Chapter 202: Milestones in Healing: Growth, Friendship, and Bright News

That tough case was finally resolved after his parents talked things through and eased his mind. The patient’s stress melted away, and in the end he made a full recovery.

He never had issues with appetite or diarrhea after that.

Zhou Can’s name was making the rounds once again.

His standing in the Gastrointestinal Surgery Department climbed higher than ever.

Even two chief physicians, who usually acted icy around him, now greeted him with smiles—and sometimes even stopped to chat.

Granted, the conversation was usually trivial. Like, “Heading to the OR for surgery?”

Or: “Dr. Zhou, your last case analysis and diagnosis were spot-on. When are you coming to help out with our team?”

Zhou Can always responded with a warm smile and genuine enthusiasm.

……

In the doctors’ office of the Gastrointestinal Surgery Department, Zhou Can actually had his own dedicated desk—a rare privilege for a trainee. Most trainees bounced between departments, rotating for one to three months at a time.

So, it usually made no sense to assign them personalized workstations.

When it came time to write up case reports, they’d just grab a spot at the communal tables.

On the surface, doctors at the hospital all seemed equal, but the reality was very different.

Attending physicians and up enjoyed the highest perks.

Resident doctors got decent treatment—they felt human, at least.

Trainees and interns generally had it rough—sometimes even worse than migrant workers.

In some departments, even drinking water at the nurses’ station meant being subjected to looks. When fruit or snacks were handed out, trainees and interns were almost always left out. Of course, since those were bought out of pocket by the staff, it wasn’t exactly unfair—but it still stung.

That unspoken sense of being lesser always left a bad taste.

Luckily, Director Jia, Zhou Can’s current supervisor, was a striking exception—generous and big-hearted.

If surgery ran late into a meal break, he’d proactively order food for the whole surgical team.

Whether you were a trainee, a nurse, or an intern, you’d get a share.

Now that it was almost time to clock out, Zhou Can raced to finish his case notes and fill out medical orders.

Working with Director Jia was different from partnering with any other doctor—he wasn’t afraid to delegate authority.

Anything his team could handle, he’d let them take the reins.

Zhou Can was trusted to write orders for many of their inpatients.

For standard cases, he’d ask Senior Sister Qiu to look things over. For critical patients, though, he’d always send them to Director Jia for a personal review.

If something went sideways, no one wanted to take the fall.

Just then, his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen—Qiao Yu was calling.

She hardly ever called him; they usually just chatted on WeChat.

“Hey, Gorgeous Qiao, what’s up?”

Zhou Can tucked the phone under his chin so he could keep writing case notes as he talked.

“Neurosurgery told me to report for training tomorrow. You pulling strings for me behind the scenes?” she asked, voice a little hoarse.

She’d been stuck for over two months trying to get into General Surgery—the easiest route into a surgical department—but never landed a spot.

Suddenly, she got notice from Neurosurgery to start work there tomorrow. The surprise had her reeling.

“I didn’t do anything! You’re just too outstanding, so they picked you!”

Zhou Can chuckled.

“Can you be serious for a second? When I got the notice, I was totally stunned. It was too good to be true. The other day, Head Nurse Niu personally called me to her office and, very tactfully, asked how I had so much pull. She said if I ever go back to Emergency, she’ll guarantee me better treatment.”

Qiao Yu was someone who quietly worked hard, without any background or connections.

That meant she often got bullied by other nurses in Emergency.

She knew she had no big connections—none at all.

The more she thought about it, the more she figured Zhou Can must have helped her in secret.

He had, after all, come by Emergency a while back to ask about her situation, and told her he’d try asking in Neurosurgery and Cardiothoracic Surgery.

“Isn’t this great? Weren’t you hoping to work in the Critical Care Department for a year? Now you’ve got the perfect path: train a month or two in Neurosurgery, then another month or two in Cardiothoracic Surgery, then hop over to Internal Medicine for a few months. You’ll be prime material for Critical Care after that.”

Zhou Can did his best to encourage her.

“If you don’t fess up right now, I’ll come to Gastrointestinal Surgery and confront you in person.”

There was a playful threat in her words, plus a touch of teasing affection.

Ever since she found out Zhou Can had a girlfriend, she kept things strictly professional at work and online. They’d occasionally chat about life or share some work stories, but nothing more.

“Don’t! If you come running over, the whole department will be buzzing with rumors—how will you ever find a husband then?”

Zhou Can knew his coworkers in Gastroenterology had a knack for gossip.

They could spin the wildest tales out of thin air.

If Su Qianqian heard a word of it, even if she didn’t make a scene, she’d be bothered deep down.

“Hmph! I’m not scared! The only real friends I’ve got at Tuyu Hospital are you, Tang Ling, and Li Shuangshuang. None of them could have helped me with this. You’re the only one who could’ve pulled it off—and you’ve done this sort of thing before, always helping me out and never taking any credit.”

She was just too sharp to fool.

There was no hiding things from her.

“Hey, calling it a ‘criminal record’ makes me sound shady—you really wanna describe your benefactor that way?”

Zhou Can protested.

“I knew it was you—so just admit it! Only you would help me out and never ask for anything in return. Thanks for making my dream a reality. I promise I’ll work my heart out in Neurosurgery.”

Her voice cracked again.

Sounded like Zhou Can had left her truly moved.

“It was really nothing. Go for it! I believe you’ll be an amazing nurse one day. Can’t wait to scrub in together someday.”

If there was one thing Zhou Can didn’t excel at, it was comforting women.

Even over the phone, he could sense Qiao Yu was about to cry from being so touched.

To him, it had only ever been a small favor.

He’d just called Director Wen in Neurosurgery, and without hesitation Wen had agreed to arrange it—then even joked that the new nurse might be his girlfriend.

But Zhou Can flatly denied it.

His relationship with Qiao Yu was close, like comrades-in-arms.

They were more than friends, but not quite anything else.

Qiao Yu hung up abruptly, probably in tears.

Women—total mysteries.

Zhou Can had no idea why, with her wish granted, she’d end up crying instead of celebrating.

Still, it was just a blip in the day. It didn’t get in the way of his training in Gastroenterology or his preparations for the second round of the medical comprehensive exam.

He hit the books every day, making up for all the medical fundamentals he’d slacked off on before.

By the time he rotated into General Surgery, the second comprehensive exam was finally here.

He’d expected a nightmare—an exam so hard it would be hellish. But as soon as it started, everything just clicked. Four exams in two days went smoother than he could have imagined.

There’d been several questions he’d missed in the first round, and he still passed. Now, with how confident he felt after the second, he believed his results would be even better.

……

Of course, it would be a while before the scores were released.

Zhou Can kept calm. He focused on his General Surgery training.

Deputy Director Liu assigned him to his own team and started mentoring him personally.

Zhou Can was truly grateful for all the help Mr. Liu had given him. Now, getting a two-month rotation under his supervision felt like a dream come true.

To show his appreciation, Zhou Can bought two expensive roots of old ginseng and tried to gift them to Mr. Liu in private.

But Mr. Liu was a man of integrity—honest and upright. He flatly refused the gift, and Zhou Can had no choice but to take it back.

Mr. Liu told him that the best way to repay him was to study hard and one day become a great doctor, saving even more lives.

In fact, most senior doctors with true reputations had pretty solid character.

Zhou Can put his appreciation into practice, learning every clinical and surgical skill he could under Mr. Liu’s guidance.

There usually weren’t many critically ill patients in General Surgery.

But the range of conditions was vast—almost every organ system was involved. From a simple skin suture to transplanting parathyroid glands, or operating on aortic aneurysms with artificial vessels.

Then there were the classic appendectomies or resections for liver, gallbladder, and pancreatic tumors.

General Surgery was the origin of all surgical specialties; even now, other surgical branches like Hepatobiliary, Gastrointestinal, and Orthopedics had branched off, not to mention Neurosurgery and Cardiothoracic Surgery.

Even after spawning so many independent branches, General Surgery still bore a vast array of surgical responsibilities.

No other department got through more surgeries each year—General Surgery always topped the charts.

Zhou Can had planned to spend three months training here, but on Dr. Xu’s advice, he’d added an extra month in Gastroenterology, cutting a month from his General Surgery rotation.

Day by day, life moved on.

One day, Dr. Shi from the Critical Care Department called with big news.

The paper they’d co-authored had been accepted by the Huaxia Hospital Journal of Infectious Diseases after passing both initial and external reviews. Only the final review process remained, and their odds looked great.

That journal was an established core publication in China.

Sure, it was a notch below the top SCI journals, but success would come in steps.

Dr. Shi explained that because their paper’s subject—a parasitic infection new to humans—was a global first, they’d caught the eye of the journal’s editor-in-chief right away.

The prospects for the paper were excellent.

Medical papers and research results take time to build momentum. No one expected overnight fame.

Only when other medical professionals recognized and cited your work could it really make an impact.

Dr. Shi’s main purpose was to tell Zhou Can two things.

First, they basically had publication in a core domestic journal in the bag—the paper had a real shot at making waves.

Second, Dr. Shi encouraged him: if Zhou Can encountered any tough cases that he managed to cure, he should do some research. If no one had published a paper on that topic, and it looked medically valuable, he could try writing one solo.

Or they could team up again.

Clearly, Dr. Shi had gotten a taste for success and wanted to keep collaborating.

After all, Zhou Can’s knack for cracking complicated cases meant he never lacked for fresh material. It was a sure bet.

Zhou Can gladly agreed.

For one thing, Dr. Shi was a truly solid person, with deep medical knowledge. There was no need to worry about being let down in a partnership.

For another, writing a paper was much more complex than people imagined—from gathering data and cross-checking results to formulating original insights, it tested a doctor in every way.

So teaming up with Dr. Shi on more valuable papers was a smart move.

After mastering the process and tricks, Zhou Can would be able to tackle solo papers with far less hassle.

He’d already learned so much from their joint paper on gastrointestinal parasitic infections.

“Dr. Zhou, you agreed so quickly—do you already have another topic up your sleeve?” Dr. Shi asked.

“Actually, I do. The patient’s a 17-year-old kid, and back when he was 15, still in junior high, his parents put so much pressure on him he developed chronic symptoms—almost like inflammatory bowel disease…”

Zhou Can briefly described that recent case from Gastroenterology.

Now that exams were over, he no longer needed to cram basic sciences around the clock.

Writing another paper with Dr. Shi would also give him a boost when it came time for awards and a shot at promotion.

“Sounds like an interesting case. Send over the data, and I’ll review it before deciding to write. There’ve already been a lot of papers on neurological issues affecting digestive function, though. So unless there’s something truly new, it’s hard to get it through review.”

Writing a paper often meant sacrificing a month or two—or more—of a doctor’s free time.

Publishing a paper that failed review was, frankly, pointless.

“Will do. I’ll organize the files after work and send them to you.”

Thankfully, Zhou Can kept all the patient’s test results and records on hand. Just needed light sorting before sending them to Dr. Shi.

As he was about to finish work, his phone rang yet again.

This time, it was Human Resources calling.

“Dr. Zhou, congratulations—you passed all parts of your Physician Certification Exam with flying colors! For registration, you’ll need to come in personally and list Tuyu Hospital as your approved institution.”

“Thank you, thank you!”

Zhou Can was so happy, he nearly jumped for joy.

He’d finally cleared one of the biggest hurdles on his medical path.

For every medical student, passing the licensing exam was the ultimate rite of passage.

Make it, and you became a physician.

Miss it, and you’d always be just a medical graduate—not legally allowed to practice.

It was a double dose of good luck—one blessing after another.

With his Physician’s Certificate and Medical Qualification Certificate, he now had prescription rights and could write up orders for patients.

He’d also be protected and recognized by the law as a real doctor.

The tough times were finally behind him.

First thing after hanging up, Zhou Can wanted to share the good news with the most important people in his life.

“Mom! I passed my licensing exam—I’m officially a doctor!”

His parents had sacrificed to put him through school and raise him. Now, passing the exam was the best gift he could give them.

“Hahaha! I knew my son was the best! Do you need any spending money? I’ll transfer you 100,000 soon as a little reward.”

His mom’s love was always so real, so practical.

She’d send five or even ten grand at a go.

“Mom, I have enough money. You and Dad worked hard for it—spend some on yourselves and enjoy life. I notice you and Dad are always so frugal.”

There was no more reason for Zhou Can to rely on his parents now.

“Your dad and I have just one son—if we don’t spend on you, who else would we spend on? We’re not lacking for anything, so don’t worry! Still, it makes us so happy to see you thinking of us. By the way, have you found a girlfriend yet? I’ve got a few in mind—good family, good education, good looks. Want to meet them next time you come home?”

Her biggest concern was always his love life.