Chapter 0401: A Doctor's Heart

Youth means good health—that was the only thought in Zhao Fusheng's mind the next morning.

After the age of forty in his previous life, he basically couldn't stay up late; even after pulling an all-nighter for work, he would feel extremely exhausted. But now, after staying up all night without sleep, Zhao Fusheng felt not a trace of fatigue, and even felt a bit excited.

Youth is wonderful.

Muttering to himself, Zhao Fusheng drank the porridge Li Yuan had brought, looking thoroughly satisfied.

“This child, you must be exhausted,” Li Yuan said to Zhao Fusheng with concern.

Zhao Fusheng shook his head: “It's nothing, Auntie, I'm in great shape.”

Then he teased Fan Beibei: “Beibei, did you sleep well last night?”

“Yes,” the little girl nodded happily.

Zhao's mother went to the payment counter to pay; she would go home to rest later. Zhao Fusheng had originally planned to go home with her, but after thinking it over, he decided to return to the dormitory.

After a while, Zhao's mother walked in, shaking her head as she came.

“What's wrong?” Li Yuan asked curiously.

Zhao Fusheng also asked curiously: “Yeah, what's the matter? Did you run into someone?”

He thought his mother had met an acquaintance; otherwise, why would she look so strange?

Zhao's mother sighed and shook her head: “Don't even mention it. When I was coming back just now, at the stairwell, I saw a young man kneeling before Director Chen of Surgery, begging him to save his grandfather and not to drive them away…”

“Ah?”

Li Yuan was startled, but Zhao Fusheng's heart stirred.

“What happened?” Li Yuan quickly asked.

“I don't know. It seems the young man's grandfather is critically ill, and the family is poor; the deposit they paid earlier is used up…” Zhao's mother shook her head and sighed: “Alas, why do we still have to pay for medical treatment in our socialist country? I heard that in foreign countries, medical treatment is free…”

“Mom, don't listen to their nonsense,” Zhao Fusheng interjected. “They say the moon is rounder abroad, but let me tell you, free medical care abroad isn't that simple.”

“Really?” Zhao's mother and Li Yuan looked at Zhao Fusheng with confusion.

Although they were medical workers themselves, that didn't mean they knew much about foreign affairs.

Zhao Fusheng nodded: “Really. The so-called free medical care abroad first requires you to obtain permanent residency or citizenship in that country, and you also need to meet a certain number of years of tax payments. In short, you have to create enough value for them before you can enjoy a free lunch.”

“What about the poor?” Zhao's mother asked instinctively.

“The poor?” Zhao Fusheng shrugged. “If you have money, you get treated; if you don't, you endure. That principle is the same everywhere in the world.”

As he spoke, he continued to explain: “Moreover, abroad, you need to make an appointment to see a doctor in public hospitals.”

“An appointment?” Li Yuan looked bewildered. “Do you need an appointment to see a doctor?”

Zhao Fusheng laughed: “Haven't you seen in foreign TV shows, whenever they want to see a doctor, they have to make an appointment in advance? That's because their doctors don't work overtime; they leave on time, and each doctor sees a fixed number of patients per day. Unlike our domestic doctors, who often have outpatient hours from morning to afternoon.”

He was telling the truth. In his previous life, Zhao Fusheng initially thought foreign medical care was wonderful and foreign doctors were responsible, but after careful investigation, he learned the truth.

The so-called wonderful free medical care also depends on who it's for.

Simply put, the poor can't afford medical treatment, regardless of nationality or location.

“So, our country is relatively good,” Li Yuan and Zhao's mother exchanged glances and said.

Zhao Fusheng shook his head and said nothing, because he didn't know how to answer his mother on this issue.

Some things, even if he knew the truth, he couldn't say, because this problem wasn't something Zhao Fusheng could solve; he could only hope that the country would develop better.

Although he had told Zhang Qian to come find him for a chat when he had time, it was clear Zhang Qian didn't have that intention. Zhao Fusheng's intuition told him that the person his mother encountered in the morning was most likely Zhang Qian.

With that thought, Zhao Fusheng looked up and said to his mother: “Mom, I'm going out to take a look.”

Then he left the ward and went into the corridor.

There were quite a few people outside; it was morning, with nurses changing shifts, doctors making rounds, and patients' family members coming and going—it was lively.

But Zhao Fusheng didn't see Zhang Qian; instead, he ran into Chen Jianmin, who was just coming out of the ward.

“Director Chen, shouldn't we apply to the higher-ups about this?” a middle-aged doctor walking beside Chen Jianmin said as they walked.

Chen Jianmin nodded: “Of course I'll apply, but now the priority is to treat the patient. The old man is old; if we don't operate soon, I'm afraid he won't hold out much longer.”

“But the problem is, he simply can't afford the surgery costs,” the doctor said with a bitter expression.

“I'll figure something out. We are doctors; saving lives is our duty. Do you mean to ask every patient who comes in for surgery whether they can afford it, and if not, just watch them die?” Chen Jianmin stopped and looked seriously at his colleague: “To be a doctor, one must first have a benevolent heart, and then benevolent skills.”

The man, who seemed to have a good relationship with Chen Jianmin, shook his head and said: “Director Chen, with all due respect, this is how people become polarized. We know that over ninety percent of patients are kind and reasonable, but we can't identify the ten percent who might cause trouble. To protect ourselves and prevent problems, we assume all patients are potential troublemakers. You've seen the old man's situation. If we kindly perform the surgery and something goes wrong, the responsibility will be ours.”

Chen Jianmin stopped, looked at the people around him, then at the doctor, and finally said solemnly: “If that's the case, I'll take the responsibility!”

With that, he strode downstairs, leaving a group of people exchanging bewildered glances.

Watching his retreating figure, Zhao Fusheng stood there shaking his head. This man's temperament really hadn't changed in over a decade. He remembered that when he met him in his previous life, the old man was about to retire, but he was still the same. Only then, he was already the most authoritative expert in the hospital's surgery department, with the entire department being his disciples and followers, so no one dared to oppose him. Moreover, the hospital was financially better off then, occasionally able to provide subsidies to patients.

But now, by making this decision, Chen Jianmin would most likely have to pay out of his own pocket.

With that thought, Zhao Fusheng walked toward the surgical ward, intending to see Zhang Qian.