Latest news with #Olha
Irish Examiner
06-07-2025
- Politics
- Irish Examiner
It's been three years of sleepless nights for Ukrainians
Growing up, many of us were instilled with the importance of getting a good night's sleep. Sleep, as we know, is essential for our overall health. Yet, on the continent of Europe today, a nation has gone without sleep for many years. But amid the restlessness, Ukrainians remain resilient and determined for change. When I unlock my phone, I am met by a home screen filled with apps. Apps for communicating, apps for news, apps for social media, and so on. But when I travelled to Ukraine in April, a new app was added to this cluster. An app for air raid alerts. A lot of our mornings begin with the sound of our wake-up alarms, but across Ukraine, a lot of nights are disturbed by the sounds of air raid alarms on their phones. We might not always adhere to them, but we set the time of our morning alarm. But in Ukraine, Putin's barbarism dictates when the air raid alarms will go off and when Ukrainians are forced to suddenly wake up, for fear of their lives. For years now, Ukrainian children, women and men have been denied a good night's sleep thanks to Russia's unprovoked and unjustified onslaught. I cannot pretend to understand the toll that it must have on any Ukrainian, or their family, but I remain awed by their determination to strive for a better future within the EU amid such toll. President Michael D Higgins with deputy prime minister of Ukraine Olha Stefanishyna at Áras An Uachtaráin in 2022. Picture: Maxwell's During my visit to Kyiv in April, I met with the Ukrainian deputy prime minister Olha Stefanishyna. We met primarily to discuss the progression of Ukraine's path to EU membership. Only two nights before our meeting, the deputy prime minister had spent the night in an underground shelter with her children. There was no guarantee Olha or her children would find their home intact when they came up from the shelter the next morning. But her children nevertheless returned to school and Olha returned to work. Sandbags are stacked against the internal walls and against the windows of the government offices in Kyiv. At home, we use sandbags for flood defences, but in Ukraine, sandbags are used in defence against the Russian invaders. Nevertheless, in those government offices, work on Ukraine's accession to the EU continues apace amid extraordinary challenges. I walked by offices filled with people getting on with their jobs, likely on little sleep given the air raids. Their resilience is inspiring, and we must never fail to recognise it. I sometimes fear images of destruction, of flames emanating from built-up suburbs, of death itself, can become 'normal' viewing on our TV screens and phones. But we must always remember the humanity of these situations and at its most basic human level, Ukraine has now gone without adequate sleep since Russia's full-scale invasion on February 24, 2022. So, what can we do? I had travelled to Ukraine in April along with my counterpart, the deputy foreign minister of Lithuania. Our visit began in Odesa where we opened an underground school shelter co-funded by Ireland, Lithuania and the European Commission. Ireland has co-funded the construction of six such shelters across Ukraine. I am glad we are in a position to fund these shelters, because Ukraine's future is dependent on its young people realising their right to an education. It is shameful, however, that such shelters are a necessity. Ukrainian children should not be receiving their education in underground bomb shelter classrooms without windows. Ireland will continue to champion Ukraine's accession to the European Union. Against the backdrop of Putin's bombs and Putin's drones, along with other extraordinary challenges, Ukraine's government and parliament has persevered with EU-focused reforms. In co-ordination with like-minded EU colleagues, I am examining proposals focused on ensuring Ukraine's negotiations for EU membership are not hindered by needless roadblocks. This is not only the right thing to do, but it is also in our fundamental interest to progress the enlargement of our shared union. If Putin's imperialist ambitions are allowed to be realised in Ukraine, Ireland will not be immune from its consequences, and so we must work with our EU partners to ensure Ukraine's momentum towards EU membership is allowed to progress. When night descends on Ukraine, let us endeavour to give hope to our fellow Europeans, for a brighter dawn within our European family of member states. Thomas Byrne is minister of state for European Affairs and Defence and a Fianna Fáil TD for Meath East
New Indian Express
30-06-2025
- Health
- New Indian Express
Ukrainian woman beat cancer, but her fight to free captive husband isn't over
KYIV: "You have no moral right to die." That's what Olha Kurtmalaieva told herself as she lay in intensive care, her body shutting down after emergency chemotherapy. Her cancer had progressed to Stage 4, meaning it had spread to other parts of her body and was now incurable. The pain was unbearable. The doctors weren't sure she'd make it through the night. She was facing death alone in the Ukrainian capital, while her soldier husband was in Russian captivity in the more than three-year war. "If I die now, who will bring him back?" Olha thought to herself. "He has no one else in Ukraine." Against the odds, she learned she was in remission last year. But even after multiple prisoner exchanges, including one that freed over 1,000 people, her husband, a Ukrainian marine, remains a captive. She hasn't given up. At nearly every exchange, she's there waiting, one of hundreds of Ukrainian women still trying to bring home their husbands, sons and brothers. "He's everywhere in my life," Olha said. "His (photo) is on my phone screen, in my wallet, on the kitchen wall, in every room." Day and night, questions circled in her mind: "What can I do to speed this up? What did I do today to bring him home?"
30-06-2025
- Health
This Ukrainian woman beat cancer. But her fight to free her captive husband isn't over
KYIV, Ukraine -- KYIV, Ukraine (AP) — 'You have no moral right to die.' That's what Olha Kurtmalaieva told herself as she lay in intensive care, her body shutting down after emergency chemotherapy. Her cancer had progressed to Stage 4, meaning it had spread to other parts of her body and was now incurable. The pain was unbearable. The doctors weren't sure she'd make it through the night. She was facing death alone in the Ukrainian capital, while her soldier husband was in Russian captivity in the more than three-year war. 'If I die now, who will bring him back?" Olha thought to herself. "He has no one else in Ukraine.' Against the odds, she learned she was in remission last year. But even after multiple prisoner exchanges, including one that freed over 1,000 people, her husband, a Ukrainian marine, remains a captive. She hasn't given up. At nearly every exchange, she's there waiting, one of hundreds of Ukrainian women still trying to bring home their husbands, sons and brothers. 'He's everywhere in my life,' Olha said. 'His (photo) is on my phone screen, in my wallet, on the kitchen wall, in every room.' Day and night, questions circled in her mind: 'What can I do to speed this up? What did I do today to bring him home?' Olha was just 21 when she learned she had cancer. It was Hodgkin's lymphoma, Stage 2. The tumors were growing but were still treatable. 'At that age, you're thinking: cancer? Why me? How? What did I do?' she recalled. Her husband, Ruslan Kurtmalaiev, promised to stay by her side through every round of chemotherapy. When they met, in 2015, he was 21 and she was just 15. 'It wasn't love at first sight,' she said with a wide smile, eyes sparkling. Their attraction blossomed gradually that summer in Berdiansk, in what is now the Russian-occupied zone in the southern Zaporizhzhia region. Three years later, as soon as she turned 18, they wed. When they first met, it was not long after Russia illegally seized Crimea, Ruslan's homeland, in 2014, and also invaded eastern Ukraine. Ruslan, a professional soldier, had already served on the front line. From the beginning, Olha understood that life as a military wife meant constant sacrifice — long separations, missed milestones, and the uncertainty of war. But she never imagined that one day she would be waiting for her husband to return from captivity. When she describes Ruslan, tears well up in her eyes. 'He's kind, he has a heightened sense of justice,' she said. 'For him, it was a matter of principle to return home and bring our Crimea home,' she said, a loss she fully comprehended only after Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. 'Only when I lost my home did I fully understand him." Olha managed to complete only two sessions of chemo before the full-scale invasion. When her long hair began to fall out, she shaved her head. When she sent Ruslan a photo, he didn't hesitate: 'God, you're so beautiful,' he told her. Later, he made a confession. 'He told me, 'Yeah, I saw your hair falling out in the mornings. I gathered it all from your pillow before you woke up — so you wouldn't get upset.'' At the time, she believed that losing her hair was the worst thing that could happen to her. But soon after, she discovered what real tragedy meant. Olha never made it to her third round of chemo. She stayed in Berdiansk, which was seized by Russian forces in the early days of the war. Cut off from medical care and waiting for news of Ruslan, she quietly began helping the Ukrainian military from inside occupied territory. 'There was no oncology department in Berdiansk. There was simply nowhere to get treated,' she said. 'But honestly, I didn't even care that much at the time.' In early April, she discovered that Russians had captured Ruslan and others from his marine forces' unit. 'I started to cry, but then I stopped myself. I thought, 'Wait. Is this something to cry about? He's alive. That's what matters.'' At the time, she said, their idea of Russian captivity was naive. Only later did it become synonymous with torture, starvation and medical neglect. Olha left Berdiansk in June of 2022. 'Walking through your own city, but feeling like it's someone else's — that's horrifying,' she said. 'There were Russian flags everywhere. I kept Ukrainian music in my headphones. I was scared my Bluetooth might disconnect, and they'd kill me. But it was worth it.' She spent several months moving between cities, helping to organize peaceful rallies to raise awareness about Ukrainian POWs. Eventually, she settled in Kyiv. Throughout that time, she paid little attention to her cancer diagnosis, even as her health steadily declined. Then her condition worsened sharply. Her temperature spiked to 40 degrees Celsius (104 Fahrenheit). 'When the doctor looked at my test results, she said, 'How are you even walking?'' she recalled. Her lymphoma, left untreated during occupation, had progressed to Stage 4. Emergency chemotherapy began — and it hit her hard. 'My second round of chemo was disastrous,' she said. She developed an intestinal blockage, couldn't digest food, and was rushed to intensive care. 'It was morphine all night from the pain. I couldn't stand. I couldn't sit. They moved me like a dead body.' In the hospital, she overheard doctors say her condition was inoperable. Then a nurse came to her bedside and spoke plainly. ''We're going to try to restart your system manually,' she told me. 'But if it doesn't work, you may not wake up tomorrow. You must help us however you can.'' It was the thought of Ruslan, still in captivity, that helped Olha survive. In April 2024, five days before her birthday, Olha was told she was in remission. Now she juggles civic activism with running an online cosmetics store. She co-founded the Marine Corps Strength Association, representing over 1,000 Ukrainian POWs still in captivity. In close contact with former prisoners, Olha gathers fragments of information about Ruslan — she has had only one phone call with him in the past three years. She sent several letters but never received a reply. Like an investigator, she pieces together every detail. That's how she discovered that Ruslan had broken ribs and a crushed arm during regular beatings, according to the testimony of one of the POWs. As part of the psychological torture, he is made to listen to the Russian national anthem repeatedly. A Crimean Tatar and a Muslim, he is given only Christian religious texts to read — not the worst form of pressure, Olha acknowledges, but still a clear violation of his faith. One day, a Russian guard struck him eight times on the head with a hammer. 'The other prisoners said they had never seen bruises like that in their lives,' she said. Ruslan spent months in solitary confinement. And yet, somehow, he remains emotionally strong. 'He tells the others about me,' Olha said, her voice softening. 'One of the guys who came back said (Ruslan) told him: 'She's your age, but she's got a business, she's strong, she's fighting for us. She'll get us out.'' That story stayed with her.
San Francisco Chronicle
30-06-2025
- Health
- San Francisco Chronicle
This Ukrainian woman beat cancer. But her fight to free her captive husband isn't over
KYIV, Ukraine (AP) — 'You have no moral right to die.' That's what Olha Kurtmalaieva told herself as she lay in intensive care, her body shutting down after emergency chemotherapy. Her cancer had progressed to Stage 4, meaning it had spread to other parts of her body and was now incurable. The pain was unbearable. The doctors weren't sure she'd make it through the night. She was facing death alone in the Ukrainian capital, while her soldier husband was in Russian captivity in the more than three-year war. 'If I die now, who will bring him back?" Olha thought to herself. "He has no one else in Ukraine.' Against the odds, she learned she was in remission last year. But even after multiple prisoner exchanges, including one that freed over 1,000 people, her husband, a Ukrainian marine, remains a captive. She hasn't given up. At nearly every exchange, she's there waiting, one of hundreds of Ukrainian women still trying to bring home their husbands, sons and brothers. 'He's everywhere in my life,' Olha said. 'His (photo) is on my phone screen, in my wallet, on the kitchen wall, in every room.' Life before Russia's full-scale invasion Olha was just 21 when she learned she had cancer. It was Hodgkin's lymphoma, Stage 2. The tumors were growing but were still treatable. 'At that age, you're thinking: cancer? Why me? How? What did I do?' she recalled. Her husband, Ruslan Kurtmalaiev, promised to stay by her side through every round of chemotherapy. When they met, in 2015, he was 21 and she was just 15. 'It wasn't love at first sight,' she said with a wide smile, eyes sparkling. Their attraction blossomed gradually that summer in Berdiansk, in what is now the Russian-occupied zone in the southern Zaporizhzhia region. Three years later, as soon as she turned 18, they wed. When they first met, it was not long after Russia illegally seized Crimea, Ruslan's homeland, in 2014, and also invaded eastern Ukraine. Ruslan, a professional soldier, had already served on the front line. From the beginning, Olha understood that life as a military wife meant constant sacrifice — long separations, missed milestones, and the uncertainty of war. But she never imagined that one day she would be waiting for her husband to return from captivity. When she describes Ruslan, tears well up in her eyes. 'He's kind, he has a heightened sense of justice,' she said. 'For him, it was a matter of principle to return home and bring our Crimea home,' she said, a loss she fully comprehended only after Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. 'Only when I lost my home did I fully understand him." Facing cancer and hair loss Olha managed to complete only two sessions of chemo before the full-scale invasion. When her long hair began to fall out, she shaved her head. When she sent Ruslan a photo, he didn't hesitate: 'God, you're so beautiful,' he told her. Later, he made a confession. 'He told me, 'Yeah, I saw your hair falling out in the mornings. I gathered it all from your pillow before you woke up — so you wouldn't get upset.'' At the time, she believed that losing her hair was the worst thing that could happen to her. But soon after, she discovered what real tragedy meant. War and captivity Olha never made it to her third round of chemo. She stayed in Berdiansk, which was seized by Russian forces in the early days of the war. Cut off from medical care and waiting for news of Ruslan, she quietly began helping the Ukrainian military from inside occupied territory. 'There was no oncology department in Berdiansk. There was simply nowhere to get treated,' she said. 'But honestly, I didn't even care that much at the time.' In early April, she discovered that Russians had captured Ruslan and others from his marine forces' unit. 'I started to cry, but then I stopped myself. I thought, 'Wait. Is this something to cry about? He's alive. That's what matters.'' At the time, she said, their idea of Russian captivity was naive. Only later did it become synonymous with torture, starvation and medical neglect. Olha left Berdiansk in June of 2022. 'Walking through your own city, but feeling like it's someone else's — that's horrifying,' she said. 'There were Russian flags everywhere. I kept Ukrainian music in my headphones. I was scared my Bluetooth might disconnect, and they'd kill me. But it was worth it.' She spent several months moving between cities, helping to organize peaceful rallies to raise awareness about Ukrainian POWs. Eventually, she settled in Kyiv. Throughout that time, she paid little attention to her cancer diagnosis, even as her health steadily declined. Then her condition worsened sharply. Her temperature spiked to 40 degrees Celsius (104 Fahrenheit). 'When the doctor looked at my test results, she said, 'How are you even walking?'' she recalled. Her lymphoma, left untreated during occupation, had progressed to Stage 4. Emergency chemotherapy began — and it hit her hard. 'My second round of chemo was disastrous,' she said. She developed an intestinal blockage, couldn't digest food, and was rushed to intensive care. 'It was morphine all night from the pain. I couldn't stand. I couldn't sit. They moved me like a dead body.' In the hospital, she overheard doctors say her condition was inoperable. Then a nurse came to her bedside and spoke plainly. ''We're going to try to restart your system manually,' she told me. 'But if it doesn't work, you may not wake up tomorrow. You must help us however you can.'' It was the thought of Ruslan, still in captivity, that helped Olha survive. Unanswered letters In April 2024, five days before her birthday, Olha was told she was in remission. Now she juggles civic activism with running an online cosmetics store. She co-founded the Marine Corps Strength Association, representing over 1,000 Ukrainian POWs still in captivity. In close contact with former prisoners, Olha gathers fragments of information about Ruslan — she has had only one phone call with him in the past three years. She sent several letters but never received a reply. Like an investigator, she pieces together every detail. That's how she discovered that Ruslan had broken ribs and a crushed arm during regular beatings, according to the testimony of one of the POWs. As part of the psychological torture, he is made to listen to the Russian national anthem repeatedly. A Crimean Tatar and a Muslim, he is given only Christian religious texts to read — not the worst form of pressure, Olha acknowledges, but still a clear violation of his faith. One day, a Russian guard struck him eight times on the head with a hammer. 'The other prisoners said they had never seen bruises like that in their lives,' she said. Ruslan spent months in solitary confinement. And yet, somehow, he remains emotionally strong. 'He tells the others about me,' Olha said, her voice softening. 'One of the guys who came back said (Ruslan) told him: 'She's your age, but she's got a business, she's strong, she's fighting for us. She'll get us out.'' That story stayed with her. 'I can't afford to be weak. How can a marine's wife be weak?' Olha said. 'What matters is that he knows I'll keep fighting for him — until the very end." ___ ___
Hamilton Spectator
30-06-2025
- Health
- Hamilton Spectator
This Ukrainian woman beat cancer. But her fight to free her captive husband isn't over
KYIV, Ukraine (AP) — 'You have no moral right to die.' That's what Olha Kurtmalaieva told herself as she lay in intensive care, her body shutting down after emergency chemotherapy. Her cancer had progressed to Stage 4, meaning it had spread to other parts of her body and was now incurable. The pain was unbearable. The doctors weren't sure she'd make it through the night. She was facing death alone in the Ukrainian capital, while her soldier husband was in Russian captivity in the more than three-year war . 'If I die now, who will bring him back?' Olha thought to herself. 'He has no one else in Ukraine.' Against the odds, she learned she was in remission last year. But even after multiple prisoner exchanges, including one that freed over 1,000 people , her husband, a Ukrainian marine, remains a captive. She hasn't given up. At nearly every exchange, she's there waiting, one of hundreds of Ukrainian women still trying to bring home their husbands, sons and brothers. 'He's everywhere in my life,' Olha said. 'His (photo) is on my phone screen, in my wallet, on the kitchen wall, in every room.' Day and night, questions circled in her mind: 'What can I do to speed this up? What did I do today to bring him home?' Life before Russia's full-scale invasion Olha was just 21 when she learned she had cancer. It was Hodgkin's lymphoma, Stage 2. The tumors were growing but were still treatable. 'At that age, you're thinking: cancer? Why me? How? What did I do?' she recalled. Her husband, Ruslan Kurtmalaiev, promised to stay by her side through every round of chemotherapy. When they met, in 2015, he was 21 and she was just 15. 'It wasn't love at first sight,' she said with a wide smile, eyes sparkling. Their attraction blossomed gradually that summer in Berdiansk, in what is now the Russian-occupied zone in the southern Zaporizhzhia region. Three years later, as soon as she turned 18, they wed. When they first met, it was not long after Russia illegally seized Crimea , Ruslan's homeland, in 2014, and also invaded eastern Ukraine. Ruslan, a professional soldier, had already served on the front line. From the beginning, Olha understood that life as a military wife meant constant sacrifice — long separations, missed milestones, and the uncertainty of war. But she never imagined that one day she would be waiting for her husband to return from captivity. When she describes Ruslan, tears well up in her eyes. 'He's kind, he has a heightened sense of justice,' she said. 'For him, it was a matter of principle to return home and bring our Crimea home,' she said, a loss she fully comprehended only after Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. 'Only when I lost my home did I fully understand him.' Facing cancer and hair loss Olha managed to complete only two sessions of chemo before the full-scale invasion. When her long hair began to fall out, she shaved her head. When she sent Ruslan a photo, he didn't hesitate: 'God, you're so beautiful,' he told her. Later, he made a confession. 'He told me, 'Yeah, I saw your hair falling out in the mornings. I gathered it all from your pillow before you woke up — so you wouldn't get upset.'' At the time, she believed that losing her hair was the worst thing that could happen to her. But soon after, she discovered what real tragedy meant. War and captivity Olha never made it to her third round of chemo. She stayed in Berdiansk, which was seized by Russian forces in the early days of the war. Cut off from medical care and waiting for news of Ruslan, she quietly began helping the Ukrainian military from inside occupied territory. 'There was no oncology department in Berdiansk. There was simply nowhere to get treated,' she said. 'But honestly, I didn't even care that much at the time.' In early April, she discovered that Russians had captured Ruslan and others from his marine forces' unit. 'I started to cry, but then I stopped myself. I thought, 'Wait. Is this something to cry about? He's alive. That's what matters.'' At the time, she said, their idea of Russian captivity was naive. Only later did it become synonymous with torture, starvation and medical neglect . Olha left Berdiansk in June of 2022. 'Walking through your own city, but feeling like it's someone else's — that's horrifying,' she said. 'There were Russian flags everywhere. I kept Ukrainian music in my headphones. I was scared my Bluetooth might disconnect, and they'd kill me. But it was worth it.' She spent several months moving between cities, helping to organize peaceful rallies to raise awareness about Ukrainian POWs. Eventually, she settled in Kyiv. Throughout that time, she paid little attention to her cancer diagnosis, even as her health steadily declined. Then her condition worsened sharply. Her temperature spiked to 40 degrees Celsius (104 Fahrenheit). 'When the doctor looked at my test results, she said, 'How are you even walking?'' she recalled. Her lymphoma, left untreated during occupation, had progressed to Stage 4. Emergency chemotherapy began — and it hit her hard. 'My second round of chemo was disastrous,' she said. She developed an intestinal blockage, couldn't digest food, and was rushed to intensive care. 'It was morphine all night from the pain. I couldn't stand. I couldn't sit. They moved me like a dead body.' In the hospital, she overheard doctors say her condition was inoperable. Then a nurse came to her bedside and spoke plainly. ''We're going to try to restart your system manually,' she told me. 'But if it doesn't work, you may not wake up tomorrow. You must help us however you can.'' It was the thought of Ruslan, still in captivity, that helped Olha survive. Unanswered letters In April 2024, five days before her birthday, Olha was told she was in remission. Now she juggles civic activism with running an online cosmetics store. She co-founded the Marine Corps Strength Association, representing over 1,000 Ukrainian POWs still in captivity. In close contact with former prisoners, Olha gathers fragments of information about Ruslan — she has had only one phone call with him in the past three years. She sent several letters but never received a reply. Like an investigator, she pieces together every detail. That's how she discovered that Ruslan had broken ribs and a crushed arm during regular beatings, according to the testimony of one of the POWs. As part of the psychological torture, he is made to listen to the Russian national anthem repeatedly. A Crimean Tatar and a Muslim, he is given only Christian religious texts to read — not the worst form of pressure, Olha acknowledges, but still a clear violation of his faith. One day, a Russian guard struck him eight times on the head with a hammer. 'The other prisoners said they had never seen bruises like that in their lives,' she said. Ruslan spent months in solitary confinement. And yet, somehow, he remains emotionally strong. 'He tells the others about me,' Olha said, her voice softening. 'One of the guys who came back said (Ruslan) told him: 'She's your age, but she's got a business, she's strong, she's fighting for us. She'll get us out.'' That story stayed with her. 'I can't afford to be weak. How can a marine's wife be weak?' Olha said. 'What matters is that he knows I'll keep fighting for him — until the very end.' ___ Associated Press writers Vasilisa Stepanenko, Evgeniy Maloletka and Volodymyr Yurchuk contributed to this report. ___ Follow AP's coverage of the war in Ukraine at
