Aiming to be a Great Prime Minister Like Yanzi, I Ended Up as a Pharmacist Wandering the Hallways

I have a mentor in life.
It is Yanzi, a great prime minister of ancient China.

Though I call him a mentor, I have never met him.
After all, he lived before the common era.

While working as a pharmacist in a convalescent rehabilitation ward, I head to work every morning determined to “act with courtesy and use my wits like Yanzi,” but by the time I head home, the only thought left in my mind is, “Well, I survived today.”

First of all, who was Yanzi?

He is the protagonist of the novel “Yanzi” by Masamitsu Miyagi.

A legendary prime minister who served three generations of rulers in the State of Qi during the Spring and Autumn period,
he was a man who supported the nation with moderation and wisdom.

He did not seek excessive wealth, did not pander to power, and did not abandon those in weak positions. He was incorruptible, intelligent, and possessed great courage.

In short, Yanzi is the person who possesses everything I lack.

Problem 1: Voluntary poverty is impossible.

It is said that Yanzi was a man of voluntary poverty who “did not seek wealth beyond what was necessary.”

Even when his ruler tried to grant him land, he refused,
maintaining a simple diet and lifestyle.
That purity of not being swayed by desire is cool.

On the other hand, there is a bond I simply cannot break.

Yocchan Ika (pickled squid snack).

If I eat one piece of Yocchan Ika as a dessert at lunch, I can make it through the afternoon.

This is a truth that has been verified through many years of working in a convalescent ward,
approaching the level of evidence-based practice.

A sense of emptiness sometimes visits while I am working.
When that acidity and chewiness are added, it strangely shifts my mindset to “I feel like I can do a little more.”

Made of protein, vinegar, and salt,
it is my modest comrade-in-arms for the afternoon.

There was one day I decided to “be mindful of voluntary poverty” and didn't bring Yocchan Ika to work. As a result, my concentration melted away during the afternoon shift, and I found myself staring into the void in the middle of writing a medical chart. I don't think that was voluntary poverty; it was just a lack of supplies.

Far from being pure and poor, I am sprinting full speed in a direction that is pure, poor, and sour. Master Yanzi, I am sorry.

Problem 2: Giving advice is difficult

Yanzi was a man who would bluntly offer advice to his monarch. And he did so at the risk of his own life.

There is even an anecdote where he criticized his monarch head-on, asking, "Why are you so cowardly?" and did not flinch even when he was nearly killed. His courage was incredible.

"Doctor, could we reconsider this diuretic and these NSAIDs?"

Just as I go out into the hallway to say that, I get called by a nurse, sit in on a family meeting, and handle phone calls, and by the time I'm done, the doctor has vanished somewhere.

The moment I finally find the back of a white coat and call out, "Doctor...", they trot away saying, "Oh, sorry, I have a conference today!"

I am left behind all alone at the corner of the hallway. In my hand is the intervention note I carefully wrote. An A4 sheet of paper with nowhere to go.

The next morning, I stand in the hallway again thinking, "Today is the day," but this time, the doctor is nowhere to be found in the outpatient clinic.

When I try to catch them right after lunch, they are on rounds, and when I finally call out, "Doctor!" in the evening, they say casually, "Oh, I already changed that."

"......Thank you very much (there was no room for me to step in)."

Yanzi offered advice to his monarch face-to-face. I am having a conversation with the afterimage of a white coat in a hallway. Even though it is the same "offering advice," the gap in era and courage is staggering.

Problem 3: But, this one thing is for real

The fact that Yanzi was a man who continued to protect the weak and his subordinates is the part I like most about him. He was never on the side of those with power; he always faced the side of "those who need to be protected."

In the convalescent ward, there are moments when I feel, "Does this patient really need this much medication?"

• Their swallowing function is declining, yet the dosage form of their tablets has not changed.

• Their kidney function is gradually declining, yet the dosage remains set at the acute phase level.

• I want to review their polypharmacy, but the prescriptions are scattered across multiple departments—internal medicine, orthopedics, neurology, and cardiology—and my stomach tightens for a moment when I think about where to start.

"I want to act for the patient's sake"and"I might hurt someone's feelings"—there are times when I wander around, drawing arrows in the margins of my notebook, caught between that hesitation.

I am far from being like Yanzi, but I think this wandering is, perhaps, my own way of showing 'courtesy before offering counsel'.

Even so, I end up thinking about Yanzi in the end.

That man never wavered from his core principle of 'speaking what is right for the country,' even when he was scolded or shunned.For me, the 'country' is the patient. Even if it's scary or a hassle, I don't want to let go of that one core principle: 'I will be on this person's side.'

With that decided, I bring at least one proposal with me.
On days when it's accepted, I secretly treat myself to two pieces of Yocchan Ika instead of one. (Where did my simple living go?)

Somewhere in the convalescent ward, chewing on Yocchan Ika, there is a pharmacist who still can't quite reach Yanzi's level today.

That is HONO.

Master Yanzi, I love you.

I may never be like you, but as long as I keep admiring you, I think I'll be alright.

……As long as my supply of Yocchan Ika doesn't run out.

▶Click here for serious work articles by HONO, the author of this piece👇