Stay True to the Original Aspiration, Forge Ahead, and Waste No Time
Recently, a rheumatologist at a Grade-A tertiary hospital came to consult me about her mother's illness. Since her mother fell ill, she has grown much more haggard. Being unable to solve the problem of her closest relative has made her doubt whether the medical knowledge she learned is of any use, and whether she is even qualified to be a doctor; it has gotten to the point where she wants to change careers.
Being at a loss when a loved one falls ill is an experience many doctors have had, which is why we often say "a doctor cannot heal himself." She is no exception, and neither am I.
A few days ago, after my son had food poisoning at school and then heatstroke, I too was extremely tense when the situation turned critical. My child's mother said to him: Your father has always been a composed person; this time he is uncharacteristically panicked. My son said: It would be strange if he weren't panicked; only panicking can prove he's my real dad!
Although in retrospect I handled my son's illness very promptly and appropriately, at the time my heart was truly frantic with fear, afraid of losing my son, and I would not let go of his hand for a moment. Fortunately, I often take part in rescuing critically ill patients and am fairly well trained; the instinctive response forged by professional training kept me from being at a loss at that critical moment.
A head nurse at a Grade-A tertiary hospital with whom I have been friends for many years read my article and felt deeply relieved on my behalf. She said to me: The situation was truly frightening; luckily you were wise. Also, one of my uncles back home, a chief physician by title, sighed on the phone about how fragile life is and rejoiced that it had been a close call without disaster.
Am I myself not still shuddering in hindsight? I am also reflecting on whether my handling at the time was improper in any way, so as to prevent similar risks in the future; after all, no one wants their dearest ones to run the risk of death.
When I called the ambulance and sent my son to emergency care, looking at the other patients also heading to the ER, a voice within told me: if the opportunity arises in the future, I would be willing to double as an emergency physician. Being an ER doctor is not easy; I have tasted that bitter experience. But at the moment when my own loved one needed emergency care, I felt full of reverence for the colleagues working in the ER. And I also felt that, since one has already become a physician, one should not hide in a comfort zone seeking peace, but should proactively take on this social responsibility—for society, and for oneself.
The flow of life often hangs only on a single breath; the emergency physician is the person who fights for a slim chance of survival for the patient in that single breath. Do not grandstand about how "saving a life is better than building a seven-story pagoda"; putting ourselves in others' shoes, at the moments when we need an ER doctor to save our lives, we should realize that someone must always do such a risky profession. We cannot always hand the hard, grueling work to others while standing idly by, otherwise, when our own loved ones are in danger, who will save them?
I am now in my forties; although I cannot yet claim a successful career, I am at least free from want of food and clothing. I could relax and indulge in pleasures, enjoying life, but I dare not slacken in the slightest; every day I still rise at four or five in the morning and insist on reading medical literature for more than three hours.
I often tell my child's mother: studying medicine is such that every ten thousand hours of reading raises one by one level; at three hours of reading a day, without a day off all year, it still takes nearly ten years to rise one level. To rise several more levels and reach a level worthy of one's patients, one must read literature unremittingly for a lifetime. Since I have become a physician in this life, I should do my best to avoid becoming a murderous quack and owe as few lives as possible.
Besides reading literature and doing clinical work, I also learn about other doctors' abilities from my patients. Sometimes, for patients I cannot handle, I will refer them to more skilled doctors for help. By now, among my circle of close friends, there are already over a hundred colleagues in the medical field. Personal face is less important than a patient's life, so I often very piously ask my peers for help. I have never been an arrogant person, but I am indeed cautious when making friends. After all, human life is at stake; it is dangerous to rely on a person's own claims about how skilled they are. I always learn about a person's true ability from reality before daring to call on them at critical moments. After all, in this information age there is too much information where truth and falsehood are hard to distinguish, and how can human life be treated as a trifle?
Before the pandemic, sometimes, to solve certain patients' problems, I would even travel a thousand li taking my patients to seek advice from some folk doctors. Sometimes, for a single real case of cancer successfully treated by a folk single remedy, I would shoulder my pack and follow the patient's family into the mountains to identify the "folk herbs" they had used.
No matter where I go, my backpack holds several pocket books. I wake early every morning and like to read for a few hours in the dead silence of the small hours, broadening my knowledge. One regrets the lack of books only when one needs them; medical knowledge is accumulated by all of us, the crystallization of collective wisdom, and only by reading more can one improve one's level.
When a patient piously trusts me, I dare not betray that trust. One must understand that when a patient trusts a doctor, they are entrusting their life to the doctor. This respect and trust concerns life and death, so the responsibility of the trusted is naturally weighty. Only those with deep karmic affinity dare entrust their lives to us; would it not be shameful to betray such affinity? So not a single day can be slackened; only by constantly progressing can we be worthy of our patients' trust.
What unique skill does a doctor possess? Clinical problems are endlessly varied; relying on "unique skills" and "secret recipes" to do the work of saving lives is nonsense. A doctor must rely on insight and experience accumulated day after day to meet the endlessly varied conditions. Reading, thinking, taking notes, memorizing—these daily tasks are the key to improving medical skill. The richer the accumulation, the higher the probability of successful rescue and the fewer lives mistakenly taken.
People who rest on their laurels and lazy people cannot become first-class doctors. When my son's condition was dangerous, I stroked him and comforted him: don't worry, Dad is one of the best doctors in the world, nothing will happen to you. In my heart I knew this was only a special-moment reassurance for the child; I am far from being one of the best doctors in the world. But to protect my own loved ones and the patients who seek my help, I should strive to become one of the best doctors in the world. Only in that way can I become their support.
And to reach such a goal, how can I not strive without slacking?