During the Chinese New Year holiday, I had more leisure time and was able to relax and chat with friends. She mentioned that she had recently been watching a drama called "The Life of a Smart Doctor". Given my background as a medical worker, she asked me about some of the questions she had while watching the drama. After I answered her questions one by one, she asked me another question. She asked if there were any particularly memorable incidents during my many years of work.
After thinking for a long time, yes, I replied.
A few years ago, our department admitted a patient who was in the end stage of conservative treatment. The patient was a young man in his early twenties, still in school. He was able to take care of himself when he was admitted, but the disease progressed rapidly, and gradually he could only lie in bed. His tumor had grown and broken through the skin, and the exudate had a strong odor. The dressing could not be changed frequently, and the window in his room had to be kept open for ventilation almost all day long. When I was treating him in his room, I wondered how he endured and got through each day, but he never showed it. He remained calm from beginning to end, and even his expression was rare. It wasn't numbness; he was just very calm.
He was very calm and polite, rarely speaking. When he was tortured by pain, he never showed us any negative emotions. After the treatment, he would quietly thank us. If he could tolerate the discomfort, he would keep quiet. So I tried to make the treatment movements gentler and would try to communicate with him when he felt better. I observed that he spent most of his time looking at his phone. Afraid of disturbing others' rest, he often wore headphones. I once thought that the development of mobile phones and the internet had made everyone into a group of people who were always looking down at their phones, neglecting real-life communication. But looking at him, I suddenly wanted to thank mobile phones and the internet, because when he looked at his phone, he occasionally smiled.
One night, when I went to check on him, he was awake. Seeing me, he whispered, "Can you help me cover up the quilt a bit?" I agreed, but I felt a bit strange because it seemed to me that his quilt was already covered properly, and he rarely asked us for help with anything other than treatment. His mother took excellent care of him. I looked at his mother, who was sleeping beside his bed. I was thinking about how to cover the quilt for him better, and he must have noticed the confusion in my eyes, because he whispered, "Just make sure there are no gaps in the quilt." After a pause, he continued softly, "There might be small flying insects." I carefully covered him up without leaving any gaps.
I still remember the cicada chirping and even the moonlight outside the hospital that night, even after a long time.
It was a midsummer day, and as I walked out of the ward amidst his thanks, the humid air of the corridor hit my face. Yet, at that moment, I felt cold all over and my chest was stuffy.
After years of work, I thought I had become sufficiently rational, objective, and calm in my professional duties.
The little girl, who was as delicate as a flower, asked me, "Sister, will I die?" I suppressed my emotions and tried to comfort her.
My sister, who cannot have children in the future due to illness, asked me, "How will we live in the future?" I tried to comfort her.
That day, when I heard him mention "little flying insects", I couldn't say a word. Rarely, I found myself doubting myself. Were my words of comfort really effective? How should I comfort him? Besides treatment and comfort, what else could I do?
He is even younger than me, and hasn't graduated from university yet. But there he lies, using a blanket to fend off flying insects attracted by the smell in the midsummer heat. There is no true empathy in the world. The physical and psychological pain that is unbearable even from the perspective of an observer is endured by him with dignity and quietness, without a word.
Sometimes unfortunate things can happen to kind people.
"The Sick Child" is a work created by the painter, drawing from his personal experiences and memories of his sister Sophia's critically ill and dying state. The painting captures the unforgettable pain and sadness of facing the loss of a loved one, as well as the patient's own calm anxiety and confusion. When I saw this painting, I couldn't help but think of him and his mother in the hospital room.
Why do people experience birth, aging, illness, and death? At that moment, I wished medical technology could develop faster and faster, so fast that it could cure these lives and keep them.
He left. I was off duty when he left. True parting doesn't involve any long pavilions or ancient roads, nor any parting gifts of wine. It's just like every ordinary morning, except that some people stay in the past.
Parting is a difficult thing. I have read a sentence: People are worn out by various partings. I seem not to be as strong as he is.
But emotions cannot solve any problems, and the medical industry and medical workers have a long way to go. I occasionally feel lost and doubt myself, and I may still do so in the future. But I also know one thing for sure: we are needed. I have heard many thanks, his thanks, their thanks, and I have seen many grateful looks. Every time I think of these, I have the motivation and hope to continue to persevere.
Later, I encountered many young lives like him, all struggling in the flood of illness, either in silence or venting their unwillingness to their loved ones. Their needs are quite simple: sometimes it's companionship, sometimes just a moment of quietness - a gentle light, a breath of fresh air, can ease their tense nerves.
I always remember the original intention: "Sometimes to heal, often to help, always to comfort." I am willing to be a ferryman in their lives, accompanying them on their final journey at the end of their lives, doing my utmost to exchange a relieved smile for them, and a peaceful sleep undisturbed by pain for one night. I believe we can do better, with professionalism and responsibility, with integrity and care, and with reverence for life. We can reduce the need for farewells.
We and the patients are mutually dependent forces
Perhaps our profession enables us to better understand the immense power that sometimes lies in a single word or action from healthcare workers
My wish is: May everyone be healthy, safe, and happy
We, without saying goodbye.
Article/Voiceover: Licensed
Edited by: Ma Shiyu, Huang Guifang
First instance: Huang Guifang
Second instance: Jiang Bei