“I set an alarm for the minute of silence” - the story of journalist and paramedic from Lysychansk, Anastasiia Prokaieva
- Oleksiy
- 9 hours ago
- 5 min read
Anastasiia Prokaieva is a 27-year-old journalist and paramedic with the Hospitallers. Her friends call her Asya, while other paramedics call her “Uno,” after her favorite game.
For nearly four years now, her daily life has consisted of rescuing the wounded and facing constant danger—sometimes “interrupted” by jokes and board games with like-minded people. She has endured many losses, spent a long time recovering from an injury, yet even after that, she did not abandon her path as a volunteer.
“We Don’t Know Behind Which Door Eternity Is Hiding” Anastasiia was born in Lysychansk, in the Luhansk region. She finished school there and later moved to Kyiv. She studied journalism at the Kyiv National University of Culture and Arts.
She devoted the next seven years to media work. Even before the full-scale invasion, war was the most important topic for Asya.
On February 24, 2022, she woke up to the sound of explosions. Her backpack was already packed: she needed to gather quickly, spend the night in the metro, stand in lines at stores, and figure out what to do next. At first, she left Kyiv, but later returned when work in the information field demanded maximum involvement.
“The news flow was nonstop, and people needed to be informed,” she recalls.
At the same time, she joined volunteer initiatives. Back then, she says, helping required only stepping outside your home. Asya packed food for displaced people and, in her articles, told their stories.
Her volunteer connections eventually led her to the "Hospitallers". In the summer of 2022, she helped set up their new base—and then “fell in love” with the volunteer community.
“I heard about their experience and realized I could work in paramedicine. I completed the training and left. Nothing heroic,” Asya says modestly.
Her first rotation took place in the Zaporizhzhia direction, where the crew transported the wounded from a stabilization point to a hospital. Asya was responsible for monitoring patients’ conditions on the way, tracking vital signs and administering medication after stabilization. Later, there were other deployments. At times, up to 200 wounded passed through the stabilization point in a single day.
“In directions with a heavy flow of wounded, it’s hard to remember everyone. Often, you remember not the person, but the type of injury,” Asya shares.
Paramedics usually remember more tragic stories than happy endings. To avoid carrying painful stories inside herself, Asya wrote them down in a diary. It was a kind of therapy, she says.
Until 2024, she combined her service with the "Hospitallers" and journalism: taking leave to go on rotation or working remotely. Often, she worked on articles during the day and went on evacuations at night—sometimes two or three in one night.
“If there were night evacuations, I tried to rest during the day or in the evening. The rule is simple—sleep whenever you can,” she says.
A turning point came during a rotation in the Kharkiv region in 2024. In Asya’s memory remains a photo of a door in Kharkiv with a street-art inscription by Hamlet: “We don’t know behind which door eternity is hiding.”
The photo was taken just days before the death of a paramedic with the call sign “Mike”. Now, every time Asya’s traditional 9:00 a.m. alarm goes off—a reminder of the minute of silence—her phone displays that photo.
The Hospitallers treat the fallen Hospitallers with deep reverence. The initiative, advocated by Iryna Tsybukh, is continued by all volunteers. Even at stabilization points, at nine in the morning, everyone tries to observe the tradition.
“If possible during a shift, we honor the fallen with a minute of silence. But during a difficult evacuation, memory, unfortunately, must wait—we fight for the living,” Asya says.
“It Was a Strange Feeling—Grief for the Fallen and Joy That I Survived”
On August 14, 2024, the day Hospitaller “Mike” was killed, Asya was wounded—a Russian Lancet drone struck the evacuation vehicle. One Hospitaller's vehicle was completely destroyed, and another was damaged by the blast wave.
“Two people were killed. One guy suffered severe injuries—a traumatic foot amputation, and his eye couldn’t be saved. I had a wound near my knee, shrapnel in my face and arms,” Asya recalls.
In a safe place, the paramedic first felt conflicting emotions that she still feels embarrassed about. Surviving seemed like a miracle—but it felt almost shameful to feel joy.
“It was a strange feeling—grief for the fallen and joy that I survived,” she says.
Rehabilitation lasted more than six months. For some time, her leg would not bend; a contracture developed (when ligaments and joints lose functionality), so she walked with a cane.
Many feel that in Kyiv some people are detached from the war—but for Asya, the war caught up with her in the capital.
“It’s sad when you leave your unit. You’ve grown close to people, and they stay there. Kyiv feels relatively safe, but people are killed here too by shelling,” she says.
Without working alongside like-minded people, her mental health was “bursting at the seams”: she admits she constantly felt anxious.
“When you’re in your own environment, the difference in worldviews isn’t so noticeable. When you leave it for the so-called ‘peaceful’ world, you feel that some people struggle to accept our new reality.”
Immediately after her injury, she was diagnosed with acute stress disorder and advised to see a psychiatrist. Later, through the Hospitallers’ patronage service, Asya learned about the psychological support program “For Those Who Save” by the Dobrobut medical network. Six months after her injury, she sought help and then attended psychotherapy for another nine months.
She admits it’s not easy to talk about mental health, but she wants others to understand that therapy is not something to fear.
“It seems to me that therapy helps you accept yourself and your reactions to the world. To accept that you can’t change other people, but you can change your attitude toward them, limit communication, or speak more openly and explain your needs.
It’s easier to tell people about yourself when you know something about yourself. That’s how therapy helped me—and it can help anyone. The main thing is to find your specialist,” Asya believes.
“I Loved the Park Near the House of Culture, the Local History Museum, and the Steppe Stone Statues Beside It”
In 2025, after rehabilitation, Asya returned to the Hospitallers.
Between work, she tries to travel: after her injury, she visited Odesa and hiked Velykyi Verkh and Plai in Zakarpattia.
“Work mostly gives me strength. The feeling that you’re doing something useful. Meeting friends, traveling when possible, sports,” she says.
Asya also works in the charitable foundation that supplies the Hospitallers and periodically goes on rotations. The foundation’s work helps cover financial and project needs—so volunteers have clothing, food, and equipment. Evacuating the wounded gives her a sense of personal contribution.
Since the Hospitallers are a volunteer battalion, it is important to support them with donations. “It’s important to support the values-driven mission carried out by volunteer medics,” Anastasiia says.
She feels she is not exhausted. Strength to continue helping also comes from memories of home, which is now occupied.
“I want to return home. I miss nothing specific and at the same time everything. My home, the nature, the atmosphere. I loved the park near the House of Culture, the local history museum, and the steppe stone statues beside it. The old buildings looked beautiful,” Asya shares.
She was last home in 2021. In the fourth year of the full-scale war, her hope of one day returning there has not faded.
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