Survivor of 120 operations and 170 anaesthetics: the story of a veteran who confounded doctors' expectations
Days in surgery: 396. Number of operations: 120. Anaesthetic procedures: 170. Bouts of sepsis: 6. These are the harrowing statistics that 28-year-old veteran Oleksandr (Sashko) Bezverkhnii can "boast" of in just one year of his life.
After he was wounded in 2023, Sashko’s legs and buttocks were shredded. He lay there all night with hundreds of tiny fragments embedded deep within his body as the relentless Russian attacks continued.
Doctors amputated both of Sashko’s legs and meticulously reconstructed the ravaged back surface of his body, while his wife spent night after night at the intensive care unit and volunteers from the Ptakhy (Birds) project supplied expensive antibiotics to keep him alive.
It took a year of endless operations before Sashko could finally sit upright. Thanks to the surgeons’ skill, constant rehabilitation and his wife’s unwavering support, the veteran reclaimed his independence, learning how to get around in a wheelchair.
Now Sashko is getting ready to be fitted with prosthetics at the Protez Foundation Center run by Yakov Gradinar, an American doctor of Ukrainian descent.
Ukrainska Pravda. Zhyttia (Life) talked to Sashko and his wife Yulia about his long months of treatment and the power of human compassion that wrested the soldier from death’s grasp.
Russian artillery rained down as Sashko evacuated his wounded brother-in-arms
Sashko and Yulia Bezverkhnii have shared nine years of their lives together. They were both born and brought up in a small village in Kherson Oblast that was occupied by Russian forces in the early days of the full-scale war.
Before the full-scale invasion, Sashko worked in his native village – farming, and in winter, crafting and mending metal hulls for sea vessels.
After the invasion, the couple decided to leave occupied territory. But it was dangerous for Sashko: the Russians might have targeted their car if he was in it or opened fire on it.
They left separately for the sake of their daughter’s safety. Yulia and little Nikol fled two months into the occupation, while Sashko escaped after four.
Sashko settled in Ternopil in Ukraine’s west, where he found work as a welder, forging cages, gates and other metal structures. He’d go fishing every other week, and he and Yulia raised their daughter.
Life changed when Sashko was conscripted into the 214th OPFOR Separate Special Assault Battalion. He trained as a marksman, then later as an infantry fighting vehicle driver and mechanic.
On the front line, he would evacuate wounded and fallen comrades, repairing vehicles during his downtime. On the day that life would change forever for his family, Sashko and a comrade set off to rescue a wounded soldier.
"I thought we’d be able to manage it together, but he couldn’t walk. We dragged him as long as we could, and we called two more lads to help. The Russians deliberately bided their time until there were more of us, then they unleashed hell. That’s when I was hit," the veteran shares.
"I can hardly remember that time, I was in shock. Most of what I know comes from what other people have told me."
Sashko was discovered at dawn. Russian artillery was raining down and many of the soldiers were wounded, yet his brothers-in-arms braved the chaos to drag him, unconscious, to safety.
"The choice was surviving without my legs or being buried with them"
From the moment Sashko was evacuated from his position, his life would hinge on bold, risky decisions made by different people at different times.
First he was rushed to the stabilisation point. Doctors doubted he’d make it to the hospital given the amount of blood he’d lost, but they took the gamble.
Meanwhile, Yulia was on edge: she was used to talking to her husband every day, and she’d heard nothing since the previous day.
His phone was uncontactable. Yulia began calling the brothers-in-arms who’d been with him. They confirmed Sashko was wounded, but didn’t go into detail.
Yulia got in touch with the command and the doctors. A young woman with the alias Sova (Owl) helped her.
"She said: ‘Sashko’s seriously injured, we only just found him, he’s on his way to a hospital in Dnipro now,’" Yulia recalls.
Yulia and Sashko’s mother quickly booked tickets for the train.
"When I walked into the intensive care unit, I didn’t see anything too scary at first," Yulia shares. "He had all these machines around him – his heart and kidneys were being kept going artificially. The lower half of him was covered up, but his face and hands were unscathed. At that point I didn’t grasp the severity of the situation.
On the first day, they said: ‘His condition is critical, his chances are slim.’ When we asked what we should do, the doctors spread their hands out helplessly and said: ‘Go to the church and pray. We’re doing all we can, but we don’t hold out much hope.’"
The next morning, the doctors told them the risk of infection was sky-high and they had to eliminate the source.
Initially, the infection was confined to one leg, which was utterly crushed, fractured, and riddled with shrapnel. But it spread overnight. The doctors concluded that it was futile to try to save his other leg.
Yulia signed the consent forms for the amputation of both limbs. Now, Sashko is grateful that she made that decision: "It was clear that I could either survive, or be buried with my legs," he says.
Over the next week, Sashko underwent daily surgical interventions. Then he was airlifted from Dnipro to Kyiv. The Feofaniia Hospital had agreed to accept this complex case.
"Finding a hospital was a struggle," Yulia recalls. "Everyone was afraid he wouldn’t survive the journey. Feofaniia agreed to take him. He was flown by helicopter, and his mum and I drove there."
The Kyiv doctors warned the next 10 days would be pivotal – Sashko would either pull through or die. A protracted battle against fungus and infection began.
Sashko endured six bouts of sepsis in as many months. Each one was a challenge for the doctors, as he developed resistance to antibiotics, rendering many drugs ineffective.
"It was very difficult, because Sashko is resistant to antibiotics," Yulia says.
Sashko has no memory of this phase in his life. His personal timeline restarted three months after he was wounded, when he woke up for the first time.
He recognised Yulia instantly, and his first question was: "Where’s Nikol?" At that point he didn’t realise he’d lost his legs.
"The stumps were covered up, and with all the medication I was on, I didn’t understand what had happened. But I kept asking for my trainers. I had this idea that I couldn’t stand up because I didn’t have any trainers.
I suspected my legs were gone, but no one spelled it out. Then a psychologist came to see me and said: there’s some bad news and some good news. Your legs are gone, but they’re making new ones," he recalls.
The doctors had feared Sashko might sink into depression, but he took the news with stoic resolve. He spoke little of the gravity of his injury, focusing instead on the war, his brothers-in-arms, and his daughter.
For little Nikol’s sake, he chose to keep going.
Small victories and the kindness that saved him
Sashko spent 18 months in the Feofaniia Hospital, including more than a year in the surgical unit. Not only had he lost both legs, his lower back and glutes had been torn apart by the explosion.
"The operations, clean-ups and skin grafts took 396 days. He had surgery almost every other day. He had 120 operations and nearly 170 rounds of anesthesia, including some related to his kidney procedures. He spent a month on bedside dialysis," Yulia says.
The doctors had to quite literally stitch the entire back of Sashko's body together again: they reshaped his residual limbs, reconstructed muscle tissue, and gradually grafted on small patches of his own skin.
The doctors used medical expanders – implants placed under the skin and gradually filled with liquid to stretch the tissue – to generate larger pieces of skin. It took about a month to prepare each donor area.
Through it all, Yulia stayed by his side. For over a year, they lived together in the hospital room, while their daughter remained with her grandma in Ternopil.
"The doctors understood how complex his case was and how much care he needed. They really tried to help in any way they could," Yulia shares. "I still don't know how we got through it. I guess our daughter gave us the strength. And the support from complete strangers. So many kind, compassionate people saved us."
Recovery was gruelling. Each small victory would be followed by setbacks. Just when it seemed Sashko was improving, more complications would arise.
Even seemingly minor issues like kidney stones caused major challenges. Every medical procedure meant new risks and a new course of antibiotics. But the doctors kept on fighting to save him.
Sashko spent most of his time lying on his stomach, with every movement causing pain. But after so many operations, even the tiniest improvement felt like a victory.
Yulia pushed him constantly, encouraging him to do his exercises and to get around in his wheelchair, and it paid off. Sashko fondly remembers the first time he lifted his arm again, rolled over by himself, made his own cup of coffee.
Sashko's recovery seemed like a miracle not just to his family and his doctors, but also to Tata Kepler and her team at Ptakhy. They provided medications and found a sponsor to help cover the cost of his treatment.
One day, the head of the ICU and the head of the department walked into Sashko's room and said: "The charity that's been supplying your antibiotics would like to meet you." That's how Tata became a true friend to the family.
"We didn't know the full story. When I finally met Tata and heard how she and the hospital had fought for Sashko, I was shocked. The antibiotics she sourced from the US and Europe basically saved his life," Yulia says.
Sashko's daughter saved up for her dad's prosthetics – now she’s saving up for trainers
Nikol is now five, and for almost two of those years, she's mostly seen her parents on a phone screen.
At first she didn't know her dad was in hospital. But about a month after he was injured, she started asking when Mummy was coming home and why she couldn't talk to Daddy on video.
"We realised we had to start telling her the truth, little by little," Yulia says. "She was going to see her dad eventually. And he'd be different. So my mum started showing her YouTube videos of men walking on prosthetic legs."
Nikol visited her dad in Kyiv a few times. At first she was very cautious, afraid of doing something wrong. She'd approach him slowly and only hold his hand. But gradually she grew more comfortable.
"Yulia said to her, 'Daddy still hurts a bit.' The second time she came, she relaxed. We started playing around. She even climbed into bed with me and had a ride on my wheelchair…
Every moment with my daughter is special: watching cartoons, playing, reading a book. If she hears I'm listening to a song, she'll want to hear it too, like one from Nord Division," Sashko recalls, smiling.
Nikol has a video call with her dad every day. She knows he's about to get his new legs.
One day, when her grandma was picking her up from kindergarten, they passed a man walking on prosthetics.
Nikol went up to him and said: "Do you know my daddy is going to have legs just like yours soon?"
"When Nika sees someone with prosthetic limbs, she's not surprised. To her, it's just a normal part of life during wartime. People lose their legs and get new ones," Yulia says.
Back when Sashko was still in Kyiv, Nikol started her first little fundraiser. She began saving money for her dad's new legs.
"She made a jar and wrote 'For Daddy's legs' on it, and she put in every bit of money that relatives gave her for sweets," Yulia shares.
"At kindergarten, she'd ask: 'Can you give me one hryvnia? I'm saving up for my daddy's legs.' And people would give it to her."
But recently Nikol's fundraising target has changed – now she's saving up for trainers. Yakiv Gradinar, one of the top prosthetists in the United States, has personally promised her that he'll get her daddy back on his feet.
"I don't need you to sit. I need you to walk"
It was thanks to Tata Kepler that about two months ago, Sashko and Yulia were able to connect with the Protez Foundation.
Yulia looked forward to their consultation with Yakiv, the clinic's co-founder and lead prosthetist, who was due to visit again from the US.
"When we finally met Yakiv, Sashko said he couldn't sit upright. Yakiv replied, 'I don't need you to sit. I need you to walk'," Yulia recalls.
"Our daughter was with us that day. She ran up to Yakiv and said, "I know you're going to make my daddy legs." Yakiv’s a deeply religious man and a father of seven. He smiled and replied, 'Of course we will.'
He told us later that he couldn't sleep that night. He kept thinking about the complexity of Sashko's case – how to plan every step carefully, to avoid taking one step forward and ten steps back. He'd made a promise to a child."
About a week after that meeting, Yakiv told them: "You're going to America." The following Friday they were on their way.
Yulia remembers the moment when the cabin crew announced that military personnel were on board the plane and the passengers stood up as a sign of respect. That was just the beginning of many warm welcomes ahead.
The couple are now at the Protez Foundation Center in Minnesota. Every day, Sashko works with occupational therapists, does special exercises and trains to walk again. Some time in his schedule is also set aside for specialised massage therapy.
Sashko is learning to walk on "stubbies" – short training prosthetics. The height is adjusted gradually, and he's being taught how to keep his balance. Even a single centimetre in length can make a big difference.
"Now they've lifted him as high as possible – this will be his final height. The next stage is to fit the knee joints, the feet and all the other ‘components'," Yulia explains.
Sashko plans to go back to Ternopil, reunite with his family, go fishing again and get back behind the wheel. He’d spent half his life driving, so the thought of never doing it again used to scare him.
But more than anything, he longs to be with his daughter. Nikol is in touch with her parents every day, even though the time difference has changed the rhythm of their conversations.
"What's the first thing you'll do when you come back to Ukraine with your prosthetics?" we ask.
"I'll go straight to the kindergarten to see my daughter," Sashko smiles. "She really wants me to. It'll be a surprise for the kids… I need to get back on my feet and set my daughter up for life."
The thought of his daughter and wife have been a stronger support for Sashko than any stubbies.
Olena Barsukova for Ukrainska Pravda. Zhyttia
Translation:Theodore Holmes and Tetiana Buchkovska
Editing:Teresa Pearce
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