In Dr. Lai's newly published book, When a Doctor Meets Siki ("Siki" is an Indian word, meaning "I care about you, and you care about me"), he talks a lot about the interaction between him and his patients.

Twenty-three years passed--he taught at the University of Kansas Medical Center, saw patients, worked hard in his medical studies and became an eminent and respectable doctor. His work was rewarding as his patients never ceased to show their appreciation for his loving care. He knew that if he stayed on in the States, he would become a top medical scientist. But there was an empty place in his heart that could never seem to be filled--his longing for his home country.

In 1997, Lai received the shocking news that two of his friends, one a professor of physics and the other a medical doctor like himself, had died shortly after they had been diagnosed with cancer. Both of them were still quite young. Their early deaths pushed him to ponder a serious question: "If I had only six months to live, would I be doing what I'm doing now?"

The answer came as a definite "No."

Perplexed, he could not be really sure of what he wanted to do at that time. The hustle and bustle of his life made him unable to focus on the question. His wife advised him to take a five-month sabbatical leave in England and give some serious thought to this problem.

During his stay in London, Lai had the chance to meet Dr. David Landsborough, former president of Changhua Christian Hospital in central Taiwan, who had dedicated a good part of his life to the medical field in Taiwan. Listening to Dr. Landsborough talk fondly about his memories of Taiwan, Lai was greatly moved. "I grew up in Taiwan and yet I stayed in a foreign country without ever doing anything for my countrymen. But this kind, elderly gentleman in front of me, who had no blood relations to my fellow Taiwanese at all, dedicated almost his entire lifetime to my home country." Lai felt terribly ashamed of himself and his longing for home grew even stronger. On his way back to the States, he told himself, "I must go back to Taiwan."

However, back in Kansas City, he was again swamped with work and his determination to return to Taiwan was laid aside until months later, when he himself came face to face with death.

Lai experienced an unaccountable weight loss, and so he arranged to receive a complete physical checkup. The test results showed that there was a tumor-like shadow in his pancreas. He had seen numerous deaths during his long medical career, but when he came to face it himself he still felt totally helpless. "If I'd known I would die this early, I'd have gone back to Taiwan years ago," he remembered telling himself.

Although further examinations proved it to be a false alarm, the experience had a tremendous impact on him. "It reminded me that we are all vulnerable, and that I should no longer remain deaf to this persistent, thunderous, innate calling to return home." As his children had grown up and entered university, his dream was not unreachable, and he finally decided to take action and go back to Taiwan.



A doctor with a caring heart

Lai Chi-wan, now fifty-six years old, graduated from the Medical College of National Taiwan University in 1969. After working at the NTU Hospital for several years, he went to the United States with his wife, Yen-hui, also a medical doctor.

A specialist in neurology, Lai concentrates his efforts on the disease of epilepsy. In addition to conducting research and developing new medicines for this disease, he also dedicates himself to promoting the welfare of epileptic patients. He writes articles and gives talks to help correct misconceptions about this poorly understood disease, and he also helps organize camps for epileptic children. His ultimate goal is to help individuals and families affected by epilepsy to achieve a more ideal level of physical, social and emotional well-being.

"I never cease wondering why our society is so prejudiced against this disease. Of course when an epileptic patient has a seizure, the symptoms can be somewhat frightening. But try to put yourself in their shoes and think, 'If I were afflicted with the same disease, how would I take it?' Of course you wouldn't like it when others stare curiously at you. If we can try to feel for the patients, we will be more sympathetic towards them."

Lai is noted for his humane care of his patients. He has written many articles on the doctor-patient relationship, emphasizing that doctors should not only be technically competent, but they should also be compassionate and devoted to the spiritual welfare of their patients. He talks a lot about his relationships with his patients in his newly published book When a Doctor Meets Siki. ("Siki" is an Indian word meaning "I care about you and you care about me," which Lai uses to describe the doctor-patient relationship.) In this book, we can see how a caring doctor lovingly treats patients and how the patients, in return, show respect and appreciation to the doctor.

Whereas most physicians just focus their attention on curing a disease, Lai stresses the importance of treating the patient as a human being, not just as a case. "A physician whose full attention is centered on curing a disease is like a mere artisan, instead of a real artist. Our focus is on the patient, not just on the disease. If the human element were ignored in the healing process, patients would suffer more serious physical and mental pain."

The humanistic spirit Lai embraces and the care and respect he shows for his patients can be traced to his own upbringing. He professes that he was very much influenced by his father, a successful businessman who built his enterprise from scratch and finally had five thousand employees working under him. Lai remembers that when he was a child his father was often very busy, but on Sundays he always managed to go out fishing with his children. When they took a boat out to sea, the father always told them to address the boatman as "Captain," not just a curt "Hey, you." In this way, the father was teaching his children that they should respect people from all walks of life, no matter how high or low on the social ladder. "I was touched by the way my father treated the working class. I learned from him that we should respect all kinds of people. He set a very good example for us."

The influence from his family played a good part in making Lai what he is today. In addition to that, he has seen many good doctors during his medical career, and their attitudes toward their patients made an impact on him. In When A Doctor Meets Siki, he tells an anecdote that inspired him to be more considerate and attentive to the needs of his patients.

It happened when Lai first arrived in the United States. One day, his neurology teacher, Dr. A. B. Baker, was making rounds in the wards and Lai was among the resident doctors who joined the rounds. He remembered that when Dr. Baker was about to examine a woman afflicted with sciatica, he asked a nurse to place a blanket between the woman's legs. Lai was at first bewildered by this request of Dr. Baker's, but soon he realized that the blanket was placed there to hide the lady's private parts. Because Dr. Baker had to test the lady by raising her legs, he considerately put a blanket between her legs in order to prevent her from feeling embarrassed.

"I no longer remember what Dr. Baker taught us about neurology that day, but what he did with that blanket was deeply imprinted on my mind," said Lai. He had seen any number of such checks done by his teachers and colleagues in Taiwan, but none of them had ever thought of putting a blanket between the legs of the patients. Because of Dr. Baker's example, Lai would always place a blanket between his patients' legs whenever he had to do similar examinations.

Things like this helped Lai reflect and improve on his role as a physician. "I even learn from doctors who are not so good to avoid acting like them," he explained.



Happiness and unhappiness

Lai has always enjoyed his medical career. His interaction with his patients, the satisfaction derived from being able to save lives, the enjoyment of being constantly appreciated by the people he has helped--all these make him feel well rewarded. "Even if a patient dies, his family will still thank me for my efforts," Lai remarked. "I think there are very few professions in the world where people appreciate you even if you fail."

But inevitably there is some frustration involved. "If I told you that there was no frustration, I would be plain lying. I feel most unhappy when patients pay no heed to my advice. Oftentimes they wait until their illnesses get too serious and then they come back to me. But then it's all too late." Fortunately he has many patients to take care of, so the frustration caused by some patients is alleviated by his good relationships with others.

When he feels frustrated, he often reminds himself of a conversation he once had with his high school teacher, Wu Yeh-min. When Wu learned that Lai had decided to become a doctor, he asked him, "I know that you have a cheerful disposition, but once you become a doctor you'll have to face a lot of gloomy, sick people. Are you sure that's what you really want?" Lai replied, "If I can make these unhappy people smile when they walk out of my clinic, I'll still be able to live happily." For years, he has worked towards this goal and done his best to live up to his promise.



Tzu Chi anatomy classroom

When Lai decided to come back to Taiwan, he chose to settle down at the Tzu Chi College of Medicine and Tzu Chi General Hospital. Why did he choose to dedicate himself to Tzu Chi?

In December 1998, during a trip to Taiwan, he took the opportunity to visit several medical colleges, including the Tzu Chi College of Medicine and Humanities.

The visit was an eye-opener. When he was in the States, he had heard that at the Tzu Chi college every four students share a body for dissection at an anatomy class, perhaps the lowest such ratio in the world. He wondered how Tzu Chi could find so many body donors in a conservative Chinese society like Taiwan, where most people still consider it necessary to preserve a whole body in order to rest in peace when they die.

When Lai visited the laboratory and anatomy classroom at the Tzu Chi medical college, he was surprised by how much respect was shown to each donated body there. In the laboratory, bodies donated for dissection are not immersed in formalin for preservation, so there is not the usual acrid smell as in most anatomy labs. Instead, preservatives are injected into the bodies and then a cocooning, something like PVC, is sprayed on them to insulate the bodies from contact with the air. The bodies are then placed in a storeroom where the temperature is kept at 15.6 degrees Celsius [60 F] before they are taken out for dissection.

In the anatomy classroom, Lai found that the body on every dissection table was covered with a metal cover, on which a picture and a brief introduction of the body donor were pasted. The picture and history remind students that these lifeless bodies were once animated, lively people like them. The students should pay respect to them and learn as much as possible from them as a way to thank the donors.

What touched Lai even more was that the Tzu Chi medical students always address the donated bodies as their "silent teachers." At the end of the semester, when the anatomy classes are over, they stitch up the body, dress it properly, and put it into a coffin. Then as a final farewell gesture, they place a cluster of flowers and a thank-you note on each of their silent teachers before they are cremated.

"After the visit, I felt that if someone were looking for a place to do something for medical education here in Taiwan, Tzu Chi, with its profound respect for life, would definitely be the ideal place." Lai made up his mind to settle down at Tzu Chi, and he even decided that after he passes away he will donate his body to Tzu Chi for medical study and research.



Back in Taiwan

Lai has been back home for about two years and is now the dean of the Tzu Chi College of Medicine and the vice-president of Tzu Chi University. For the past two years, his attention has been focused mainly on medical administration and education. He hopes that under his training his students will be interested not only in medical knowledge but also in the humanities, and that they will be both technically excellent and spiritually caring and compassionate towards their patients.

During these past two years since he settled down at Tzu Chi, he has also been observing and thinking very seriously about what he can do for his home country. "At first I had intended to do something for epileptic patients here, but then I found out that there are already a lot of people dedicated to the cause. So I keep my mind open and look to see what else I can do for Taiwan."

Lai is glad that he joined Tzu Chi, because he believes that with the help of this charity organization it will be easier for him to fulfill his ideals. Some of his friends asked him if he ever regretted coming home, and Lai answered that he did not for one moment regret his decision, even when he is most frustrated. "Now that I'm finally home, I feel rich at heart. I know I'm walking towards my goal. So, as long as you're walking on the way to your goal, even if you fall down and die halfway, you'll have no regrets because you've at least made the effort."