But he has problems getting down the stairs from his second floor apartment. “I sort of loose my balance and am afraid that one day I’ll take a tumble down the stairs” says Vazgen, who’s a comedian at heart.

Vazgen Khachatryan was born and raised in the village of Berdadzor in the district of Shushi. It is there that he married Anna who has been at his side through thick and thin.

When the war broke out he and Anna, along with their two children at the time, were living in Stepanakert. Vazgen soon joined up with a unit from his native village but he confesses that at the time, “I had a mortal fear of mortars.” This precognition of his turned out to be true for it was exactly this weapon that changed his life in an instant. The freedom fighter is still coping with the scars that weapon wrought.

In August of 1993 his unit was stationed in the district of Ghubatli. “We had received orders to circle around the enemy encampment by dark of night and begin our attack at first light. 200 of us started to make our way down a deep ravine. It was so pitch-black that we wound up linking hands in our descent down into the valley lest any of us loose our footing and tumble down. In any event, we successfully made our way to the other side of the enemy’s camp. At the first light of dawn we were able to get a glimpse of what the enemy was up to. Some of them were still sound asleep, the rest just waking up. For a moment I kind of felt sad for them, after all they were guys just like us. Then I remembered we were in the middle of a war zone and they could open fire on us any moment. This realization brought me back to my senses.” recounts Vazgen reliving the emotions of that last battle of his.

Vazgen remembers that they successfully captured the enemy’s position that day but he never expected that the Azeris would counterattack after a brief lull in the fighting. “They began firing on us with those dreaded mortars. We didn’t know where to take refuge; you really can’t when mortars are raining down on you. I really don’t recollect anything after this; they filled me in later on” says the war veteran pointing out that he was wounded on the exact day he got married, August 16th.

For 27 agonizing days Anna waited nervously for Vazgen to open his eyes and regain consciousness. “When I opened my eyes they adjusted to the light and then I noticed the unfamiliar surroundings. But I saw Anna by my bedside. She told me I was in the Stepanakert military hospital and that only my foot had been wounded. The bandages on my head told me differently” recounts Vazgen. He says that Karo Eboyan, a medical specialist specifically called in from Yerevan, saved his life. Sadly Dr. Eboyan was killed years later in a helicopter accident. It was this physician who first performed surgery on Vazgen’s head while in Stepanakert. Vazgen’s wife Anna vividly remembers that the other doctors held out little hope that her husband would survive. Surgery was a last ditch effort and luckily it proved successful.

“Despite the fact that I can be considered half a man due to my physical condition, I do all in my power to remain active and to take care of my children” he defiantly states. Vazgen tells us that he’s had some seven head surgeries, a few on his legs and one major spine operation. Shell fragments are still embedded in his skull. Given that his head wounds are so numerous Vazgen always wears a hat, afraid that without one his appearance might make others uneasy.

Vazgen started to use crutches and a wheelchair only in the past few years. Despite being so disabled he’s worked any number of different jobs at various firms since, as he puts it, “there’s my family to take care of.” He even continued to work when he was forced to use crutches, after his legs started to weaken. Gradually, even the crutches weren’t enough for him to get around with. He traveled to Yerevan for a medical evaluation and was told that he needed spinal surgery. His doctors told him that there was a good chance that after the operation he’d be able to walk without the aid of crutches. Sadly, the result was just the opposite and the veteran was forced to use a wheelchair.

Vazgen places all his hopes and dreams into his kids, two sons and one daughter, and he speaks of them with fatherly pride. “They’re such great kids and I’m sure they’ll be successful and always by our side” he beams. His two sons have already completed their military service. Aren, the younger one, recently was discharged, and Vazgen’s main concern is to find him some proper work. He’s convinced that Aren, being an industrious young man, will help the family make ends meet. Presently Vazgen receives a monthly pension of 66,000 drams (approximately $215) and Anna’s wages amount to 34,000 drams.

What is most important to Vazgen is that people should not turn their back on him and others like him. “We are really like a small child who can be made happy even by a simple little toy. I’m not saying that we should be bought presents or given special financial assistance. All we ask is not to be neglected, to be paid some attention and to be provided some work, wherever possible. If we’re able to work we’ll be an asset both to the employer and to our families at home.” Vazgen says. He speaks with apparent joy about a recent Karabakh government imitative to allocate 162 manually-operated cars to individuals with 1st degree disabilities. “8 of these specially-equipped cars have already been distributed in the first stage of the project. Two guys are already driving their cars as taxis to make some extra money. Is there anything wrong with that? It’s proper work for somebody who’s disabled.” Vazgen concludes.