MediCool Medical Software Files IPO Prospectus: 'Detachment Is Compassion, Calmness Is Care'

Editor’s Note: On the last day of 2014, a stampede occurred on the Bund in Shanghai, resulting in 36 deaths and 49 injuries. The injured were urgently transported to Ruijin Hospital, Changzheng Hospital, Shanghai First People’s Hospital, and Huangpu District Central Hospital for treatment. Upon admitting the casualties, these hospitals rapidly implemented triage and emergency care. Hundreds of medical staff forfeited their holidays to participate in the rescue efforts.

In emergency situations, physicians must triage and treat patients based on the severity of their injuries, prioritizing the preservation of life for critically ill patients before effectively attending to those with minor injuries. At times, clinicians may appear emotionally detached in the face of patients’ suffering, seemingly lacking compassion. However, this apparent “heartlessness” and composure actually reflect the physician’s professionalism and conscientiousness. For medical practitioners, detachment is a form of care, and calmness is an expression of compassion. Consider this: how can one perform surgery and deliver effective treatment while experiencing intense emotional turmoil? Therefore, upholding the principle of “great medicine requires sincerity and skill” demands that physicians maintain rationality and composure at all times.

Dr. Ko Wen-je, who has just won the election for Taipei Mayor, once discussed his three stages of professional development as a physician: “At first, mountains are mountains and waters are waters; then, mountains are no longer mountains and waters are no longer waters; finally, mountains are once again mountains and waters are once again waters.” This reflection pertains to the professionalism of physicians. Below, we share an article written by outstanding young medical students from U.S. medical schools, as a source of mutual encouragement!

“You have no idea about my mom,” the lady said. “How many 84-year-olds still go cha-cha dancing every week?”

Dr. D paused. “I understand, but the likelihood of her regaining consciousness is exceedingly slim, let alone…”

“She will get better!” the lady said.

It felt as though something were lodged in my throat, causing an indescribable discomfort. This patient had just undergone a craniotomy yesterday, and the latest CT scan revealed a bright white area on one side of the brain, indicating further expansion of the intracranial hemorrhage. I truly wished that lady were right—that her mother would recover—but I knew the reality was otherwise.

Dr. D must have noticed my low mood: “The first day is quite challenging for you, but you’ll get used to it.”

On the way home after my first day of shadowing physicians, I felt a persistent heaviness in my heart: a middle-aged man plagued by chronic neuropathy, an elderly stroke survivor left helpless by hemiplegia, and a young girl terrified by a recurrence of her epilepsy. It seemed that no matter how hard the doctors tried, they could not alleviate these patients’ suffering.

Of course, what puzzled me even more was Dr. D. As I became increasingly troubled by one ailment after another, Dr. D seemed utterly unaffected, engaging me in pleasant conversation between patient visits and greeting each subsequent patient with a smile. It was evident that she maintained excellent rapport with every patient; yet, her apparent numbness to their suffering left me somewhat uneasy. “You’ll get used to it,” Dr. D told me. And I wondered, is “getting used to it” truly a good thing?

A group of energetic high school students helped me truly understand the meaning of Dr. D’s words above. While taking a photography elective in college and working on a documentary short film assignment, I followed and filmed a group of high school students attending a medical simulation course at my internship hospital. During the first case scenario, I was surprised to see one student tightly holding the hand of the simulated patient. When the “patient” complained of abdominal pain, the students eagerly reached out to palpate the “patient’s” abdomen; upon suddenly hearing an alarm from the monitoring equipment, ten faces turned anxiously toward the monitor screen.

The students’ emotional engagement with a plastic patient simulator reminds us of how powerful and moving human empathy can be.

However, after a while, the students began to grow accustomed to it. They no longer touched the “patients,” maintaining a certain distance from “them.” They ceased casual chatter and were no longer startled by distressing symptoms. Both verbally and through body language, they began to establish a professional distance from the patients. From my perspective, these changes indicated that they were becoming more adept observers, more focused, and more logical in their thinking—it was experience that granted them their subsequent confidence and composure. Clearly, they still cared about the patients; however, this care now manifested more in concentrated diagnostic effort rather than emotional involvement.

While discussing the final case of this course, a student said to the simulated patient, “Trust us; we are all professionals.” Although it was meant as a joke, I could not help but wonder: What distinguishes these students from children playing house? And what sets physicians apart from well-meaning individuals in white coats? It is certainly not merely compassion, as family and friends also offer care. The distinction lies in professional expertise built upon that compassion, which empowers them to diagnose and treat patients, answer questions, and provide emotional support. Assuming this responsibility and earning the trust that follows is, in my view, the hallmark of professionalism.

My experience as a reporter for the campus newspaper gave me firsthand insight into the meaning of professionalism. While working on a series of reports focused on campus sexual harassment, I was deeply impressed by an interviewee named Luis, a survivor of sexual harassment. She recounted her controlling ex-boyfriend, the rape that occurred on that fateful night, and her long journey of psychological recovery. Initially, I was concerned about engaging with such a traumatic subject; however, I was surprised by my own composure, questioning techniques, and listening skills during this challenging interview. A journalist’s duty is to seek out and report the facts. To uphold professionalism and fulfill this duty, I refrained from letting personal emotions or opinions overshadow the interviewee and the material. I did not attempt to share her pain as a friend might, but this did not detract from the quality of our interview in the slightest. At the end of the interview, when I thanked Luis for her cooperation, she said, “No need to thank me. I should be thanking you for caring enough about this issue to write about it.”

In subsequent clinical observations, I began to grow increasingly “accustomed” to the environment, while also realizing that my earlier concerns about physicians’ dehumanization were not as severe as I had feared. Dr. D cares for her patients just as deeply as I do; she simply strives to help them in her own way. On the path to conquering disease, physicians often navigate the boundary between professionalism and emotion. In my view, acknowledging the challenges of maintaining this balance, as well as its profound impact on patients, constitutes the more meaningful and rewarding aspect of this process.

(This article was first published on Zhenlipai, with authorization from the author Dr. 2 for publication on VCBeat. Dr. 2 is the Chairman of MediCool Medical Software Co., Ltd.; WeChat ID: 1340603421)