My Wish for 2018: Read a Few Good Books, and Be a Lowly, Dust-Level Person

Among the couplets of the ancient Chinese, my favorite is Zuo Zongtang's: "Form the highest aspirations, form middling connections, enjoy the lowest blessings; stand on the highest ground, sit on the level ground, act from the broad place."

In 2018 I turned forty. Confucius said, "At forty I had no more doubts." Forty is an important milestone in life. The reason one has no more doubts at forty is that by then one has accumulated so much, the mind is settled, one can guard against impatience and impetuosity, and enter a truly clear state.

Two days ago an old friend of many years came to me, seeking help for a friend's cancer. In our small talk he told me that his son had found a doctor at a Beijing hospital to treat depression, and had privately given the doctor a red envelope of 10,000 yuan, which the doctor accepted. After that, in his whole family's eyes, that doctor's image was no longer so good.

Then, when a lymphoma patient of mine and I went to visit an elderly Beijing physician, he told me on the way that at the outset of his illness he had consulted an academician in oncology whom I have long admired; as a greeting gift he likewise gave a red envelope of 10,000 yuan, which the old academician accepted. This fellow's esteem for the academician has since dropped, and his words could not help showing contempt.

These two incidents struck a chord in me. As fellow medical practitioners in the same profession, I cannot but be on guard. When a person is ill and faces life and death, depending heavily on the doctor, giving the doctor a bribe for better care is only human. To say that I myself over all these years have never accepted any gift from a patient would be absolutely untrue.

Not long ago, a lung-cancer patient I was treating did well: in a single month the tumor shrank dramatically. His son-in-law brought me a whole sheep from Inner Mongolia, straight to my study; it was genuinely hard to refuse, so later I deducted part of its cost from the medicines I bought on the patient's behalf for his elderly father-in-law, as a reciprocal gift.

In China's favor-based society, refusing a gift to one's face is very improper. I imagine that in future, when patients or families offer me such expensive gifts, I will probably have to reciprocate in this same way.

Of course, as a not-wealthy TCM practitioner, I still beg my patients not to put me in such a spot. Gifts are not necessities of my life, but a wife, child and elders must be fed; my modest income is better spent on supporting my family and on medical research.

I have lacked funds for medical research and have accepted grants from wealthy patients. Looking back now, that was most improper. Given the sensitivity of our profession, once one does such a thing, one easily loses one's moral standing.

For oneself, it is merely a few extra material possessions that solve problems time could also solve. But for the patient, because the patient and family revise their view of a doctor and lose trust in him, they may miss the chance to be saved.

I spent nearly ten years governing my every word and deed like a Puritan. But in recent years, honestly, I have relaxed my demands on myself a little, and along with that have gathered a measure of inner unease.

What also troubles me is the many patients already too ill for me to treat, who, whatever I advise, still come recklessly to seek me out. When treatment fails and the family has spent everything for nothing, I feel from the bottom of my heart that I have let these supplicants down.

I did not know how to handle this situation. On New Year's Day I called my father and spoke of these troubles in my heart.

My father said: Son, for those patients who are already hopeless yet stubbornly come to you, do your utmost to prescribe for them, but take no consultation fee from them, rich or poor. Seek no reward, only a clear conscience. My father's words showed me the way out of this problem, and I intend to follow his advice henceforth.

Indeed, putting myself in their place: if my own family had a terminal illness and I heard a certain doctor was expert, I would probably go to him recklessly too.

Of course, over the years I have also helped many poor patients, waiving consultation fees, giving medicines within my means, and modestly supporting those in extreme hardship. As a farming boy from a poor home, I know what it is to be sick and poor together. Medicine is meant to save people; if someone comes to my door and I have the ability to save them, yet refuse for lack of money, my heart would not be at peace.

The best way to peace of mind is to desire nothing; without desire, there is nothing to seek. Lower one's demands on life to the minimum, and desires grow few. Coarse tea and plain rice, a cup of plain water—these cost little. If one can delight in such a life, there is no hardship one cannot bear, and no so many cravings in the heart.

An uneasy heart makes an uneasy body. Toil and pettiness come at the cost of health. As a medical person who has seen much of life and death, if I do not put my own physical and mental health first, I am a complete fool.

I only want to be a lowly person down to the dust, enjoying the most despised of the world's lowly blessings. Since I have already studied medicine, and a good doctor is a scarce resource everywhere, I will—as far as my health allows—provide medical service to the public and relieve patients' suffering.

I have gradually realized that we medical people belong not only to ourselves and our families, but to the countless patients who hope to be healed. This is our lifelong fate; since it cannot be escaped, let us simply love our jobs faithfully.

But over these years of practice I have also truly learned that whether we can help a patient depends very much on fate. Whether our learning happens to be exactly enough to solve a given patient's problem, whether the patient's trust lets them cooperate with us, and many factors from the patient's family and society—all may influence the outcome.

In the past I easily grieved over treatment failures. Gradually I have mellowed. As long as my conscience is clear and I have done my best, I leave the rest to fate. Between people, between doctor and patient, there are rarely "high-grade" bonds, only middling ones. Ordinary bonds are the real ones. Cherishing this faint bond, following the routine, and making plain, steady effort—that is what matters most.

A doctor is an officer who holds the power of life. Sometimes we do have the ability to decide a person's life or death, yet famous physicians of every dynasty have come to violent ends, and even today reports of doctors suffering cruel fates keep surfacing. Clearly this work must be done with great care.

Putting helping others first is society's expectation of the medical profession. A doctor should hold the public in awe and honor patients' expectations. Society, made of the multitude, will never be perfect, so we always live in a turbid world. In a turbid world, rather than expect others to treat us well, it is better to restrain ourselves and stir up less trouble.

Seeking blessings is less wise than avoiding disaster; great wealth and high rank are not necessarily blessings, while freedom from illness and calamity is life's great good fortune. The heart is the source of all desire and evil. Read a few books beneficial to body and mind, do not indulge your wild heart and evil cravings, and enjoy this lowliest yet plainest of blessings—then life will be clear sky and bright moon.

There is no absolute freedom in life; the greatest freedom is built on the most fitting self-discipline.

I offer this article to encourage myself.