It was the second day of the war. I was really nervous – we were hearing explosions. I was praying to meet my son. I started to clean everything in my house, preparing for the baby, and even when I started to feel the pain, I couldn’t believe I’d be giving birth during war.
Me and my husband were afraid to drive to the hospital because of the explosions. First we had to spend about 30 minutes in a queue to get gas. Then we were riding through Kyiv and it was empty – I’d never seen such an empty city. We heard the sound of sirens. It was scary, like a movie, but I was trying to stay positive.
When we arrived, all the lights were turned off because hospital staff were afraid about being bombed. My doctor met us and showed us to a very comfortable and colourful room.
But two hours later we heard sirens. It was very loud. It was unreal to look through the window and see all the beautiful Gothic architecture and hear the sirens. While I was pregnant I had taken yoga classes, prepared for gentle birth-giving, took courses. It wasn’t like this.
The doctor said we needed to go to the bomb shelter. There was panic as people were rushing. I couldn’t even put my trousers on because it was too painful. When we entered the shelter we were shocked. It was built in Soviet times and wasn’t maintained, it was crumbling and very wet and cold.
For us there was a small room without any doors, only a shower curtain that separated us from the main room with 50 people in it. There was no medical technology, just a gynaecological chair. I was trying to not even look over there and hoping to go back to the hospital soon.
Then my waters broke. My doctor looked at me and said: “OK, we will do it here, it’s too dangerous to wait.” At that moment I wasn’t afraid. I trusted my doctor – the only thing on my mind was holding my son and ending the pain.
I was so happy when I saw my son, Fedor. With his black hair he looked like a small copy of my husband, who cut the cord. When I held Fedor he was very warm. I just felt, wow, love and pure happiness and all these mystical feelings.
As I held him in the bunker, I said to him: “You’re lucky, you’re unique, you’re born in Ukraine, you’re a new Ukrainian.”
Every morning now I wake up a bit earlier just to look at him sleep, he looks like a small angel. I also look out the window to see if the buildings have stayed in their places or if they’ve been ruined.
I hope my son will experience this war only from stories – that he will never, never feel what it’s like in real life. I don’t want him to know real war.
Despite the war, Fedor has brought so much love, happiness and kindness into our home. We take care of him, and it makes us happy.
I’m hoping and praying for peace – he’s a new Ukrainian, he should grow up in a new Ukraine.
If you are affected by the situation in Ukraine, you can share your story here.
