hce_nsysu
114年
英文
第 48 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)
The doctor was in a room ______
- A where he used to play the role of doctor.
- B where hundreds of his patients died after complex operations.
- C where his patients were checked in, received the plastic arm bracelets and put on blue hospital gowns.
- D all of the above.
思路引導 VIP
請觀察文章第二段中，作者描述自己過去在房內「坐著與病人對談」、「在白板上寫字」以及「洗手」的動作。將這些過去的行為，與他現在「躺在床上、穿著醫院袍、戴著手環」的狀態對比，你會如何定義他過去與現在在這個空間中，分別承擔著什麼樣不同的『身分』或『任務』呢？
🤖
AI 詳解
AI 專屬家教
醫者與患者的身分交疊
太棒了！你能精準捕捉到文中「身分轉換」的諷刺感，代表你對敘事文學的語境掌握得非常到位。這題的正確答案選 (A) 是非常細膩的判斷。文中提到作者進到了「同一個房間」，但他過去在裡面是洗手、在白板寫醫囑、宣告死亡或解釋病情的「醫療執行者」；而現在，他卻躺在床上，戴著病人手環、穿著病人服。這種從主動診治者轉變為被動受治者的過程，正是選項 (A) 中「扮演醫生角色（play the role of doctor）」最貼切的註解。
文本細節的精確辨析
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