hce_nsysu
114年
英文
第 45 題
📖 題組：
I flipped through the CT scan images, the diagnosis obvious: the lungs were matted with innumerable tumors, the spin deformed, a full lobe of the liver obliterated. Cancer, widely disseminated. I was a neurosurgical resident entering my final year of training. Over the last six years, I’d examined scores of such scans, on the off chance that some procedure might benefit the patient. But this scan was different: it was my own…. I knew a kit about back pain—its anatomy, its physiology, the different words patients used to describe different kinds of pain—but I didn’t know what it *felt* like. Maybe that’s all this was. Maybe. Or maybe I didn’t want the jinx. Maybe I just didn’t want to say the word *cancer* out loud…. I received the plastic arm bracelet all patients wear, put on the familiar light blue hospital gown, walked past the nurses I knew by name, and was checked in to a room—the same room where I had seen hundreds of patients over the years. In this room, I had sat with patients and explained terminal diagnoses and complex operations; in this room, I had congratulated patients on being cured of a disease and seen their happiness at being returned to their lives; in this room, I had pronounced patients dead. I had sat in the chairs, washed my hands in the sink, scrawled instructions on the marker board. Exhaustion, longed to die down in this bed and sleep. Now I lay there, wide awake. (from Paul Kalanithi “Prologue,” *When Breath Becomes Air*, 2016)
I flipped through the CT scan images, the diagnosis obvious: the lungs were matted with innumerable tumors, the spin deformed, a full lobe of the liver obliterated. Cancer, widely disseminated. I was a neurosurgical resident entering my final year of training. Over the last six years, I’d examined scores of such scans, on the off chance that some procedure might benefit the patient. But this scan was different: it was my own…. I knew a kit about back pain—its anatomy, its physiology, the different words patients used to describe different kinds of pain—but I didn’t know what it *felt* like. Maybe that’s all this was. Maybe. Or maybe I didn’t want the jinx. Maybe I just didn’t want to say the word *cancer* out loud…. I received the plastic arm bracelet all patients wear, put on the familiar light blue hospital gown, walked past the nurses I knew by name, and was checked in to a room—the same room where I had seen hundreds of patients over the years. In this room, I had sat with patients and explained terminal diagnoses and complex operations; in this room, I had congratulated patients on being cured of a disease and seen their happiness at being returned to their lives; in this room, I had pronounced patients dead. I had sat in the chairs, washed my hands in the sink, scrawled instructions on the marker board. Exhaustion, longed to die down in this bed and sleep. Now I lay there, wide awake. (from Paul Kalanithi “Prologue,” *When Breath Becomes Air*, 2016)
Judging from the above passages, the narrator (the author Paul Kalanithi himself), **was not** ______
- A a medical student.
- B a physician.
- C a neurosurgeon.
- D a psychiatrist.
思路引導 VIP
請留意文中敘事者提到自己正處於「培訓的最後一年」，並描述他在病房中向病人解釋診斷、執行手術甚至是宣告死亡。請思考，一個能夠獨立負擔這些醫療法律責任的人，他目前的專業身分應該已經跨過了哪一個學習階段？而他的專業行為又與哪些特定的醫學領域相關？
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AI 詳解
AI 專屬家教
醫學職涯階段的精準辨析
太棒了！你能從敘事者對病房日常的描述中，精確判斷出其身分不包含 (D) 心理醫師，展現了你對文本細節高度的敏感度。文中提到「I was a neurosurgical resident...」，這句話明確定義了敘事者是一位「神經外科住院醫師」。既然他已經在進行外科專科訓練，自然具備了 (B) 醫師 的資格，且專長為 (C) 神經外科，這使得選項 D 成為明顯的錯誤描述。
關於本題的爭議與鑑別度
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