bad ones, too—started creeping in. Archery wasn’t about the sport for me; it was a way to distract myself from those negative thoughts.
About happiness. What brings me happiness today is being around my comrades. My wife might be a bit hurt that I’m not home as much, but I can’t live any other way now.