ALLA: We are the large Svyatenko family, a family of doctors and medical professionals. My parents, both my father and mother, were doctors. My husband, Vyacheslav Yuriyovych, and I—Alla Dmytrivna—are both military doctors. We've carried the burden of war since 2014.

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My work primarily focused on field medicine, mostly at combat positions, while my husband served as a doctor at a military hospital, heading the psychoneurological department where he both rehabilitated and treated patients. After returning, I worked as the head of the hospital. However, seeing the challenges of state-run medicine, we left it behind to start building our own approach to medicine—one that the soldiers would truly need: family-oriented and caring.

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We began with family medicine and eventually expanded into this rehabilitation center where you are now visiting.

This center is their dream, filled with the hearts of the many soldiers who are no longer with us. It’s the Yuriy Kachur Center, established with the help of his wife, Erika Kachur. She told us how, at one time, the soldiers who are now defending our skies dreamed of having such a center.

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Back in 2017, when we were still working in the state medical system and seeing more downsides than upsides in rehabilitation services, the soldiers told us that Yuriy used to say: 'Don’t worry, guys. The Svyatenkos will create one of the best centers.' Well, here it is—we’ve made it.

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VYACHESLAV: How many such centers are there in Ukraine? You can count them on your fingers, and privately-owned ones are very rare; most are state-run. Rehabilitation and treatment of soldiers in our clinic differ significantly from what is offered in state institutions. Our center largely follows European standards.

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From the very beginning of the war in 2014, we noticed many shortcomings in the system and knew what could be done, but at the time, we didn’t have the opportunity to establish our own clinic. We also treat civilians, not just locals—children are brought here, as well as elderly people. But our primary focus is on the treatment and rehabilitation of military personnel. We help them recover from injuries and pull them out of difficult conditions caused by various factors. These individuals need medical care, social rehabilitation, and physical therapy.

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ALLA: In just eight months—working at an incredibly intense pace—we’ve treated around 400 people, both on an outpatient and inpatient basis, though mostly inpatient.

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As for civilians, since they need to travel quite far to the nearest medical facilities, we see about 60–70 people daily. You can track this through our records. These include pediatric illnesses, allergies, and injuries, as most locals are involved in agriculture—they have greenhouses and grow vegetables—and we already know who will come with what, depending on the season.

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In addition to our rehabilitation clinic, we hold licenses for family medicine services and, according to these licenses, agreements, and regulations, we maintain all necessary medical documentation.

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From family medicine services, we earn about 100,000 UAH, and from private consultations, based on our price lists, another 50,000 UAH. So, together, that’s 150,000 UAH, which is our total income at the moment.

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Rehabilitation for military personnel is currently unfunded. Occasionally, a foundation may partially cover some costs. However, in terms of material support—primarily in the form of equipment rather than finances—we receive significant help from abroad. Thanks to the Ukrainian diaspora, we have beds, IV stands, and most of what you’ve seen today—it’s all their contribution.

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We are also paying off a large loan for the center itself, and our net income of 150,000 UAH barely covers utility bills. The rest—salaries for the staff and other urgent expenses—depends on the funds that cover the stay of some soldiers. This is how we manage to keep our team afloat. We have submitted a package of documents to secure state funding, but so far, it remains at the correspondence stage.

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At least twenty doctors visit us, ready to help and even work on a volunteer basis. We collaborate with institutes and secondary and tertiary medical care levels. However, the current situation with medical staff is far worse than it was at the start of the full-scale invasion. Many doctors have left, and now there’s no one to provide care. In villages, people are entirely without medical assistance, but this issue is rarely discussed openly.

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When we launched this center, we implemented certain standards and strictly adhere to them. In many ways, these standards were set by the soldiers themselves. They return from the trenches not only with severe injuries but also with countless problems that cannot be ignored. There’s the longing for family they haven’t seen in a long time, psychological trauma, and documentation issues that play a major role in determining their future.

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Each one of them stays in your heart. Bohdan, Roman, Serhii, Oleksandr… It’s not just: you treat them, they undergo rehabilitation, they are discharged, and you forget. We continue to support them. Many soldiers we’ve cared for arrived in critical condition, needing treatment for both their bodies and souls, requiring long struggles for their lives.

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And then you find out their parents are in occupied territories.

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We help them escape the occupied areas and support them in accepting their child as they are today—wounded, crippled, or bedridden. Their current condition and appearance often affect the psychological state of their parents, leading to profound consequences.

Their period of life is also incredibly challenging. Escaping from occupation is only the beginning—they need to find housing and resolve countless other issues. When you start involving yourself in all of this… a family, with someone’s help, purchases a home. You go to that old house and help rebuild or repair it, even coming up with some design ideas—just to make life more comfortable for this child, understanding the journey they’ve been through. No story leaves you untouched.

 

VYACHESLAV: You know what the guys say? "The real story will come after the war, when it’s over." Whether we like it or not, the war goes on. The stories of these soldiers also continue to evolve. But they’re right: only after the war can we talk about this as history. Right now, it’s life.

 

ALLA: I wouldn’t say that there’s no change in our country or that everything is bad. But much of this change depends on each individual. It starts within you… If you begin with yourself, you can move forward in your work. And if you treat others the way you want to be treated, you’ll have more strength, and it will be easier to endure even the hardest days.

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We probably remain volunteers because when an elderly woman, an old man, or a mother with a child—whose father is at war and hasn’t yet received a salary or payments because he was just drafted—comes to you, you overlook everything else. Someone brings you a dozen eggs, and you don’t even want to take them. And when I suggest they turn to a state facility where care should be free, I hear, "Oh, child, do you know how much that costs there?"

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We’ve transitioned to electronic systems, but we still have countless record books dating back to Soviet times. The time wasted on these entries could be spent helping people.

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As for the military, that’s a separate issue: you see their actual condition, understand their real problems, write reports, and contact their military unit. It’s fortunate if there’s a chief medical officer who listens to you, if the commander hears you, and if they take your reports and requests into account—because it’s important to them that the soldier returns in good health, fit to continue fighting.

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But there are also other cases. Take, for instance, Hena Shevchenko. Time played a cruel joke on him: while he was lying in intensive care, he was officially listed as AWOL (Absent Without Leave). This happened despite medical staff at various facilities taking photos of his documents and maintaining communication with military units in compliance with the law. When it came time to transfer him to the next stage of treatment—surgical intervention—it couldn’t be done because there was no official referral from his military unit. The unit, in turn, couldn’t issue one because the soldier was marked as AWOL.

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Now, this young man is on the verge of losing his leg. For nearly two months, no efforts were made to save it. The infection inside spread, and the damaged bone never properly healed. After all the consultations, amputation is now being considered.

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Unfortunately, such cases are not isolated. Military hospitals are overwhelmed yet still perform admirably. However, when soldiers end up in district hospitals, situations like this can arise. We still cannot pinpoint the exact cause—whether it’s a lack of doctors or other factors influencing these outcomes. And why is it that military hospitals, which currently oversee all district hospitals during wartime, turn a blind eye to such situations? Why is there such treatment of these soldiers? Why is valuable time lost in bureaucratic red tape, leaving soldiers to arrive at facilities like ours with severe bedsores, infected wounds, and numerous other issues?

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We have signed memorandums with brigades, and beyond that, our team is large and spread across combat zones. When there’s a shortage of medics in those areas, we volunteer to step in. Sometimes the soldiers themselves reach out when medics have been killed or are simply insufficient for the situation. We respond, just as we’ve been doing since 2014.

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Just last night, we went beyond Kherson. We have two ambulances and specialized transport for patient transfers. This year, the situation at stabilization points [1] has improved. However, when there’s a shortage of hands and when the local civilian population is also without medical care, we naturally step in to assist our colleagues.

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Sometimes, our young paramedics—trained by us and now serving in combat zones—reach out, saying, “We have critically injured soldiers; some have been stabilized and sent to hospitals, but many remain at the base.” In such cases, our volunteer medical team heads out for several days. In short, we go wherever our patients are and wherever our help is needed.

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[1] Stabilization Point (Stabpunkt) – a mobile operating unit where soldiers not only receive primary care after evacuation from the battlefield but also undergo surgical procedures before being transferred to rear hospitals.