Soldier Oleksandr Tereshchenko, call sign LYON

By education I am a history teacher, and for most of my life I worked in television.

In the spring of 2014, I voluntarily went to the enlistment office. I joined the 28th Mechanized Brigade, and was later assigned to the 79th Air Assault Brigade. In October 2014, with my unit, I arrived at Donetsk Airport, where we served in the new terminal.

On October 15, the day of rotation, while repelling an assault, I tried to throw an enemy grenade out of the fortification. I was just a few seconds too slow — it exploded in my hands. The other soldiers were unharmed.

I did not lose consciousness. I immediately understood that something terrible had happened to my arms. The first thing I felt was shock. Like most people, I was confident that nothing bad — at least no serious injury or death — could happen to me. When I realized that something was terribly wrong with my arms, I started begging to be shot. I could not imagine how to live without hands.

My brothers‑in‑arms carried me out under fire. Medic Serhii Arkhanhelskyi (call sign NARKOZ) from the 95th Brigade applied tourniquets and prepared me for evacuation. My left hand was completely torn off, and my right arm was barely attached by tendons below the shoulder. I was evacuated from the airport, then via stabilization point and helicopter to Dnipro. The doctors were clear: if it had been another half hour, it would have been too late.

During surgery, it was not possible to save my hands.

My left arm was amputated at the forearm, and my right at the shoulder. I also sustained severe injuries to my face and eye. Thanks to the doctors in Dnipro, the eye was saved, although the sight in it was lost.

When I came to after the operation and saw bloody bandages instead of hands, I did not panic. Maybe it was the painkillers. I asked the doctor to call my wife and hand me the phone. I said, “I’m alive, but without both hands.” She and my son were with me that very day. Ahead of me were months of treatment and a long journey adapting to life without hands.

Like most people who are born with hands, before the injury I knew nothing about prosthetics. In the hospital, volunteers told me about bionic “mind‑controlled hands.” At that time, such technology didn’t exist in Ukraine.

The first mechanical prosthetics I bought with funds raised by people. They were expensive devices made with German components, and I am grateful for them for life. They allowed me to eat independently, dress myself, use objects, and partially manage everyday hygiene. But they did not provide full independence.

In 2015, through the state program, I received prosthetics in Germany modern bionic prosthetics for that time. It turned out they were not controlled by “thought,” but by muscle impulses, and required long and difficult training. I was ready for it, but my adaptation was slowed by my desire to have “hands like everyone else” — so as not to attract attention or seem strange.

Only with time did I realize a simple thing: for a person with double amputation, a hook is not a step back, but a key to full independence.

Today I use both bionic and mechanical prosthetics, often switching the hand to a functional hook depending on the situation. This has given me the ability to return to a full, active life.

The reality is that a person with double amputation needs an entire arsenal of assistive devices, not just “one universal hand.” I travel a lot, work, and teach others and prosthetics wear out and need replacement. In 2026, I need to update the prosthetics on both arms.

The state prosthetics program in Ukraine works well, but it does not always cover the full cost of the optimal configuration. For one electric functional hook, the state compensates 420,318 UAH, while the cost of the ETD2 hook with wrist flexion is 552,261 UAH. The difference is about 132,000 UAH.

This hook is designed for precise grips, work with loads, and critically important for me — it allows full independence in hygiene.

This is not a whim or a “comfort upgrade,” but a basic tool for independent living. Under the rules of the state program, this difference cannot be covered by substituting other components. That is why I am forced to ask for help.

After the start of the full-scale invasion, unable to take up arms, I focused on volunteering. In 2022, together with Lithuanian friends, we established a charitable foundation in Lithuania, and later resumed the activities of the foundation I had founded in Ukraine back in 2016.

Our focus is targeted support for Ukrainian Armed Forces units and the social adaptation of veterans who have lost their sight or limbs. Since 2023, we have been implementing the project “Life After War” for blind veterans, as well as the projects “I Did It – You Can Too” and “Peer-to-Peer: Support for Veterans with Amputations.”

These are not motivational speeches or “success stories.” They are practical knowledge shared by those who have already adapted: how to live, work, travel, and be independent after severe injuries. As part of these projects, we recorded 16 detailed video guides on everyday self-sufficiency and held 13 workshops in rehabilitation centers, veteran hubs, and educational institutions.

Our mission is simple: to show that life doesn’t end after losing sight or limbs—and it doesn’t necessarily become worse. Often, the opposite is true: after an injury, you begin to value life more deeply and live it more fully. What matters most is helping a person take the first steps—offering guidance on how to manage daily tasks, what assistive technologies exist, and sharing experience in selecting and mastering prosthetics. From there, everyone finds their own path.

After losing my hands, I did things I never dared to dream of while I had them. In 2019, I ran the U.S. Marine Corps Marathon. In 2021, I jumped from a plane at 4,200 meters. I’ve written two books and am now finishing a third. In 2023, I walked 280 kilometers of the Camino de Santiago by myself.

This year, I want to repeat the pilgrimage—this time 800 kilometers. Alone. With a backpack. And with a hook instead of a hand.

All plans and goals lie ahead. But to keep moving forward, working, being useful, and maintaining full independence, prosthetics come first. My current prosthetics are worn out and no longer meet the demands.

I need new prosthetics so that the path forward remains possible—not only for me but also for those I support every day.

_______________________________________

The need — a co-payment to the state prosthetics program has already been fully covered. Very soon, Oleksandr Tereshchenko will receive the necessary components for his prosthesis, which will ensure an active, independent life for him.

Thank you to everyone who contributed!

A special and very warm thank you to Pavlo — our friend from Poland. This is not the first time you have supported our defenders, and it feels like something much greater than just help. It is about a deep understanding of what we are fighting for. About the value of freedom that Ukrainians are defending today not only for themselves.

Your contribution of 2,000 euros made it possible to quickly close the fundraiser, save time, and bring closer the moment when Oleksandr will be able to receive his prosthesis and return to a full life. But even more importantly — it is the feeling of a reliable shoulder to lean on. Especially when that support comes from abroad.

Thank you to everyone who supported. Together — is not just a word. It is an action that changes lives.

 

COLLECTED AND TRANSFERRED: UAH 131,943.15