Preface
A few days ago, a friend suddenly sighed and said that at graduation, his teacher told him: “When you leave university and forget all the knowledge, what remains is what you truly learned.”
Today, I suddenly realized that during my fifth-year internship, although I can no longer remember exactly what I learned in each department, many feelings remain vividly etched in my memory.
The First Unscripted Handover
At the time, I was in the Gastroenterology Department. My supervising teacher, Teacher Jia, assigned me to take the night shift. He arranged for me to sleep in a quiet place, but the next morning, he suddenly asked me to report on the patients admitted the previous day—without a script.
This was my first unscripted handover. All I remember is that before reporting, I printed out the relevant information, circled the key points, made notes, and recited them repeatedly.
When it came time for the handover, I stuttered and hesitated, speaking for perhaps ten minutes?
I kept saying… uh… ah… um…
In the end, Director Du from the Gastroenterology Department smiled and said, “Don’t be nervous, little student. Just say as much as you can remember.”
I tried to say a few more words, but I really couldn’t recall anything else. “Director, I’m sorry, I can’t remember,” I said. The Director waved his hand dismissively, and I quickly hid behind my supervising teacher, who then supplemented the remaining content.
In just a few minutes, my clothes were soaked through, and my hair was dripping with sweat.
After the handover ended, my supervising teacher said to me, “You did great for your first report! When I did mine for the first time, I couldn’t even get a single sentence out.”
I don’t know if he was being sincere or just comforting me, but it certainly comforted me. After the handover, I took the breakfast my supervising teacher had bought for me, boarded Bus No. 63, and felt an immense sense of relief.
I have long forgotten the specific condition of that patient, but the feeling from that moment has stayed with me until now.
What this experience left me with is a complex mix of emotions: the tension and fear when facing difficulties, the relaxation after they are over, and more importantly, positive feedback that tells me not to give up—to persist and push through, because once you break through, you feel incredibly capable. It also showed me the kindness, patience, and even generational care and guidance released by the previous generation of supervising teachers and directors.
Perhaps my subsequent determination to face challenges head-on and finish tasks no matter how poor the outcome might be started then.
And perhaps my desire to understand and help every junior student who followed me, from those one year younger to those seven or eight years younger, also began then.
Confronting Death for the First Time
The first patient under my direct care passed away during my undergraduate internship. This happened in the Hematology-Oncology Department. There was a middle-aged man who loved joking around; initially, he only had slight ascites, but within a few days, his condition deteriorated rapidly. I wrote about that experience and my feelings in “Death Is the Beginning of Life—Recording the First Time I Announced a Patient’s Death”.
Four years have passed since then. Before rereading that piece, I could barely recall the details of the situation.
All I remember is that humans are fragile—much more fragile than imagined—but at the same time, I witnessed many cases of incredible resilience in the hospital.
Life is magical, isn’t it? Both fragile and strong. Sometimes nothing can crush it, while other times it snaps like a twig, or vanishes like water flowing away.
Repeated experiences like these have made my attitude towards life ambiguous. If I had thousands of words to express, I would ultimately find it difficult to utter even one sigh.
Let’s not dwell on that anymore; let’s change the subject.
Postscript
During the National Day holiday, I chatted with a user about their experience using our mini-program. As we talked, the conversation turned to why they chose to pursue a professional master’s degree.
Based on their situation, I said a lot, but there was one statement that is universally applicable, and I hope other students can see it too:
Whether or not you work in the medical industry in the future, these three years in the hospital will renew your perception of life and human beings. Afterwards, whatever job you do, you will be someone who has seen the world. You will possess a confidence that supports you in doing anything.
Let us encourage each other.