Ukraine: To Chornomorsk and the Black Sea
Day 2 Ukraine Medical Clinics. Tuesday, 1 November 2022
We were informed this morning that we would be travelling south of Odessa to the city of Chornomorsk. Armed with my happy and foxy compression socks, I was ready for Day 2 of our Ukraine Medical Mission:
Earlier, as I prepared for the day, the soft voice of the man whom I visited at his home yesterday tenderly invaded my thoughts. As we embraced just before leaving, he had prayed, and though I could not understand his words I knew the prayer was meant for me and my team. I was deeply struck by the fact that this precious man, who cannot walk and who lives with his wife in a small village outside of Odessa where the threat of bombing and death is a daily reality, was speaking to His Creator on my and my team’s behalf. There are no words to express how humbled I felt and how dramatically gratitude welled up inside me. And, there was a deep, deep joy, too, at having met him and his wife. His voice…it was ever so soft and beautifully lyrical as he prayed and I shall never, ever forget it. Or him.
On our way to Chornomorsk, Aniel, our driver and guide, pointed out an old munitions factory on our left. It was a Russian - former Soviet - land mine factory. And, the irony he said was that the land mines created therein, just outside Odessa Ukraine, are now being used to kill Ukrainians.
Aniel also showed us the Odessa International Airport and told us of the new, recently built, and very beautiful wing of the airport, which had been destroyed in May of this year by the Russians.
We picked up Alexei, our Ukrainian pediatrician. And as we drove along, he pointed out Odessa Chinatown. I’ll look forward to exploring there one day and taking photo after photo and, I’m sure, eating and eating.
Alexei and Roma, speaking in Ukrainian, were deep in conversation. They turned to me after a bit and explained what they had been talking about:
Roma - “Moldovans eat bread with everything, even ice cream! Even watermelon!” [Bread and watermelon!]
Alexei - “Watermelon comes from North Africa [I had no idea watermelons came from North Africa - must investigate these phenomenal revelations further] and they eat it with bread there. And this tradition came to Ukraine and Moldova from there.”
Roma - “Grandma had a bread oven. She used 50 liters of flour to make the bread because we have a BIG family and the bread was to feed us for the whole week! Because it contained only natural ingredients the bread would last all week. And, we each had a job in the bread making and I loved this time together. The bread in Moldova is called placinte. I LOVE to bake.”
And, Roma and Nastea explained to me that they live in the Rîșcani district of Moldova, about a 3hr bus ride north of Chișinău, the capitol of Moldova.
Not long after this exchange, we arrived.
Women were selling flowers about a block from our clinic…
[There is something formative stirring in my psyche. A budding (pun intended) recognition of the necessity of flowers here. I must give this much more thought…]
As we were setting up, we learned that Alexei’s and my roles were to be switched. We did not anticipate many children so I would be a provider along with our physician Ginger, and Alexei would work with D.J. at triage. A woman approached me and introduced herself as Svieta (short for Svetlana) and told me she was an oncologist/hematologist who had come from farther west in Ukraine to help for the week and would serve as my interpreter for the day. She was an incredible gift to me.
She cared so deeply for the patients and was so pleasant. We were a great team. Together, with her interpreting, we prayed I think for every patient. And some of them prayed for us!
I had the opportunity to give my foxy socks away to another woman with varicosities. Like the woman yesterday, she didn’t seem to mind that I just took them off my feet and gave them to her. In fact, there seemed a sacred moment shared between us as this woman with varicose vein pressure and discomfort in her legs witnessed me, an (admittedly strange) American woman, doff her socks and hand them to her. Perhaps in that exchange, in that witnessing of a woman’s bare feet readily returning to their clogs, a far greater comfort than any mere pair of socks could provide, was given. This is my hope.
[Note to Self: bring lots and lots of happy compression socks next time. And, there must be a next time.]
The morning buzzed along and we were able, with the medications and supplies we brought with us, to help many with injuries and blood pressure problems. We were able to refill thyroid and diabetes medications, too. There was a paramedic who came in complaining of right rib pain. His blood pressure was through the roof and as I palpated his right front and back rib area, I could feel the tight mass of tender muscle spasm. “Do you carry a lot of patients on stretchers?” I asked. “All the time,” he responded, Svetia interpreting. I gave him my go-to cocktail for muscle strains: Ibuprofen 400mg + acetaminophen (paracetamol in Ukraine) 1000mg + cyclobenzaprine (or Flexeril, my chosen muscle relaxant to prescribe) 10mg to take together with food every 8hr for the next seven days. Was he able to take a week off, I wondered aloud? He said he could so I recommended he take the time off, allowing his injured rib muscles to rest, take the medications, and use ice and heat as needed for comfort. If the pain came back when he went back to work (as I suspect it might), if there is a way to adjust his duties to prevent further or worsening injury, this would be helpful (but perhaps not realistic, I thought). We addressed his blood pressure with meds which, hopefully he’ll be able to refill at a local pharmacy when he runs out and we talked a bit about stress and too much salt in the diet. But, as I explained to him, I felt a bit impotent saying what I was saying about stress reduction when he is a paramedic in Ukraine during a time of war. He was kind and smiled, understanding my intent. We prayed together and I asked God to protect him, his family, his patients, his city, and his country.
The pastor who organized the clinic, also arranged for an ultrasonographer to come in and check for blocked carotid arteries, a great big risk for stroke (as is high blood pressure). Ginger and I thought the little machine very cool and it sparked a talk between us about the current practice of checking for otherwise undetectable cardiac activity in people who have had a heart attack or other cardiac compromise and appear to have died. It’s a last-ditch way in the ER and other areas of the hospital to make sure that all resuscitation efforts can justifiably be stopped. It’s not always a necessary procedure, but sometimes it helps decision-making.
Women of the church prepared us a beautiful lunch in the on-site kitchen and they gave me a yummy cappuccino, speaking directly to my heart and soul and causing me to love them forever. There were delicious cabbage roles and salad and bread and sweets and I was filled to the brim in more ways than one! And, while we ate, D.J. found a child to love. (I think it’s one of his superpowers. What a calming influence he must have been on every call he was involved in as a ground and flight paramedic.)
The afternoon at our clinic went by so quickly. Too quickly.
Together, Ginger and I saw 41 patients, many of whom also received reading glasses. (We didn’t have an opthalmologist today, but had brought a bunch of reading glasses with us. I noticed we ran out of the larger magnifications, +2.25 - +3.75, very quickly.)
[Note to Self: Even though a wonderful organization sells these reading glasses to CERT for next to nothing, still make a trip to the Dollar Tree and buy up their stock of readers in the larger magnifications, especially. For next time.]
I traded WhatsApp info with Svetia so that we may stay in touch always. And we took a photo together. Her tender heart deeply impacted mine.
Our very last patient came in as we were packing up. She was beautiful. Roma helped me interpret.
After packing up and before settling into the van, we got a group photo.
These group shots are fast becoming tremendous gifts to my heart. Sort of like coffee, but different.
Before heading back to Odessa, in the fast-waning light of the Ukrainian sky, Aniel took us to the Black Sea nearby. Because of the possibilities of mines, there was no actual beach walking. We loved it anyway even with scattered reminders of the war.
Seeing the Black Sea for the first time in a place as unlikely as Ukraine was thrilling. It is beautiful and there is history here, of course, of other wars. But all wars combined cannot compare to the incalculable number of instances of breathlessness and laughter which have occurred here. I am certain of this. Breathlessness, laughter, love, they all overwhelm and supersede war.
As we drove back to Odessa, Aniel told us the following true story:
“The church where we were today is a special church. A few months ago two Russian ships were sunk by the Ukrainian Navy not far from here, and the few survivors came ashore very near here. After the Russian military men were treated for a while at the local hospital, because space at the hospital was limited, the authorities asked the pastor if he could take care of them. The Ukrainian church where we just conducted our clinic and the pastor here whom you met, agreed, and for two months they housed the Russian men, cared for them, and fed them. They stayed right here, in the church where you conducted your clinic today, and helped them recover completely. Then they were sent back home to Russia, exchanged for Ukrainian prisoners.”
Wow. Just think of it. Because of selfless acts of care toward the enemy, Ukrainian soldiers got to come home. And so did Russian soldiers…
Because the mystery woman and babe joined us on the ride back to Odessa, Roma sat in the back of the van with our supplies and I turned and caught his profile in the beam of a headlight.
A very special dinner awaited us back at the church where we were staying in Odessa and it included DILL PICKLES!!!
Yes, dill pickles were an integral part of the dinner served. They were served with these delectable dumplings called varenyky.
I could not get enough - of either! In all honesty, I ate FOUR pickles. And not the small ones! Our hosts and the team smiled and chuckled at my pickle gluttony. I remain unashamed.
It was a momentous day, full of signs of war, visible and invisible, from high blood pressure readings and spasming ribcage muscles, to land mine factories and buried land mines, to destroyed beautiful airports and selling flowers as an act of rebellion. (Do those women know how important and critical their flower sales are, I wonder?) We saw a sea that is a participant in war and we heard of men, victims of that sea and the war waged upon it, who were saved by their enemies; the same story depicting both the horrors of violent death as well as miraculous, life-redeeming forgiveness. I am undone by it all and so very filled and changed.
I am so glad I’m here learning these lessons and falling in love with so many and seeing so much and hearing and bearing witness to so many stories and tasting the most delectable delights including…
PICKLES!!!
Thank you so much for sharing this journey with us and finding the beauty and light in the darkness.