Ukrainian diaries: Our medicines are running out – Culture

At Chernovich University, as in every university, there is a department; We have three male members and one female member of this body. Interestingly, since the beginning of the war the Prorector (in peacetime responsible for “educational and pedagogical work”) appears to be the one wearing the pants. She makes decisions about accommodating refugees in dormitories, goes to the border crossing if necessary, communicates with the authorities, the border police, the security service, and is involved in all matters that arise in our work with the delivery of aid. In the past few weeks communication between her and us has become more informal and texts are also exchanged in the evenings around 11pm when something urgent needs to be clarified. We have a lot to do with each other. On Monday, I called and asked if we didn’t have L-thyroxine, the colleague from Kharkiv who lives with her has only a few tablets left. I actually have two packages left that I kept just in case. I will soon dream of this drug at night, it is often asked.

When I come to her, she has a story to tell. Two weeks ago, I sent two packages of L-thyroxine on a long trip to the village of O. in the Kherson region. Her colleague lives there, he is seriously ill, vital medicines are no longer available there, the place is occupied by the Russians. The parcel was delivered over the weekend, which is a small miracle for the guy who had to do without this hormone for a few days. He says on the phone that you literally saved his life. What else did he have to say: the Russians set up a barricade two hundred meters from his house. Employees of the Ukrainian police and security service no longer exist, some went to the Russians, others disappeared. Stores, which had been empty for a while, were suddenly filled with Russian groceries, and chocolates were being handed out to children on the streets. Sad as it may sound to us, it is true in some places in the occupied territories.

We expect a new dimension to the disaster

My elderly niece is finding a new job. She has to give up the job at the travel agency that she liked so much at the moment. Since the application of martial law, she and her husband have had to stop working. The situation has not been tragic, but at least the income is slowly being generated. So she’s been working in a big warehouse for a few days now, and the guy’s taking care of the two girls. One of the largest online bookstores in Ukraine, Yakaboo, has moved a large part of its stock of books to Bojany, a village about 15 kilometers from Chernivtsi. It is a historically interesting multinational place; A large polystyrene plant was built there in 2004, and the company expanded in the ensuing years.

Bojany is one of the rich villages in Chernivtsi region, some houses look like small castles, it is part of the lifestyle in North Bukovina to flaunt your fortune. To date, in addition to building materials, books are also in stock. 20 rows each containing 35 full pallets. Employees from the Kyiv region also live there, temporary rooms and shower cabins have been created. The salary is decent for the conditions in our region, which has a weak infrastructure, and my niece will get twice as much as I get at the university, the contract is limited until the end of June, but at least it is official. Your colleague from a travel agency finds a more unusual job – in my understanding -: she works on a mining farm, a small data center for bitcoin. Another former colleague fulfilled her dream by trying her hand as a graphic designer in a small company that also moved to Chernivtsi.

The new extent of the catastrophe will not be reached until the coming days. There is no doubt that the main attack is being prepared to be a special Easter gift from the “brotherly people”. We receive inquiries from all sides, especially from colleagues from the university, our acquaintances, and volunteers from other cities. Because we cannot help with equipment or special devices for the front, we try to buy food and medicine. Tuesday morning, I’m sitting in the office trying to calculate what we can promise from the donation money I currently have.

From the list of antibiotics of the Kyiv military hospital, sent to us by a well-known doctor, there is nothing in Chernivtsi, not even surgical threads. You can still get a lot for it in Kyiv, we would order and pay, my colleague M would do, and someone from the hospital would be able to pick up the order from the pharmacy. Then comes S, he needs money to buy the Easter bread that was ordered for the refugees in the dormitories. In the chat, I read D.’s question about whether we still have anything in the store for Mykolaiv. I hope someone from the camp will reply, and I must go myself – we will go to Suceava to get relief supplies from the Technical University of Bucharest. Two of their colleagues and the university driver got special permits allowing them to travel abroad from now on. Once again a new experience.

Read more episodes of this column here.

Leave a Comment