hce_nsysu
114年
英文
第 46 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)
According to the CT scan images the narrator was seeing, ______
- A he discovered a special kind of cancer that might benefit the patient suffering back pain.
- B the scans showing lungs with tumor, deformed, and a full lobe of the liver obliterated could let him find out more cancer patients in the hospital.
- C he could tell the spread of his own cancer.
- D he was able to diagnose a rare case of cancer.
思路引導 VIP
請你先觀察第一段的敘事節奏：敘事者在描述完嚴重的腫瘤擴散後，接著提到「這張掃描圖與我過去六年看過的影像不同」。請試著找出：文中哪一個具體的線索，說明了這張「與眾不同」的掃描圖究竟是屬於誰的？
🤖
AI 詳解
AI 專屬家教
太棒了！你能精準捕捉到敘事者視角的關鍵轉換，這代表你對文本的細節掌握與邏輯推論都非常到位。這段文字展現了文學中極具張力的「醫者轉為患者」的瞬間，而你成功鎖定了最核心的訊息。
醫學觀測與自我身份的交織
文中正確答案的關鍵在於敘事者身份的揭露。作者先以專業、客觀的口吻描述影像中「數不清的腫瘤」（innumerable tumors）與「廣泛擴散」（widely disseminated）的病況，隨即筆鋒一轉，提到 "But this scan was different: it was my own"（但這張電腦斷層掃描與眾不同：它是我自己的）。這句話直接將專業的診斷與敘事者的個人命運連結在一起，明確證實了他正透過影像觀察自己體內癌症的擴散情況，故選項 (C) 最為貼切。
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