In the hospital, I spent several Spring Festivals accompanying a patient. I also experienced two in the ICU. The things in the hospital really grind humanity down, leaving a feeling of blood everywhere, and you have no choice but to go around it. Step over it. Earn more money, or exercise more for prevention, or pray for better genes and luck. Buy some commercial insurance.
It's understandable if you can't continue treatment due to lack of money, but it's hard to comprehend when someone has money and still gives up treatment.
There was an elderly lady with many children and wealth (probably from the construction materials business, not in recent years, but before 2019). She had an intestinal obstruction at over 70 years old, dressed fashionably and appropriately, and she must have been resuscitated in the ICU, no longer in life-threatening condition. It seemed she needed surgery, but it wasn't done—perhaps the prognosis was poor? Or maybe the subsequent colostomy and bag would be troublesome? They were observing her in the ward; the lady would sip some water occasionally, often groaning. Her daughter-in-law watched TV during the day, laughing heartily, as if no one in the ward was related to her.
I rented a folding bed and stayed in the hospital ward. I observed the activity in the ward. There were a total of four or three beds. This elderly lady with intestinal obstruction was in the second bed near the south window, with the head of the bed facing east. It seemed her son was constantly calling people, and every day someone came to visit her. Many grandchildren in college were also called over.
On what seemed to be the last day, the room was filled with her relatives and friends, but they weren't there to save her; they were waiting for her to die. Perhaps this was the elderly lady's wish; as more relatives arrived, the intestinal obstruction was changed to intestinal cancer. The pain management medication, whether it was morphine or something else, was no longer administered. The elderly lady groaned, and there was possibly a device for treating the intestinal obstruction that had originally been clear but had turned brownish-yellow, filling the room with a bile-like smell. Her daughter-in-law, during the day, cruelly removed the oxygen mask and breathing tube, but some advised against it. Others suggested bringing in some sweet potato leaves that the elderly lady liked to eat when she was younger, which would only cause more blockage, I thought. But I didn't say anything; I figured someone would think of it. But no one did.
At around eight or nine in the evening, I opened the folding bed, but with so many people in the room, I couldn't sleep, so I just sat there. The elderly lady's relatives and friends, some of whom I hadn't seen often, started chatting. More than ten people filled the room, making it quite noisy. Later, the doctor asked that not so many people stay in the room, allowing only one or two family members. The doctor came by several times, one of which was to confirm the decision to stop treatment and asked the elderly lady's son to sign. Several times, they asked if they really wouldn't administer some kind of pain medication. They wouldn't. At around three or four in the morning, the elderly lady's daughter-in-law removed the oxygen mask. The lights were on, and I couldn't sleep. It was tormenting for me as well. I waited silently.
At 4:00 AM, the elderly lady could no longer hold on; she stopped breathing. Her daughter-in-law cried out loudly, and relatives outside the ward heard and rushed in, filling the room with cries. The doctor also came, asking us to move to another ward. Even in the other ward, the sounds of crying could be heard, like wailing. Mixed in were faint whispers about changing into burial clothes, as they left the ward, then the corridor, and disappeared into the darkness outside. They probably didn't go to the morgue but went straight to the funeral home.
The next day, the sun rose as usual, and I got up at seven-thirty to pack up the folding bed, not to hinder the hospital's cleaning.
Dickens said at the beginning of "A Tale of Two Cities": "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness; it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity... It was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair..."