Chapter 285: Heartbreak in the Consultation Room

For a journalist, the most important thing is staying in the know. That’s why they work hard to meet new people and carefully maintain their network, making sure they’re always prepared when news breaks.

“Deal!”

The young female reporter gave Old Qin a crisp, decisive response.

To scoop a major news story, she’d gladly trade not just one meal, but ten.

She prided herself on reading people well. This young doctor named Zhou Can seemed ordinary, but compared to that flashy overseas PhD, he came across as much steadier and more down-to-earth.

Years of experience told her Zhou Can held no small position at Tuyu Hospital.

“Old Qin, help me dig up some background on Zhou Can. I’m going to check things out. Anyway, we don’t need interviews right now.” With a stylish pink backpack slung over her shoulder, she quietly approached Zhou Can’s desk.

At that moment, Zhou Can was carefully reviewing the patient’s test results.

The tumor’s pathology in the throat—Non-Hodgkin lymphoma.

Immunohistochemistry and gene rearrangement data were both concerning.

The ear CT revealed a raised and broadened right jugular foramen, as well as a small area of soft tissue density in the left tympanic cavity. The chest CT showed a dense shadow in the right lung.

A lumbar puncture painted an equally grim picture: protein 2.1g/L, glucose 0.9mmol/L, Cl 127mmol/L—along with a flood of immature cells found in the cerebrospinal fluid.

Seeing these results, Zhou Can’s face clouded with distress.

“Dr. Zhou, is my daughter’s illness serious? Can it be cured?”

The girl’s mother already feared the worst, but she still clung to a final shred of hope.

The patient herself stared anxiously at Zhou Can, waiting for a verdict.

In this moment, the patient must have felt like a prisoner awaiting her sentence.

“I need you to prepare yourselves mentally. I’m afraid the outlook isn’t good. Based on these results, the cancer has already spread. Chemotherapy in the hematology department is the only way to extend her life now.”

Zhou Can knew he couldn’t withhold the harsh truth from them.

If only they had discovered the true cause sooner.

This illness had dragged on for two full years—precious time, lost.

Hearing the diagnosis, the girl’s mother swayed, raising a trembling hand to her forehead.

Zhou Can noticed something was wrong and stood up quickly to help.

But someone was even faster—she was caught and steadied before he could reach her.

It was the female reporter from the TV station.

“Are you alright?”

The reporter’s voice was filled with genuine concern.

“I’m… fine! Just got a little dizzy and my vision went black for a second, but I feel much better now!”

The mother was only in her early forties, still quite healthy. Her sudden stumble and momentary blackout came from having her last bit of hope crushed.

Sometimes, people faint when faced with enormous joy or deep sorrow.

In medicine, this is called vasovagal syncope.

Under intense emotional shock, a vagal reflex causes sudden dilation of peripheral blood vessels, less blood returning to the heart, lower blood pressure, and temporary interruption of blood flow to the brain—resulting in fainting.

That’s why bad news is often withheld from the elderly or the frail.

They’re especially at risk if exposed to this kind of trauma.

Seniors in particular—many with hypertension or heart disease—simply can’t withstand violent emotional shocks.

“Dr. Zhou, is what I have really cancer? How long can I live?”

The patient surprised everyone by staying unusually calm.

It seemed that two years of suffering had made her strong. Maybe, she’d already braced herself for the worst.

“My poor child…”

The mother clung to her daughter, breaking down in tears.

No one in the room could bear to witness that scene.

“Cancer is just a medical term. Your lymphoma is malignant and has spread throughout your body. To put it simply, yes—it’s late-stage cancer. This illness has dragged on for more than two years, all that time lost…”

A heavy weight pressed on Zhou Can’s heart.

Every time he saw a case like this, it hit him hard.

Maybe it was compassion, or maybe he just couldn’t stand seeing people suffer. Whatever it was, he could never help but hope every patient who walked through the hospital would leave safe and well.

But reality doesn’t work that way—most things in life don’t go as planned.

Zhou Can had seen more than his share of helpless sorrow. Like this young girl, barely in the bloom of life, now in stage IV lymphoma. With the medicine they had, there was no way they could save her.

“Doctor, I’m begging you, save my daughter! It doesn’t matter what it costs—we can’t lose her, I can’t lose my only child…”

The mother broke down completely, her emotions shattering.

Any mother would feel the same—no one could accept seeing the child they’ve raised for nineteen years get cancer.

“Right now, the only thing you can do is start chemotherapy to extend her life. But if she stays optimistic, maybe—maybe there’s hope for a medical miracle. Or new drugs might be developed to cure lymphoma one day. If so, she could have a chance,”

Zhou Can tried his best to comfort them.

Though deep down he knew: with her condition, it wouldn’t be long before her life faded away.

Most cancer patients who do well get about five years, but this girl… she’d be lucky to survive six months.

Given her current state, even three more months would be a miracle.

With aggressive treatment, half a year to a year was possible—but no guarantee.

“I just don’t get it. Other kids recover from colds. How did my daughter’s cold become cancer?” Her mother asked Zhou Can in desperation.

“It’s likely your daughter’s lymphoma didn’t show up right away. From her bloodwork two years ago, her liver enzymes were high—which pointed to chronic hepatitis. Other test results supported that. At that time, she was probably infected by EB virus. This virus likely triggered her lymphoma.”

Zhou Can had reviewed all her records and mapped out the entire course of her illness.

He strongly suspected she had no sign of lymphoma during her first hospital stay.

“What’s EB virus?”

The patient asked.

She must have been filled with regret and confusion, desperate to know how a minor cold could turn into a cancer strong enough to take her life.

“EB virus, or CAEBV, is actually a type of herpes virus. The first time you had a low fever and high liver enzymes, it was this virus infecting you.”

Zhou Can noticed the female reporter scribbling in her notepad at lightning speed.

He didn’t stop her.

“Why couldn’t this virus be cured after two years? Was the specialist back then incompetent, or is this virus just incurable?”

By now, the mother had regained her composure. She desperately wanted to know how her daughter’s cold had turned to late-stage cancer in two short years.

If the specialist had made a mistake and delayed a diagnosis, she swore to hold them accountable.

Faced with such a sensitive question and a public setting, Zhou Can answered with utmost caution.

Deputy Director Shi, standing beside him, nervously nudged him with a foot.

But Zhou Can wasn’t someone who’d let slip something inappropriate.

Especially with a reporter present.

“EB virus is most threatening to infants, children, and teens with prior respiratory illnesses. There’s currently no proven treatment or vaccine. Clinically, we use antiviral drugs according to symptoms. When you first came to the hospital, the external specialist prescribed liver support and antiviral therapy. That was appropriate.”

Internally, Zhou Can was cursing that outside specialist for being incompetent and delaying the girl’s treatment. Out loud, though, he spoke with restraint.

He trusted that the previous doctor did their best.

Treating EB virus infection is full of unknowns to begin with.

Poor results might be partially due to the patient’s lifestyle and immune system.

Now, with things as they were, the only option left was to learn from this experience.

After all, the hard lessons of clinical medicine are written with human lives.

No matter if it’s Chinese or Western medicine, without massive clinical testing, there can’t be breakthroughs—nor progress.

Western medicine only became the standard in just two centuries because the West became the world’s most advanced power, and because its results are clear for all to see.

Overall, medical standards keep rising.

Not so long ago, cardiac arrest or respiratory failure meant certain death—no room for miracles.

But now, even when the heart or lungs fail, ECMO machines can replace their function. These machines can’t keep people alive forever, but they can bridge the gap in the most critical days. Many patients in ICU survive because of them.

Every year, countless patients are rescued from the edge thanks to advanced intensive care.

So, mistakes do happen in clinical medicine.

But as modern medicine evolves, clinical experience grows, and errors become rarer.

“I need to call her father. He’s working in Africa, and left our daughter in my care. Now…” Her voice cracked as she spoke.

She sobbed again, unable to go on.

Learning that her daughter had late-stage cancer was like the sky collapsing.

“Xiaoya, sit here for a moment. I’ll call your dad and talk about what to do next.”

“Mom, don’t be too sad. Since I got sick, I haven’t seen you smile. I want to see you happy again. If I do leave this world one day, my biggest wish is for you and Dad to live well and be happy.”

Zhou Can turned away, unable to watch such a mature nineteen-year-old speak.

She was far too considerate for her age.

She seemed to have accepted her fate already. Even after learning she was terminal, she showed nothing but calm.

Maybe, after two grueling years, she’d come to see death as a release.

Grief welled up inside Zhou Can—he hated that his skills were still too shallow; there was nothing he could do to cure her.

With the medicine they had, not just him—no hospital in the world could cure stage IV lymphoma. The only option was chemotherapy.

“If only there was a miracle cancer drug…”

The wish echoed in Zhou Can’s heart.

Just yesterday, Yang Chan had told him to pursue a cure for cancer as his life’s goal. Back then, the idea felt impossibly out of reach.

He’d never even dared to dream of it—he’d said no on the spot.

But now, for the first time, the seed of a fight against cancer was stirring deep within him.

The girl’s mother had stepped outside, heading for the hospital lobby to make a call.

The reporter stayed, chatting quietly with the young patient.

She was learning about the girl’s story—her illness and treatments.

Zhou Can had no right to interfere, so he busied himself by going over the patient’s files, once more reviewing every step of her long illness.

About half an hour later, the mother returned.

Her eyes were swollen—she must’ve been crying for some time.

Tears still streaked her cheeks, her hair a mess, but she didn’t care.

“Dr. Zhou, I just spoke to my husband. He wants us to take our daughter to Tuyu Affiliated Hospital No.2 for treatment. They’re famous for handling all kinds of tumors. Thank you for helping us uncover the real cause of her illness—thank you!”

The mother gave Zhou Can a deep bow.

She knew, clear as day, that even though Zhou Can was young and not as well-known as those experts, he was the one who’d made this diagnosis possible.

Her daughter’s diagnosis was all thanks to him.

“You’re too kind! Choosing Tuyu Affiliated Hospital No.2 is a great decision. I sincerely hope your daughter beats this illness and recovers soon.” Zhou Can then turned to the girl. “No matter what the disease is, the weaker you are, the stronger it becomes. But if you stand strong, it weakens. So have faith and face it head-on. I believe you’ll pull off your own miracle, beat this illness, and come out on top!”

“Thank you for your encouragement. I’ll face this bravely, for my mom and dad, and for everyone who cares about me in this world.”

The girl nodded firmly, determination shining in her eyes.

Soon after, she and her family left.

Once they were gone, the beautiful reporter flipped her wavy hair and took a seat at Zhou Can’s desk.

Deputy Director Shi, seeing this bold move, suddenly felt a bit nervous.

“Young lady, we’re on duty right now. No interviews allowed.”

“I won’t get in your way. As soon as you have another patient, I’ll leave. That young patient struggled for two years, seeing countless doctors, never getting a real answer—until she came here. From what I’ve heard, Dr. Zhou Can’s input was the turning point.”

She had an unmistakable presence, the kind of thick-skinned confidence only a reporter can carry.

Her bright, clear eyes boldly locked onto Zhou Can.

“Dr. Zhou, can I get to know you better?”

“We know each other now. If there’s nothing else, you should probably head back to your seat.”

Zhou Can was immune to charms—having a superlative girlfriend like Su Qianqian, he wasn’t about to fall for just anyone’s looks.

With Su Qianqian’s beauty and excellence already in his life, beautiful women held no sway over him.

“Don’t you think it’s a little cruel to turn down a pretty girl like this?”

The harder he pushed her away, the more determined she became to land the interview.

From talking with the patient, she’d already learned that the girl had been to numerous hospitals—even seen famous specialists—yet none of them had found the cause.

Clearly, her case was incredibly hard to diagnose.

Yet this unassuming young doctor had gotten to the root of it. How, exactly, had he done it?

The reporter became consumed with curiosity—she wouldn’t rest until she got her answers.

Her professional instincts told her: if she could record the whole interview and clearly explain the medical reasoning, she’d have a headline story on her hands.

“Let me guess. Do you think that, just because you’re pretty, you’re everyone’s goddess?” Zhou Can shot back.

He wasn’t about to grant any special privileges just for a little beauty—she’d picked the wrong target for that.

“But isn’t beauty what you men all want?” she teased him, her eyes sparkling.

“So tell me, how many types of goddesses are there?”

Zhou Can flashed her an amused look.

This sassy woman—she really dared to play with fire.

Back in his younger days, he used to be a bit of a flirt himself, fantasizing about every pretty girl he met—though he’d never acted on it. It was all just daydreams.

“I know! There’s the elegant type, the academic type, the intellectual type, the graceful type… too many to count! If you don’t mind me saying, I suppose I’m the pretty type,” she said, counting them off on her delicate fingers.

She ticked them off one by one, her milky-white fingers dancing through the list.

“Actually, there’s one more kind you missed.”

A mischievous smile appeared on Zhou Can’s lips as he watched her flawless face.

“Which one?”

She didn’t back down, meeting his gaze.

“The crazy goddess kind!”

As soon as he finished, Deputy Director Shi couldn’t help bursting out laughing.

The reporter could only stare blankly, lines of frustration crossing her face.

“Hey! Was that really necessary? I just wanted to interview you. Besides, every citizen should cooperate with the press, you know!” she huffed back, half shamed and half playfully annoyed.

She’d been roasted, but she shot back in mock indignation rather than picking a real fight.

She wasn’t about to storm off or start an argument.

Truth be told, she was a pro at interviews. Even after Zhou Can’s pointed comment, she didn’t budge.

If anything, she used her beauty as an advantage—smiling, half-joking, and diffusing his insults with charming grace.