February 4, 2022 marked Lichun, the Chinese solar term meaning “Beginning of Spring”, and also the opening of the 24th Winter Olympic Games. At 8:00 p.m. at PUMCH, I watched the opening ceremony live with my colleagues who were on duty at the Winter Olympic Ward. When a group of children appeared on the stage with white doves in their hands, my heart immediately raced because my daughter was one of them. Straining my eyes, I tried to find her. Although she played just a tiny snowflake getting no closeup and instantly blended with others to form a huge snowflake, my motherly instincts led me to spot her at one glance.

My daughter, nicknamed Doudou, is a member of the Golden Sail Dance Club in Beijing Jingshan School. Last October, she was selected to as a performer in the opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics. By a stroke of luck, shortly afterwards I was notified that I would provide medical services in the Winter Olympic Ward at PUMCH. My daughter and I made a deal: we would each contribute to the Winter Olympics in our own way and I would witness her performance on TV.

On January 7, 2022, I entered the closed loop 10 days earlier than expected and did not have time to say goodbye to Doudou. At that point, their training was also becoming increasingly frequent and intense. I often waited until very late for a video chat with her, but she came home tired and fell asleep instantly.

On January 15, my husband told me that our daughter had a fever during training, and the teacher told me to bring her back for epidemiological screening and treatment. With two doctors at home (my father and I), my husband generally did not have a trace of worry when our daughter got sick. But this time, even he was a little agitated. Fortunately, with the help of colleagues in my department and the Emergency Department, my daughter visited the hospital with little hassle; she was diagnosed with influenza B virus and needed to be on medication for several days.

That night, Doudou’s body temperature spiked to 40.3°C. My husband called me again and again, asking me if I could go home; Doudou felt so ill from the fever that she cried “mom” during our video chats. As a doctor, I was professional and rational enough to know that this was just the process of the disease’s progress and that the fever would eventually subside and she would eventually recover. Nevertheless, I was torn with grief: how unwell did my daughter, who had always been a sensible and tough girl, have to be to cry for my company? Days have passed since that, but the thought of that heart-wrenching experience still brings tears to my eyes.

Fortunately, Doudou gradually improved. Soon after that, she was admitted into the closed loop for further training.

January 28 was Doudou’s 11th birthday and it was also the day for them to enter the closed loop. The requirements of the Organizing Committee forbid them to bring any food, so I could not get a cake to her. She came to say goodbye to me at noon, and across the iron fence at the west gate of the hospital, I could sense that she was composed and self-assured, putting the honor from the performance above everything else.

The moment I turned around, I nearly shed tears, out of pain that I was not there to celebrate my daughter’s birthday with her and also out of pride that she had grown up, just the way I expected her to.

During her stay in the closed loop, Doudou could only use her mobile phone for a very short period of time every day, and I, caught up in work, often missed her calls. We did not have much time to talk, but her thrill and happiness never escaped me.

This was the first time that Doudou lived in a dormitory, and she made some new friends. The training was tough, but she was having fun. She also told me that there would be a little surprise at the opening ceremony but refused to say more. Regarding the confidentiality requirement of the Organizing Committee, my daughter lived up to it so earnestly that she didn’t tell me the form, costume, or moves of the performance, not even where she would stand in the formation.

Therefore, before the opening ceremony, I sent my daughter’s photo to my colleagues and asked them to help me find her.

During the performance, one “peace dove” after another on snowflakes danced all around to children’s pure singing. My daughter, as a bigger “dove”, led a small “dove” into the venue. Although I could not see her face clearly, that proud, confident and beaming smile told me it must be her! Each child might appear on the screen as just a point of light, but their earnest, innocent and romantic performances spoke volumes about the appeal of the Olympics to each of us watching them on TV. It is the ordinary people, like my daughter and me, who are as plain as little snowflakes, that have gathered together to form a huge snowflake, spreading the Olympic spirit to the people all around the world and demonstrating the power of friendship across national borders.

The opening ceremony is over, my “little dove” has returned home, and my work continues. I think that I need to do a good job at providing medical services for the Olympics and catch up with my daughter, which will be the only way to honor the deal of rendezvous upon ice and snow I made with my “little dove”.

Doudou (right), Liu Zhili’s daughter, was performing on the opening ceremony

Liu Zhili and her daughter were saying goodbye at the west gate of the hospital

Liu Zhili was preparing to receive patients

Doudou, who was only 7 years old then, attended the 2018 Chinese New Year celebrations of PUMCH; on the picture were President Zhang Shuyang and Doudou

Written by Liu Zhili, Department of Vascular Surgery

Photo: Chen Canyao and Gu Ting

Translator: Liu Haiyan

Editor: Wang Yao