The recent news about the ER doctor being attacked was deeply unsettling. I can’t fathom how someone could harbor such hatred toward a doctor, or why they’d resort to such extreme measures. I believe most doctors are kind-hearted, and most people condemn the attacker.
I’m writing this just to document my own hospital experience from this year.
Just this morning, I saw a clip on Weibo of stand-up comedian Ronny Chieng telling a joke about Chinese parents wanting their kids to become doctors. He said first-generation Chinese immigrants push their children into medicine because it’s the fastest path to upward mobility. But then when the parents get sick, the kids can’t even convince them to go see a doctor — because the parents think doctors just want to scam you out of your money.
Kid: Then why did you make me study medicine?
Parents: To scam other people, obviously. And that’s exactly why you’ll never make it as a doctor.
Ronny Chieng Stand-up, Netflix
In November this year, my dad was hospitalized due to an injury. After admission, the doctor said they’d observe him for a few days before deciding whether surgery was needed. My family didn’t tell me at first — they didn’t want me to worry. It wasn’t until the doctor scheduled the surgery that my mom finally let me know, and I rushed home immediately. By the time I got there, the surgery was already over. For the surgeon, it was probably the most routine operation imaginable, but for the patient and family, it felt serious. When I walked into the ward and saw all the tubes connected to my dad’s abdomen and the IV line in his neck, it was frightening.
My dad’s attending physician was a young doctor, probably around 30. About 180 cm tall, slightly heavyset.
For the first two days after surgery, he’d come by the ward every morning to check in. My mom and I kept saying the patient felt bloated and uncomfortable. The doctor kept telling us this was completely normal — just get him up and walking around, it helps with bowel movement and speeds up recovery. My mom and I didn’t dare disagree. But watching my dad suffer like that, there wasn’t much we could do. On the first day, he barely managed to get out of bed and walk a little.
The next day, the doctor came by again. We still reported the bloating. He asked if we’d been making my dad move around more. We honestly admitted we hadn’t done much. The doctor actually scolded us — there’s no other way, just walk more and move around. You’re not the first patient, everyone goes through this. After that, we had no choice but to support my dad on both sides and slowly shuffle down the hallway.
Besides the doctor’s morning visits, it was really the nurses who were there for most of the day — handling IV drips, giving injections, changing fluid bags. While at the hospital, I posted on Weibo:
Twitter screenshot
I genuinely felt that without those nurses, we as family members would have been completely lost and overwhelmed. Thank goodness for their professional help.
But that attending physician was impressive too. From the day my dad was admitted until we were discharged, he worked every single day — no weekends off. My mom kept saying how much she admired him for never taking a break. I quietly admired him too. My mom also kept mentioning that the nurses probably had it even harder. With dozens of rooms on one floor and who knows how many patients, these nurses were on their feet nonstop from start to finish. I bet their step counts hit at least 20,000 every day.
From admission to discharge, it was close to ten days. We received so much help — I’m truly grateful to every one of them, doctors and nurses alike. At one point during a dressing change, my dad asked what my younger sister should do for a career — maybe become a doctor or nurse? The nurse doing the dressing immediately said “absolutely not” — there’s a saying in China: “advise someone to study medicine, and you’ll be struck by lightning.” It’s exhausting and thankless, why bother? But then, as she was finishing up, she added: “Though if she truly loves it, that’s a different story.”
I think she must love this profession more than most people do.
Once, I went downstairs to buy breakfast. In the elevator, I saw a nurse heading to her shift, eating a steamed bun and scrolling through WeChat. In that brief moment, I realized — they’re just ordinary people, like you and me in this world. Their profession places so much responsibility and pressure on their shoulders, and they must be exhausted. The Declaration of Geneva — they surely know it better than I do.
- As a member of the medical profession:
- I solemnly pledge to dedicate my life to the service of humanity.
- The health and well-being of my patient will be my first consideration;
- I will respect the autonomy and dignity of my patient;
- I will maintain the utmost respect for human life;
- I will not permit considerations of age, disease or disability, creed, ethnic origin, gender, nationality, political affiliation, race, sexual orientation, social standing, or any other factor to intervene between my duty and my patient;
- I will respect the secrets that are confided in me, even after the patient has died;
- I will practice my profession with conscience and dignity;
- I will do my best to maintain the honor and noble traditions of the medical profession;
- I will give to my teachers, colleagues, and students the respect and gratitude that is their due;
- I will share my medical knowledge for the benefit of the patient and the advancement of healthcare;
- I will attend to my own health, well-being, and abilities in order to provide care of the highest standard;
- I will not use my medical knowledge to violate human rights and civil liberties, even under threat.
- I make these promises solemnly, freely, and upon my honor.