When I was still a small doctor, I admired very much those old doctors who had excellent medical skills and good communication skills between doctors and patients. One of the most surprising to me was the doctor in the oncology group, who could tell the patient’s husband’s personal hobbies and know the patient’s work, and she always solved the problems by talking about family life, which made the patient and his family trust extraordinarily, and they did not listen to the doctor’s words. The most profound impact on my career is a terminal tumor patients are critically ill, in fact, more treatment means that the patient suffers more pain, but the family delayed the decision to give up, and even decided to do a tracheotomy on the ventilator. At that time, I was still a small doctor on the night shift, watching the superior doctor explain the condition over and over again, very inclined to persuade the family to give up the meaningless resuscitation, but there was no progress at all. At this time the doctor came to the ward, she did not preach, but took the patient’s husband’s hand and gently said, “Let her go a little easier.” The tone of her voice was one of family-like care and sincerity. Finally the family member’s nerves completely relaxed, and he began to cry and nod. Then we all began to work in silence, and half an hour later the patient was gone, and there was only quiet work and silent sobbing in the ward, and I don’t think anything could have been like that without that handshake. As I grew up and had my own patients to treat, I also told myself to always think differently, to think about what kind of care I would want if I were the patient or the family. Would it be a cold healing process or a family-like healing experience. I believe it would have to be the latter. Give her a handshake: She came to my clinic with a postpartum infection due to placenta implantation after an emergency anti-inflammatory treatment that didn’t work, and she got down on her knees and begged me to save her, her uterus, and her life. In fact, I had tears in my eyes at that time, and when I later learned that she and her husband lived by collecting scraps from construction sites, my heart was even more filled with sympathy. But in the subsequent anti-infection treatment she had a high fever and started to hemorrhage, with emergency uterine artery embolization. It was then decided that she would have to have a hysterectomy, and I really didn’t know how to tell her and her husband the terrible news. I took her hand, her body was burning hot and smelling badly of sweat. There was no choice but to tell her the truth, seeing the longing and fear in her eyes, “I’m sorry that our efforts didn’t go in the direction that we all hoped for, and I’m really sorry that we had to decide to have a hysterectomy so soon.” But to my surprise, she said, “I’ll listen to you, I’ve been prepared for this for a long time, Dr. Chen, I’m not sorry.” What a great patient! At night after the hysterectomy, she went to the ICU with shock symptoms due to persistent high fever. I prayed for her in the WeChat group and received more than 100 messages in the middle of the night, cheering her on. I will always remember that hot hand and sincere heart. Now she has gone home to live her life with a husband and children. Give her a hug: She also came to my clinic with a placenta implantation found after delivery, hoping to have it removed. After judgment, I thought that she could achieve the result that the placenta would fall off on its own through expectant treatment. The communication went on for a full 15 minutes at that point. This was a great luxury for me with 40 clinic visits per unit. Subsequent follow up appointments have been going very well and 2 months later she came to the clinic excited to tell me that the placenta had actually fallen out. I gave her a hug at that moment, a hug that had so many meanings because placenta implantation expects a very difficult treatment, with the patient’s lack of understanding and the long time it takes. I really felt great honor that she trusted me with her life. Successful exclusion of the placenta was not only the end of the disease, but also added to my success. After all these experiences, now when I am in charge of the ward, I don’t just tell the young doctors as I used to do: what is this disease about? What is the treatment? How to operate? More importantly, I want to teach them to treat their patients with a sincere heart and not to be stingy with their care. Give a patient a hug and she will gain confidence. Give a patient a handshake and she gets reassurance. With this kind of communication, what’s the big deal about doctor-patient conflicts!