When I was a junior doctor, I admired those senior doctors who were highly skilled in medicine and had good doctor-patient communication skills. The most surprising one was Dr. XXX of the oncology group, who could tell the personal hobbies of the patient’s husband and knew what the patient was doing during the room visit, and she always solved all the problems by chatting with the family, so that the patient and the family had extra trust and did not listen to Dr. XXX’s words. The most profound impact on my career was a patient with a terminal tumor who was critically ill. In fact, more treatment meant more suffering for the patient, but the family was slow to decide to give up and even decided to do a tracheotomy on a 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 point Dr. XXX came to the ward, and instead of preaching, she took the patient’s husband’s hand and gently said, “Let her go a little easier.” There was family-like care and sincerity in her tone. Finally the family member’s nerves completely relaxed and he began to cry and nod his head. Then we all began to work in silence, and half an hour later the patient was gone, and the ward was filled with nothing but quiet work and silent sobbing, and I don’t think anything could have been this way without that handshake. As I grew up and had my own patients in charge, I also told myself to always think differently and think about how I would want to be treated if I were a patient or a family member. Would it be a cold treatment process or a personal treatment experience. I believe it would be the latter. Give her a handshake: XXX came to my clinic because of a placental implantation postpartum infection in the emergency room where anti-inflammatory treatment was ineffective, she knelt down and begged me to save her, save her uterus, and save her life. In fact, there were tears in my eyes at that time, and later I learned that she and her husband lived by collecting scraps on construction sites, and my heart was full of sympathy. But in the subsequent anti-infection treatment she had a high fever that wouldn’t go away, and she started to hemorrhage and had an emergency uterine artery embolism. Then it was decided to remove the uterus, and really didn’t know how to tell her and her husband the terrible news. I took her hand, her body was hot and smelled badly of sweat. I had no choice but to tell her the truth, seeing the longing and fear in her eyes, “I’m so sorry that our efforts did not go in the direction we had hoped for, and I’m really sorry that we had to decide to remove the hysterus so soon.” But to my surprise, she said, “I’ll listen to you, I’ve been prepared for this for a long time, I’m not sad, Dr. Chen.” What a wonderful patient! After the hysterectomy, she went to the ICU at night with a persistent high fever and shock symptoms, I prayed for her in the WeChat group and received more than 100 messages in the middle of the night to cheer her on. I will always remember that rolling hand and sincere heart. Now she has gone home to live her life with a husband and a couple of children. Give her a hug: XXX also came to my clinic with a placenta implantation found after delivery, hoping to have it removed. After judgment, I thought she could achieve the result of placenta detachment on her own by expectant treatment. The communication then went on for a full 15 minutes. This is a great luxury for me with 40 clinic visits per unit. Subsequent follow-ups had been going very well, and 2 months later she came to the clinic excited to tell me that the placenta had really fallen out. I gave her a hug at that time, a hug that had so much meaning because placenta implantation is not easy to expect treatment, the patient’s lack of understanding, the long time it took. xxx trusted me with her life, and I really felt a great honor. The successful elimination of the placenta was not only the end of the disease, but also added to my success story. Having experienced so much, now when I am in charge of the ward, I will not just talk to the young doctors like before: what is this disease, how to treat it, 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 peace of mind. With this kind of communication, what’s the big deal about doctor-patient conflict!