"Medicine is unappealing when you grow up in a family of doctors," she says.
From the outside, it seems like solemn white coats, noble life-saving impulses, and flowers of gratitude, but for those children of medical dynasties, it often means that mom or dad is never home. However, Yulia Shuklina picked up the baton of generations and became the third branch of medical professionals in her family history. She has been working as a surgeon in the otorhinolaryngology department for over 22 years.
"From the moment I realized that an ice cream vendor cannot eat ice cream for free, I decided to become a doctor."
She grew up surrounded by night shifts—her father worked at the Institute of Oncology. He resisted as much as he could and imposed strict tests. However, she shrugs and asserts that being a surgeon is a destiny from which one cannot escape.
Yulia faced challenges. It was difficult to prove to her family that she could be just as good, and equally challenging to convince men that a woman could operate professionally without excessive emotions.
"I had to work three times harder just to show that I could be on par with the men in this profession." Yet Yulia has no regrets about the effort spent and, with a wise smile, thanks fate for good teachers.
Today, she is a mentor to young colleagues. Under her wing is the entire department. Alone in her office, she often recalls her intern supervisor, who was also a surgeon and encouraged Yulia to pursue a profession with a "male profile." "If you want it, you will do it," her supervisor would often repeat in a metallic, emotionless tone. And today, Yulia knows for certain: "No matter what happens, no matter what anyone says, a professional always does what they must." Under any circumstances.
Once, during a family trip aboard a plane, a passenger suffered an epileptic seizure. Confused flight attendants quickly provided the necessary assistance under her clear commands. Later, her husband confessed to her, "I was scared, people held their breath, and you worked like a robot, as if you didn't care." In moments like these, she longs to meet the gaze of those who do not believe in women surgeons, in organized professionals who are somehow labeled by gender.
"Actually, I am emotional and very concerned about my patients; however, these are not the emotions that hinder me from gathering my thoughts. They are the emotions that allow me to better feel the patient." She tells about a 76-year-old woman who had a tumor removed but still comes for check-ups. Yulia assures the woman that these visits can be discontinued, but the patient tenderly responds that she only hears her called "sweetheart" by Yulia...
She encourages her colleagues to be emotionally attentive: "Emotional coloring creates more trust with patients, helps them open up, and sincerely share everything that troubles them, without withholding important details."
Yulia knows for sure that time is the best healer, as innovative technologies have entered her specialty over the years, which she could only dream of at the beginning of her career. The specifics of her operations involve interventions in the head area. Patients find it emotionally challenging to see and feel blood on their faces; that is why Yulia is thrilled about the opportunity to put patients to sleep during surgery. Modern medicine is moving away from local anesthesia, as it still leaves unpleasant feelings and memories, especially regarding adenoids... Yulia sadly recalls how children had to be tied to chairs as if in a torture chamber. Now, children can undergo adenoid removal while asleep, without running away in horror down the hall. They laugh and hug, promising to come back again. Children do not feel the fear of blood and apprehension towards doctors—this gives a chance to raise a healthy generation grounded in preventive visits.
And, of course, there is endoscopic technique. She can talk about it for hours with enthusiasm, as large incisions on the face are a thing of the past. Ten years ago, surgery on the frontal sinus required a 10-day hospital stay plus external tubes, and incisions all over the face... Today, one or two days—and patients can return to society without losing social status, without disrupting their work processes. Isn’t that a miracle? A real one!
Even deeper and faster than endoscopic techniques, ordinary compassion penetrates into a person. "I try to share not only my experience but also what is in my heart. In medicine, it is impossible to be indifferent. This is not a parts factory. A person comes to you with fear, in pain. Our task is to listen to a conversation partner who is not always pleasant because during illness, we can become quite unkind."
Yulia knows this for certain and loves to repeat Botkin's phrase: "If after a conversation with you the patient does not feel better within 10 minutes, you are a bad doctor." She explains how the "love triangle" works in medicine: "There is the disease and the doctor, and the patient is in the middle. The doctor’s task is to sway the patient to their side, to gain their support in recommendations and mood, and then the doctor defeats the illness."
A doctor can also conquer themselves by continuously developing their skills and changing horizons. Yulia recalls with sadness 1996 when, as a graduate, it was almost impossible for her to go abroad for an internship. Today, the world has significantly "shrunk": you can send a resume and find a contact with two clicks. Of course, this improvement requires money, but the knowledge that helps hundreds of patients is priceless. She repeats this to her colleagues when preparing for a business trip; she repeats it to her family when spending part of the family budget; she reminds herself when learning on cadavers and organ complexes.
— Son, don’t be afraid! I also, when I was little, went to Yulia Volodymyrivna!
Incredible, but among her patients, there are indeed those who come as families. Perhaps only in the profession of a doctor can such a twist of the spiral of time occur. These family visits are especially touching for Yulia because they represent genuine trust.
Such appointments for her are a kind of compensation for what was not lived in her own family: interrupted family dinners by another call, unplanned vacations, night shifts on New Year’s or Easter nights... Once, her husband bought tickets for a theatrical premiere after 9 months, and they planned a wonderful evening, but the profession "decided" otherwise. Yulia sent a friend in her place. After the surgery, her phone was flooded with dozens of messages from acquaintances who saw her husband with someone else… It’s both funny and sad...
"The family must understand the importance of a doctor’s work. Only then do grievances disappear, and the value of rare hours spent together emerges. Then the family patiently waits when you come home not directly after a night shift but to the neighbor's first because she asks you to check her blood pressure..."
In a tired, calm voice, Yulia notes that she cannot be the perfect wife and mother; however, she does not aspire to be, as her calling is to create life within non-family walls. "A good doctor is not born. They become one by constantly working. Often through the pain of mistakes, the loss of personal experiences. A good doctor is always guided solely by the desire to learn every day, to become better and work better."
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