УКР Field medic Olga Kharchenko on service and art
After World War II, the world got used to the idea that war is a profession: you choose it and go fight somewhere far away for something whose value isn’t always clear to those who didn’t choose the military.
But when the question becomes the survival of your own country and nation, war becomes a “workplace” for very different kinds of people.
Olga Kharchenko is a frontline medic and medical instructor with the 8th Separate Rifle Battalion of the 78th Air Assault Regiment. She has carried out more than a few evacuations.
Before mobilizing in February 2022, at the start of the full-scale invasion, she had already earned a degree in art history, worked in IT and journalism, designed video games, and—crucially—served under contract from 2016 to 2019. That service proved decisive in her decision to mobilize.
“I wasn’t as healthy as in 2016, but how could I stay home if I had the experience and skills?” she says.
Olga comes from a family of artists. Her mother and father work at the National Academy of Fine Arts and Architecture. Her father is also a frontline veteran, now demobilized due to age. Leleka spoke with Olga about war, family, art, and life.
Where needed
— Where will you go to serve?
— Where I’m needed.
That brief exchange happened at the enlistment office in February 2022. Minutes later, Olga already knew which brigade she would join. She first went to the 103rd Lviv Territorial Defense Brigade, bringing with her ATO experience and a contract stint in the Air Assault Forces (as a frontline medic). She later returned to the Air Assault Forces in 2023. The decision to rejoin the Defense Forces was easy—the psychological barrier had been crossed long before.
“In 2014 I was still a journalist going to Donbas with volunteers. On the road we ended up in what then seemed like an adventure—now I wouldn’t even remember it: someone shot in our direction, and so what, everyone was alive, the car was intact, we drove on. But at the time it was scary, and I realized I knew absolutely nothing about the army, how to protect myself, or give aid. In a critical situation I wouldn’t help; I’d be a burden. I found civilian training with the Ukrainian Legion—back then it was still the ‘Kyiv’ one. I started training. Then a friend said: ‘Try the Medsanbat course; it’s great.’ I said: ‘But I’m not a medic; they won’t take me.’ He said: ‘It’ll be fine—come on.’ I went—and realized it was interesting. Medicine in general, and tactical medicine in particular, is exactly my thing, something that suits me—and most importantly, I’m good at it,” she recalls. She signed a contract in 2016, just as her father’s term of service was ending.
“Dad mobilized in the fourth wave. First training, then he joined the 73rd Naval Center. He was already over 50, an older man—but that didn’t stop him. He proved he could serve on par with the young. He was in a reconnaissance support group. He had many combat missions, including beyond the front line,” she says.
Service brought them closer. Father and daughter even crossed paths at the front several times.
“When I was in the 81st Brigade, we were in Druzhkivka, then Kramatorsk. Dad would drive by with his commander and stop in to see me. Later, in 2022, we were running the Bakhmut–Lysychansk route for evacuations. I knew my dad was also on Donbas. My partner and I were sitting in the car after a night shift, eating a roll with kefir. Dad calls: ‘Where are you? How are you?’ I say: ‘I’m in Bakhmut.’ And then I see a car coming—and my dad is in it! I shout, ‘I see you!’ We stopped, hugged, took photos,” she recalls. Now they can advise each other, even though they have different military specialties.
“I say two words and Dad understands everything—and he can explain it to Mom, calm her down,” Olga says. At first her father had doubts about her serving. Olga had been a civilian, with an education not related to the military, and knew nothing about the army’s demands. But when she came to him with a firm decision and a plan—where she would train, what she would do—he accepted it.
Sometimes the injury is at night—and evacuation is only in the morning
Olga says much has changed in tactical medicine since 2014 and again since 2022.
“For example, in 2022 there were still debates about Chinese tourniquets—people said it was better than none. We - medics - said clearly: you can’t use them. Now most soldiers know that CAT and SICH are reliable, proven tourniquets. Another thing is that wounds often happen in the evening, but evacuation only happens in the morning—waiting for safer conditions. That leads to unnecessary amputations. So now there’s more emphasis on training soldiers in tourniquet conversion. When new fighters arrive, I check what they learned after basic training, and I always stress conversion. I’ve seen cases where a tourniquet was on for 6–9 hours on a limb where it wasn’t needed at all. A bandage would have been enough—and instead the limb is white, dead. That’s it,” she explains.
She calls the authorization of blood transfusions in the field a very important change.
“Before, we’d give saline, but that dilutes the blood so it can’t do its job. A person may arrive ‘alive,’ with a blood pressure reading—but what’s the actual concentration of blood, and can we deal with the shock?”
“In 2022, at the stabilization point where I worked, we didn’t do transfusions—there were no conditions; it was just a garage. That early phase for us wasn’t the ‘golden hour’—it was the first 6–12 hours. We almost never have evacuations in the first hour. If you can get a casualty to the CCP and there’s a medic authorized to transfuse—that can save a life.
“You could even implement a marking system—bracelets by blood group: red for O, blue for A, yellow for B, for example. That would reduce the need to carry refrigerators with blood. But it’s still hard to implement across every brigade,” she says.
Today Olga mostly treats somatic (non-trauma) patients, handles paperwork, and trains soldiers—how to stop bleeding, to evacuate, to assess a wound and perform conversion.
“I can’t be as effective in the field as before. Physically, I can’t keep up with the guys or pull someone out of an armored vehicle. But I can still contribute—and I do.”
Art is still in my life
“When we were in Chornobyl with the battalion, I had time—I painted. I’m self-taught and pretty skeptical about my skills. But right now the important thing is that I enjoy the process. I painted with acrylic on canvas; I gave one painting to friends for an auction—I don’t even know if they sold it or kept it,” she says. She recalls that in the 103rd Brigade someone brought her a sack of shell casings—and Olga painted them.
One of those casings sits on a shelf in Leleka’s office.
“I like making things—not necessarily painting. In the backyard here I made a little altar under an apple tree, decorated it with ribbons and sun-catchers—because during war it’s very important to find time for something other than the war itself. People have different hobbies, and it’s important to hold on to them even on deployment—it keeps your mind and psyche intact. For some it’s fishing, for others books or poetry… For me it’s creativity. Life shouldn’t be only routine; it should also be a bit of a creative challenge,” she says. And she adds that it’s vital we survive as a country and a people—otherwise there will be no art.
“Art is a mirror; it has a life of its own and develops naturally. I think we will have a distinct period in the history of Ukrainian art connected with the war—with its own features, its own ‘painted scream,’ its own pain. In fact, it has already begun—just look at contemporary exhibitions. I would like to see with my own eyes how this period transforms into something new, beautiful, sincere, and peaceful,” she concludes.