Talking about the explosion
A few here have asked about the war in Ukraine, some have been inane, others seem genuinely concerned. The Russian behemoth frightens most of the others in the CIS (Confederation of Independent States), a euphemism for the ex-Soviet Union! Belarus has a very pro-Russian dictator, who seized power from the ballot box just as Putin has. Kazakhstan and a few of the other largely Muslim republics are also trying to show a kind-of-pro-Russian-slant, out of fear. Putin is dictating to them what materials he wants them to supply him, and there is no debate about the price!
The day my friends and I were blown up, was when I was visiting friends from University who were living in the east, close to the Donbas region, which was where my boyfriend of the time also lived. The alert went out, and we stepped to relative safety between two buildings (residential buildings) when a rain of missiles struck the city. We were in a line waiting to go through a door and into the basement of the building when a missile struck the ground and blew up, not twenty metres away. Four of my friends were killed instantly. I won't name them here, because I am deeply saddened. Three of them were ethnic Russian!
I was blown up too, but I was only wounded. A piece of shrapnel that was almost spent (it likely hit my friends before it hit me) ripped into my abdomen at an angle, tearing a hole in my stomach area, lascerating the muscles I have at my lower middle abdomen, just above my navel. I was thrown to the ground, and everyone in front of us that could, continued down the stairs to cover.
I lay on the ground some time until the police came to look at the damage, with the missiles having stopped falling. A police paramedic found me, and immediately tried to close my wound with a field dressing of some kind. I got all the intelligence about what had happened afterwards, when the police came to the hospital where I was taken to follow up. I was ultimately taken to Kyiv, and then further west to Lviv. My Dad found me in Kyiv, and he was shocked at my condition.
The medical doctors and surgeons were absolutely brilliant! Unfortunately two of the team were killed during a Russian attack on the hospital two months later. By that time I had been moved to Lviv, and Mum and my aunt, had come to the city, and were basically sleeping in the hospital waiting room, while Dad was making himself known to the militia, so he could step into the fight. The surgeon sewed my stomach together from the inside, using micro-surgical techniques. I was in hospital just over a month, and transferred twice due to the Russian onslaught.
Two months after this we were living in Berlin. I was mending, and seeing a German surgeon at a very well equipped German hospital. I was also sent to see a trauma psychiatrist, who put me on tablets for control of PTSD. Seven months after being discharged from their care, with outpatient appointments given me, I moved here to Barcelona. My Mum and aunt opted to stay in Berlin, as the hospital was being used to treat Ukrainian soldiers maimed by the war.
The day my friends and I were blown up, was when I was visiting friends from University who were living in the east, close to the Donbas region, which was where my boyfriend of the time also lived. The alert went out, and we stepped to relative safety between two buildings (residential buildings) when a rain of missiles struck the city. We were in a line waiting to go through a door and into the basement of the building when a missile struck the ground and blew up, not twenty metres away. Four of my friends were killed instantly. I won't name them here, because I am deeply saddened. Three of them were ethnic Russian!
I was blown up too, but I was only wounded. A piece of shrapnel that was almost spent (it likely hit my friends before it hit me) ripped into my abdomen at an angle, tearing a hole in my stomach area, lascerating the muscles I have at my lower middle abdomen, just above my navel. I was thrown to the ground, and everyone in front of us that could, continued down the stairs to cover.
I lay on the ground some time until the police came to look at the damage, with the missiles having stopped falling. A police paramedic found me, and immediately tried to close my wound with a field dressing of some kind. I got all the intelligence about what had happened afterwards, when the police came to the hospital where I was taken to follow up. I was ultimately taken to Kyiv, and then further west to Lviv. My Dad found me in Kyiv, and he was shocked at my condition.
The medical doctors and surgeons were absolutely brilliant! Unfortunately two of the team were killed during a Russian attack on the hospital two months later. By that time I had been moved to Lviv, and Mum and my aunt, had come to the city, and were basically sleeping in the hospital waiting room, while Dad was making himself known to the militia, so he could step into the fight. The surgeon sewed my stomach together from the inside, using micro-surgical techniques. I was in hospital just over a month, and transferred twice due to the Russian onslaught.
Two months after this we were living in Berlin. I was mending, and seeing a German surgeon at a very well equipped German hospital. I was also sent to see a trauma psychiatrist, who put me on tablets for control of PTSD. Seven months after being discharged from their care, with outpatient appointments given me, I moved here to Barcelona. My Mum and aunt opted to stay in Berlin, as the hospital was being used to treat Ukrainian soldiers maimed by the war.
