godfather of surgery

Chapter 1387 A Way of Life

That evening, Aili and Bilige returned to their dormitory. Aili was carrying two cans of Red Bull, while Bilige was carrying a bag of fruit.

"I heard you're writing a thesis?" Eric put the Red Bull on the table. "We're here to cheer you on."

Tashi smiled wryly: "I can't write it, I can't even write the beginning."

Bilige leaned closer to the computer and glanced at it. The blank document had only one line of headings. "Just think of it as writing a medical record: chief complaint, present illness, past medical history, step by step."

Zaxi shook his head: "It's different, much more difficult than medical records."

Eric pulled up a chair and sat down, turning on his computer: "I'll help you look up literature. Whatever you need, I'll find it for you."

Bilige sat down as well: "I'll help you organize the data, the lab reports, the imaging reports, I'll make them into tables for you."

Zaxi looked at them, his nose tingling with emotion. Before coming to Sanbo, he thought he would be burying himself in his studies alone for the next three years. He never expected to make so many friends.

"Okay!" He took a deep breath and sat back down at the computer. "Then I'll start writing."

The three of them worked until 11 p.m. Zaxi finished the first draft, which was still very rough, but at least it had a basic structure. He saved the document three times, afraid of losing it.

Professor Yang repeatedly instructed them not to stay up late, and that they must go to bed by 11 p.m. unless there was an emergency surgery.

The next morning, Zaxi printed out the first draft and went to find Yang Ping.

Yang Ping was reading documents in his office. He took the printed copy, flipped through it, and his face remained expressionless.

Tashi stood to the side, his palms sweaty.

Yang Ping turned to the second page, then suddenly stopped, picked up a red pen, and drew a circle on it.

“Here you say ‘the patient developed diarrhea after long-term use of antibiotics.’ How long is ‘long-term’? What specific antibiotics were used? How many days were they used? Please be clear. A research paper is not a story; it needs to be rigorous.”

Tashi nodded quickly.

Yang Ping continued scrolling down and circled another line. "Here, you said 'the aneurysm is located in a distal branch of the middle cerebral artery.' Why did you emphasize 'distal'? Explain your thought process clearly. Why does this location make you suspect it's infectious?"

Tashi nodded again.

Yang Ping turned to the third page and circled it. "Here, you said 'blood culture negative.' But you didn't write how many times it was done, when it was done, or whether antibiotics were used before it was done. All of these things need to be clearly stated."

Zaxi memorized it with all his might.

Yang Ping flipped to the last page, looked at it for a few seconds, and then put the printed copy on the table.

"The structure is okay, but there's too little detail. How did you deduce it step by step? What was the basis for each step? Were there any other possibilities? Why were they ruled out? You need to explain all of these clearly."

Zaxi took a deep breath: "I'll go back and revise it."

Yang Ping nodded: "Bring it back after you've revised it. Remember, the paper isn't written for experts, it's written for your peers. Your peers may not know this case as well as you do, so you need to explain each step clearly so they can follow your line of thought."

After getting off work in the afternoon, Zaxi ate dinner and returned to his dormitory, turned on his computer, and started making changes.

He revised it more than ten times, and the next day he took it to Yang Ping again.

Yang Ping examined the area for ten minutes, circling seven or eight spots. "Here, you said 'consider Clostridium difficile infection.' Why didn't you consider other pathogens? Salmonella and Campylobacter jejuni can both cause similar symptoms, why did you rule them out?"

Zaxi was stunned; he hadn't really thought about that.

Yang Ping said, "You need to include the differential diagnosis, write down what possibilities you considered and why they were ruled out, so that others will believe that your diagnosis is rigorous."

That night, Zaxi went back and revised it more than a dozen times.

On the third day, he took the printed copy to Yang Ping, thinking that if it still didn't work this time, he would scrap the whole thing and start over.

Yang Ping looked at it for twenty minutes. This time, there were far fewer circled areas. He read to the end and then put the printed copy on the table.

"That's it!"

Zaxi was stunned: "Is it okay?"

Yang Ping nodded: "The basic framework and logic are all correct. All that's left is to polish the language and verify the data. Go back and check it again, and make sure the reference format is consistent. Then you can submit it."

Tashi stood there, suddenly at a loss for words.

Yang Ping glanced at him, his tone suddenly softening: "Well written. For your first time writing like this, it has exceeded my expectations."

Zaxi's eyes suddenly felt a little hot. He opened his mouth, wanting to say thank you, but his throat felt like it was blocked by something.

Yang Ping stood up and patted him on the shoulder: "Alright, stop being so sentimental. You have surgery this afternoon, go and get ready."

Tashi nodded vigorously and turned to walk towards the door.

The afternoon surgery was a complex spinal deformity correction. Zaxi stood behind Yang Ping, pulling the hook all afternoon until his hands ached, but his heart was full.

After the surgery, he returned to his dormitory, turned on his computer, and began revising the final draft of his thesis.

On Friday afternoon, Zaxi was changing a patient's dressing in the ward when a graduate student came over and said that Professor Yang was looking for him.

After changing his dressing, he rushed to find Professor Yang, but couldn't find him in his office, so he immediately called Professor Yang.

“Come to the Overseas Chinese Building,” Professor Yang said.

Zaxi paused for a moment. Overseas Chinese Building? That patient again? Wasn't he already cured?

"Coming right away!"

He hung up the phone and ran downstairs. When he got to the Overseas Chinese Building, Yang Ping was standing in the corridor talking to Director Tian and Dr. Meng. None of the three looked relaxed.

"What's wrong?" Zaxi asked. "Wasn't the patient recovering quite well?"

Dr. Meng smiled wryly: "It's precisely because it's too good that problems have arisen."

Zaxi didn't understand.

Yang Ping said, "The patient suddenly asked to be discharged this morning, saying that he was already cured and didn't want to stay in the hospital for even a minute longer. His family also chimed in, saying that there were a lot of things waiting to be done at the company and that he had to leave immediately."

Zaxi frowned: "But his intestinal infection hasn't completely healed yet. He'll need to continue taking medication and have regular checkups after being discharged..."

“We all know that,” Dr. Meng said, “but the family doesn’t think so. They think that since the aneurysm has disappeared, the rest is just a minor issue, and they can just go home and take care of it themselves.”

Yang Ping didn't say anything. After listening to Dr. Meng's report, they went to see the patient together.

In the ward, the patient had changed into casual clothes and was sitting on the edge of the bed, while his wife was packing their things. Seeing Yang Ping enter, the patient stood up, smiled, and said, "Professor Yang, I was just about to come and say goodbye. Thank you for saving my life."

Yang Ping nodded, neither stopping him nor saying anything to persuade him to stay. He simply walked over, sat down beside the bed, and pointed to the chair opposite him: "Sit down, chat for a bit before you leave." The patient paused, looked at his wife, then at Yang Ping, and sat down.

Yang Ping asked, "After you went back, was your work schedule full?"

The patient nodded: "I have two months' worth of work to do—contracts, meetings, projects—all waiting for me. Thousands of people in the company are waiting to make a living; I can't stay in the hospital forever."

Yang Ping said, "I understand, but I want to ask you a question. Don't thank me yet. My second question is, if you are discharged now and the Clostridium difficile infection recurs after you go home, what will you do?"

The patient opened his mouth, but didn't say anything.

Yang Ping said, "You might get diarrhea, to the point of dehydration, electrolyte imbalance, and even collapse. Then you'll go to the hospital, get more tests, and be hospitalized again. If you're lucky, the doctor will know you have Clostridium difficile infection and prescribe vancomycin. If you're unlucky, the doctor will prescribe cephalosporins, and your condition will only get worse."

The patient's expression changed.

His wife chimed in, "Professor Yang, we'll take our medication on time and be careful with our diet when we get back. It's not that we don't care, it's just that we really have no other choice. Things at the company..."

Yang Ping turned to look at her, his tone calm: "I have a question for you. Do you think your husbands' health or their work is more important?"

The woman was stunned.

Yang Ping said, "You just said that thousands of people in the company are waiting to eat. But if your husband's health collapses, how will thousands of people eat?"

He paused, then pointed to the patient's stomach: "The Clostridium difficile in your stomach isn't just ordinary diarrhea. It can burrow into your blood vessels, run to your brain, rupture your blood vessels, and cause brain hemorrhage. We were lucky this time to find the cause and suppress it with antibiotics. But it's not completely dead; it's still in your intestines. If you don't take your medicine properly and don't rest well after you go home, it will come back."

The patient's face turned completely pale.

Yang Ping looked at him and said, "You can leave now, I won't stop you. But let me ask you one question: are you afraid of having another brain hemorrhage?"

The patient lowered his head and remained silent for a long time. His wife also fell silent and stopped tidying up her things.

After a long while, the patient raised his head, his eyes a little red: "Professor Yang, it's not that I'm not afraid. It's just... I'm used to it. I'm used to bearing it all, used to holding on. For so many years, I've shouldered everything at the company and at home all by myself. When I'm sick, I bear it; when I'm in pain, I bear it; even when I can't bear it anymore, I have to bear it."

His voice was a little hoarse: "You're right, I am indeed afraid. I'm afraid that if it happens again, I really won't be able to take it."

Yang Ping looked at him and said, "When you can't take it anymore, don't. Let someone else take it. Your body can't handle that much. The company can still operate without you, but if you miss the best time for treatment, things might not be so easy to fix."

Director Tian said from the side, “After you go back, hand over your work to the vice president, your business to the department managers, and your social engagements to your subordinates. You have only one task: to recover your health. If you recover well, the company will recover. If you collapse, the company will collapse. Stay for another week. After a week, have a follow-up stool test. If it turns negative, you can leave. If it doesn't turn negative, you can stay longer. Is that okay?”

Yang Ping added, "Being good to yourself is not selfishness, but a form of responsibility. Only when you are well can you take care of your family, and only when you take care of your family can you take care of your employees."

The patient hesitated for a moment, then nodded: "Okay."

Yang Ping patted the patient on the shoulder, then turned and left.

Zaxi followed him out of the ward. When they reached the doctor's office, he said to Zaxi.

"Remember, being a doctor is not just about treating illnesses. It's about treating people, whole people. Their bodies, their minds, their families, their work—all of these are part of your treatment. If you only focus on their illness and not on the person, they will relapse even after you've cured them."

That evening, instead of revising his thesis, Zaxi sat in his dormitory, took out his notebook, and wrote a long passage.

He wrote about that patient.

This patient, 54 years old, is an entrepreneur—wealthy, powerful, owns a company with hundreds of employees. But he is not healthy. He hasn't slept well for six months, hasn't eaten properly for six months, has had diarrhea for six months, and has had a fever for six months. He doesn't know that there's something wrong with his body, or perhaps he does know but doesn't have time to deal with it.

Professor Yang cured his aneurysm in two weeks. But how long will it take to correct his lifestyle habits? After he goes home, will he still stay up late? Will he still socialize? Will he still shoulder all the burdens himself?
Tashi continued writing: "I suddenly realized something. Being a doctor isn't like being a repairman. A repairman only cares about fixing the broken parts, and that's it. But a doctor is different. A doctor has to treat the patient as a person. A person's illness doesn't come suddenly; it's the accumulation of their lifestyle over the past few years, decades. If you don't change their lifestyle, the illness will recur even after you've cured them."

As he finished writing, his pen paused for a moment, and then he added a sentence:

"What I want to learn is not just surgery, but how to help people live a good life."

After he finished writing, he closed the notebook and placed it next to his pillow.

A week later, the patient's stool was re-examined, and the Clostridium difficile toxin test was negative.

Before leaving, the patient came to Yang Ping's office to say goodbye. He was wearing new clothes, had his hair cut, and looked much more energetic.

"Professor Yang, thank you." He extended his hand and shook it firmly. "I've remembered what you said. Being good to yourself isn't selfish; it's being responsible to everyone. After I get back, I'll delegate the company's affairs. From now on, I'll eat on time, sleep on time, and have my check-ups on time."

Yang Ping nodded and smiled: "Remember, your body doesn't just belong to you, it belongs to your family, your employees, and everyone who cares about you. What will happen to them if you collapse?"

The patient nodded, his eyes a little red.

He turned to look at Zaxi and said, "Dr. Zaxi, thank you too. The questions you asked me that day made me think a lot. I never thought about why I got this disease before. Now I know, it's my own fault."

Zaxi scratched his head sheepishly: "It wasn't you who did it, it's just that you've been working too hard."

After the patient left, Zaxi stood in the corridor, watching the figure disappear into the elevator.

Yang Ping came out of the office with a printed paper in his hand.

"The fourth draft is finished, take a look." He handed the paper to Zaxi.

Zaxi took it, flipped through it, and found several more red circles on it.

“Here, you said ‘the patient will continue taking vancomycin orally after discharge.’ You wrote down the dosage, but not the course of treatment. You need to clearly state how long to take it, how to reduce the dosage, and when to have a follow-up examination.”

Tashi nodded.

"And here, you said 'follow-up for three months.' What are you following up on? Is it an aneurysm or an intestinal infection? Please write it clearly."

Tashi nodded again.

Yang Ping glanced at him: "What's wrong? You seem distracted."

Zaxi hesitated for a moment and said, "Professor Yang, I'm thinking about that patient."

Yang Ping leaned against the doorframe: "What are you thinking about?"

Tashi said, "I'm thinking about what you said. Being good to yourself isn't selfish; it's being responsible to everyone. I think this isn't just something I said to him, but also something I said to all of us doctors."

Yang Ping looked at him without saying a word.

Tashi continued, “We doctors often forget to take care of ourselves. We stay up late, work overtime, and skip meals, thinking we can handle it. But what if I break down?”

Yang Ping nodded:
“You’ve finally figured it out. That’s why I always tell you not to have surgery when you’re sick with a high fever, not to have surgery when you’re too tired, and not to have surgery on an empty stomach. It’s irresponsible to yourself and the patient. If you’re the only one in the hospital who can perform this kind of surgery, and it’s an emergency, then it’s understandable. But most of the time, that’s not the case. If you’re not ready, you can postpone it, have someone else perform it, or wait until you’re feeling better before having the surgery.”

After he finished speaking, he turned and went back to his office.

Zaxi stood in the corridor, clutching his thesis. He suddenly realized that coming to Sanbo Hospital, he had learned more than just surgery, diagnosis, and writing papers.

What he learned was a way of life.