Learning Has No End; Practice Values Perseverance

Waking up in the morning and opening WeChat, a parent of a child tumor patient told me that his child's leg has been amputated, and another parent of a child tumor patient told me his child's hand has been amputated. They all hope to get help from me. Last night, a child's parent earnestly begged me to lend a hand to his child who had just been discharged from the ICU.

Seeing these messages, my heart cannot be calm. When healthy, lively children encounter even a small setback as they grow, their parents are consumed with anxiety. Compared with them, the suffering endured by child tumor patients is simply beyond words. The entire families of these broken-winged angels have been completely shrouded in darkness.

Early in the morning, I spent a few hundred yuan and bought several more e-books on pediatric oncology and some TCM pediatrics monographs from Kindle, reading them as I bought them. I still have many problems I cannot solve, and I need help from these works.

I do not have procrastination, because life no longer allows it. The patients and families seeking me ardently hope I can help them. I may not save these patients, but I can reduce their suffering and extend their lives, and that is also meaningful.

I have never had much desire for material things, and now I lack nothing—I have enough to eat, warm clothes, and a place to live. I could choose not to work so hard and live a leisurely life, but my heart can never let go of these patients.

Occasionally I see leisurely people fishing by the river, and I am filled with envy. Fishing used to be my passion; as a child I could fish outside all day, so obsessed that I would not even go home for meals. But now I average less than one fishing trip every ten years.

Learning is a habit; after becoming a doctor I found that learning is even more a necessity. No one forces me, but if I go a single day without reading, my heart grows anxious. I have kept writing without cease, almost never missing a day in 365 days a year; no matter how busy, I must write something, just hoping I will not lose this diligent habit. Once indolence takes over, a person easily indulges himself.

The ancients said learning has no end; studying medicine is even more so. In work, because of the blow of failure, the successive deaths of patients under my care, the powerlessness of medicine is repeatedly magnified, and the doctor's heart is filled again and again with frustration. This frustration can only be gradually released through the process of constantly learning, constantly exploring, and constantly raising one's own level.

The doctor is the last spiritual pillar for patients and their families. So the doctor has not only the responsibility of caring for himself and his family; he also has the responsibility of caring for patients and their families.

For a long time I was unwilling to take on child tumor patients, because seeing these innocent children tortured out of shape by tumors, my heart was not just shaken—it was simply tormented.

Once, a child's father begged me repeatedly, asking me to help him. He said he understood what his child was going through now and what the eventual outcome would be, but he did not want to be unable to do anything while his child suffered. He hoped I would tear down the fence in my heart and extend a hand. He said that whatever the outcome, he would be grateful to me and not blame me; he only hoped I would give him, as a father, a chance to care for his child.

From then on, more and more child tumor patients came to me. My tiny room often became a playground for the child patients. To host these little guests well, I bought quite a few toys; often children do not cooperate during visits, and I have to coax them with toys and negotiate with them. Some children took a liking to my toys, and I gave them away to take home.

The children have honed my patience. Some toddlers see a doctor and are frightened, crying and throwing a tantrum to leave. So I have had to learn to be a good uncle, not just a doctor—to have the skill to soothe these little guests into calming down and accepting diagnosis and treatment.

Over these past few years I have gradually become a little known in pediatric oncology circles. Even some respected pediatric oncology experts, some Western-medicine professors, have broken down sectarian barriers and referred patients to me—many of whom, before this, had strongly opposed letting these children see TCM doctors.

The vulnerable area in my heart has finally grown a callus. These cancer families truly need help, and they need compassion. The parents of these children are the young and middle-aged group under the greatest life pressure in this society: with elderly parents above and small children below, and having suffered the life setback and pain of their beloved children having cancer, they face enormous financial and mental pressure.

I have been trying to control their costs. My ideal is to keep these children's TCM expenses at around one or two thousand yuan a month, so their families can afford it without having to ruin themselves financially to treat cancer. Although sometimes it exceeds the limit, this goal has now basically been achieved, and the efficacy is gradually improving.

Some impoverished parents, from a glance, clearly cannot afford my consultation fees; I try my best to waive them. Sometimes, seeing them in my Moments raising donations for their children, I feel deeply that I really should not be taking their money. But subsidizing every one of them is unrealistic; I can only take care of the most difficult among them as much as possible. These families, without a doctor to care for them, would be even more miserable and destitute.

In another ten years, I may be an expert in pediatric oncology. But this road was one I originally desperately wanted to avoid; no one could have foreseen that fate would arrange it this way for me.

But since I have already stepped onto this road, I can only persevere and walk it all the way. Most people eventually become a single part in the great machine of society; being such a part is evidence that we still have value. In a life of purpose, one should not shirk one's responsibilities and obligations.