Recovery of veteran Volodymyr Kotsur

"Before the war, I worked in the police, which is why this call sign stuck with me when I joined the military. I had an ordinary life: a job, a wife, children, a home, and plans for the future. One day, on my way home from work, I received a draft notice. My wife and I sat down and had an honest conversation. That’s when I decided to enlist in the Border Guard Service. We told the children I was going to training courses – we didn't want them to worry.

On February 8, 2024, I entered active service. Back then, I even joked that if I went to fight, the war would end sooner. My combat path took me through Vovchansk, the Chornobyl zone, and the border of the Volyn region. Later, our unit was redeployed to the Serebryansky Forest area. That was where the hardest positions were. We all understood that this could be a one-way trip.

My wife and I had an agreement: no matter what happened, the children should not know the full horrors of the war. When I found out I had to head out to the positions, I called my wife:

– There will be no signal. We will only use radios. I gave your number to my brothers-in-arms; they will let you know how things are if they get a chance.

I couldn't say much to the kids. I just told them:

– I’ll be home soon.

And for the first time, I couldn't hold back my tears.

We held our positions for fourteen days. Those fourteen days are exactly what I cannot remember. I don't remember the moment I was wounded either. My brothers-in-arms later told me it was a drone drop. The blast threw my comrade and me in different directions. I took the brunt of it. The shelling continued all around us, and the guys had to wait for the right moment to safely evacuate me.

Everything that happened after that, I know only from my wife’s words. She told me:

"When the commander called your mom and said you had a head injury and were in critical condition, the ground slipped from under my feet. I started calling your brothers-in-arms, trying to find out at least something. Together with your brother-in-law, we immediately rushed to Dnipro. We couldn't find you at the Mechnikov Hospital. They told us to look in the military hospital. The scariest part was opening the doors to the intensive care unit. I was terrified of seeing the worst. When I walked in, I saw that your arms and legs were intact. Your head was wrapped in bandages, and you were surrounded by tubes and machines helping you breathe. I stood there thinking: "He is alive. He is whole. That means we can handle this. Tears were streaming down my face, but inside, there was hope."

A few days later, I was transferred to Kyiv. Again, I only know this from my wife’s words. She said: "The hardest days began. The doctors said your brain was barely responding. You were in a medically induced coma. Every day I came to see you, believing that you would come back to us. Then, one evening, I got a call saying you were being transferred to the Kyiv Regional Hospital. I arrived there filled with fear, but the doctor came out of the ICU and said:

– Your husband is breathing on his own. His brain has started to respond. That was the first time in a very long while that I cried tears of joy."

My wife's greatest fear was that I wouldn't recognize her or the children. She told me: "I kept talking to you, holding your hand, asking you to give me a sign. You could squeeze my fingers a little, or sometimes blink your eyes. One day, the doctor asked:

– Who is this standing next to you?

And you said softly, we almost read it from your lips:

– My wife.

Then you named our son and daughter. In that moment, I knew you were coming back to us." But many more trials lay ahead.

Pneumonia knocked me backward. It meant fighting again, treatment again, uncertainty again. On January 7, I was transferred to Lviv. My wife says that this was where my new life truly began. Slowly, they removed my tracheostomy tube, and we began moving away from catheters and medical equipment. My body started to fight back.

A few weeks later, rehabilitation began. I had to relearn how to sit. I learned how to keep my balance. I learned how to control my body. Every single movement was incredibly difficult. Then came long months of rehabilitation at the "Unbroken" center, at Next Step, and in Syanky. The doctors say that my traumatic brain injury is very severe, and every stage of recovery demands a vast amount of time and effort.

Today, I can already dress myself, shave, and take care of my basic daily needs. I travel to my training sessions on my own in an electric wheelchair. But my greatest battle is still ongoing. I still cannot walk without assistance.

My biggest dream is to stand on my own feet again. I want to walk alongside my wife. I want to hold my children tight. I want to make up for the time that the war stole from our family.

Today, I need to undergo specialized rehabilitation at the "Western Rehabilitation and Sports Center" of the National Sports Committee for the Disabled of Ukraine. The cost of this rehabilitation is 120,000 UAH. That is where I have a chance to take another step toward an independent life".