发表评论-小樵-万维博客-万维读者网（电脑版）

By: Briana, University of Colorado

This summer, China California Heart Watch (China Cal) invited me to work with their organization holding medical clinics in Yunnan Province, China, an experience that was nothing short of culturally awakening, intellectually challenging, and emotionally engaging. As a Post Baccalaureate Pre-Med student, I believe that the most valuable aspect of this learning excursion has been how to cope with the humanistic and emotional side of medicine: the dichotomy between “human care” and “clinical care.” This is an issue I did not expect to face until well into medical school, one I thought I would be able to handle with flying colors. Surprisingly, I discovered just how difficult this could be on Day 1, the first day of our 3 week internship and the day I wondered for the first time if medicine is truly the right fit for me.

Clinic Day 1: After 2 full days of lecture about basic heart anatomy, the circulatory system, auscultation, and congenital cardiovascular disease, we finally held our first clinic. The patients who came to the China Cal headquarters were not local villagers, but rather individuals who had traveled a long way to see Dr. Robert Detrano, M.D., PhD., founder of China Cal, and who had seen him several times before. These patients were not elderly adults with high blood pressure or obesity. Instead, they were children with congenital heart disorders. As a Pre-Med student whose dream is to work in Pediatrics, I was thrilled; what could be better than spending time with kids all day, helping them heal and giving them hope and a smile? What I seemed to have strangely forgotten on this day is that doctors are not omniscient, and there isn’t always a solution to every patient’s ailments.

Day 1 brought in several adorable children, some of whom were candidates for surgery and who would most likely grow up as healthy as their parents dreamed. But one small child, a one-year-old infant with a 40-year-old mother, would not. This baby had the works: VSD, ASD, and interruption of the aortic arch, among others. Upon examination, she was lethargic and showed signs of cyanosis, but her little smile never faded. After taking the infant’s vitals and reviewing her ultrasound and EKG, we had to tell the mother that her only baby is not only inoperable but likely would not live more than a few months. The look on the mother’s face is an image I will never forget. She was defeated and scared but strong as she fought for her baby, confident that something could be done to help her. Suddenly, I felt helpless, and it brought a tear to my eye when I knew I should not show it. How, as an aspiring pediatric physician, can I care about children as much as I do while dealing with such heart wrenching moments? How can I handle the rigors of a life in medicine, not academically but emotionally? Sure, when there are cures and solutions, being a doctor must feel like a wonderful gift. But I lacked confidence that I could deal with moments like this, especially in the field of cardiology where life threatening conditions are all too common.

The rest of the day had me stewing in my emotions as the impending mortality of that beautiful little girl sunk in, forcing me to question my life-long dream of working in the healthcare field at all. But I will never forget what Dr. Detrano and Amy Poole, our head nurse, said to me in response to my worries, something I now believe will carry me through medical school and my career: “For every ten patients you cannot help, there is always one that makes it all worth it. Your best is all you can do. And that is what keeps you going in medicine.”

While on one of our many bus trips through the Chinese countryside, I read an inspiring article in Scientific American that answered my worries in a different light, discussing surgeons and psychopaths and the unique qualities these individuals share. What it says about physicians that I find relevant to my mid-Pre-Med-life crisis is their ability to separate themselves from emotional ropes to make confident decisions and upon success (or failure) transform into one of the most compassionate and sincere individuals there is. I worked on training my brain in this way during village clinics in the weeks that followed Day 1, greeting patients with the utmost warmth but switching on my concentration and focus when examining them. This idea has given me a glimpse into what being a compassionate and life-changing physician really means. I walked away from China Cal with a more confident and tangible approach to medicine and an excitement I have never had before.