During this devastating epidemic, many ordinary people have died from the coronavirus. An anesthesiologist working in the Wuhan Central Hospital wrote this memorial for the owner of a convenience store where he and his colleagues often visited.Humans of Wuhan has obtained the author’s authorization to translate and publish this memorial.
Original Author: 疼痛科小蔡 from weibo.comTranslator: Evangeline FanEditors: Liz, DumbCass, Bella_Z, S.GaoProofreader: EH
I just finished my rounds, got out of my full-body protective suit, and was taking a break in the cleaning zone. Checking my workgroup chat, I was shocked: Lin Jun is gone! Who was Lin Jun? I am not even sure which Chinese character was in his given name, Jun. (Editor’s note: Lin 林 is a common last name, but the sound, Jun, could represent different characters). But every senior staff at Wuhan Central Hospital knew him.He was not the head of the hospital, nor the CCP Party Secretary. He was just the owner of a convenience store near the gate of the Nanjing Road campus of our hospital.
“I will pay you when I get off work!”
I joined the Department of Anesthesiology over a decade ago. Back then, it was awkward for doctors to give red packets with cash to show their appreciation to coworkers who had helped with their acquaintances’ operations. Instead, we would call the convenience store, “Lin Jun, please deliver a case of bottled water to the Department of Anesthesiology and the Operation Room office! Please also drop off another two at the nurses’ stations and doctor offices. I’ll pay you when I get off work!” Then you would hear a familiar voice on the other end of the phone, “No problem!” Soon after, a round-faced, tanned, kind-looking man would deliver the goods in his pushcart, telling us exactly which doctor had asked him to send them before moving quickly to his next task. Over the following few years, more and more packages were delivered to the hospital as online shopping became popular. Whenever we were too busy to pick up our packages from the delivery man, we would tell them to leave the packages with Lin Jun at the convenience store. All these years, he had been helping us with a big smile and had never once complained.Back in the old days when mobile payment was not available and we could not carry cash with white coats on, we would just take snacks and drinks from Lin Jun’s shop and pay him later. Sometimes it had been so long that we forgot, and we had to ask how much we had owned him. Kind as always, he would tell us if he remembered, otherwise, we would just agree on a number.
Lin Jun was always there, until today
Over the years, many colleagues have come and gone. The leadership team at the hospital had also been replaced several times. But Lin Jun was always there.Until today. Now he is gone.It was two days ago, I remember it clearly, that our retired former director of the anesthesiology department called me, to ask if there was a spare bed. He knew how stretched we were and this was the first time he asked for help. There was really not much that I could do but to turn him down. I asked whom it was for. “Lin Jun from the convenience store,” he said, “I was wondering if you could help.” I thought Lin Jun would be fine as he was so young after all.It has only been two days, and now he is gone. He died in our A&E observation ward. Both his lungs had turned completely white.I felt guilty. My colleagues at the A&E Department told me that the infection developed so rapidly that there was not much they could do. There might be a glimpse of hope if they could put him on ECMO (extracorporeal life support), but it was not available. Their words eased my conscience a little.How many ECMO machines do we have in the entire hospital?Including the one that we purchased after the outbreak with the fund raised by our former head of the hospital from the Han Hong Love Charity Foundation, we only have two in total.For a “nobody” like Lin Jun, it was even difficult to get a bed. There was no chance he could live on an ECMO.I heard his wife was infected too.
This is an epidemic, cruel to everyone
There are a lot of “nobodies” like Lin Jun that we don’t usually pay attention to until they leave us. All of sudden, we realize how important they are in our lives.This is an epidemic, cruel to everyone—not just the important and powerful, not just doctors, but every ordinary person.All lives are equal in front of the epidemic. What doctors can do is limited. Sometimes it is God’s decision for whom to survive.In the blink of an eye, I have been working 12 consecutive days on the front lines of this battle. I have cared for 32 patients. As of now, 25 of them have left the hospital, among whom 22 have recovered. The other three are gone.My colleague, Dr. Li Wenliang is gone. Prof. Lin Zhengbin from Tongji Hospital is gone. The whole country knows about them, but no one would know about the death of a convenience store owner, nor of my three patients who never recovered.We are all nobodies. We fight silently and we live with the pain of losing our loved ones in this epidemic.May dead rest in peace, while the living need to carry on.
We march onward hand in hand
Are us doctors exhausted? Actually not, although you probably wouldn’t believe it. At least for me, the shift is easier than in the Operation Room, where surgeons work over ten hours on a daily basis. We’ve gotten used to these long hours over the years.However, facing the unknown virus and the tremendous stress, we are locked by layers and layers of invisible chains: the fear of being infected, the shortage of protective gears, the panic of not seeing an end to this epidemic, the helpless faces of the dying patients, and the death of our colleagues.The moment when we put on our protective suits and are about to start a new shift, many of us do feel a sudden wave of weakness. It is not just physical fatigue.Thankfully, at the front lines of this epidemic, we march onward hand in hand.Thankfully, we are supported and empowered by the wonderful residents of Wuhan and our fellow citizens in the whole country. Some doctors could no longer bear the stress of failing to save the lives of critically ill patients. They would cautiously suggest recovering patients to stay in the hospital a bit longer, rather than discharging them immediately. It is not that doctors are too tired to treat more patients, nor is it that they are lazy; it is simply that the stress has become unbearable. That’s also the very reason we switch shifts. It felt very sudden when I was told that my team could be rotated with the team from the Rehabilitation Department. It was probably reasonable. Across all campuses of the hospitals, my team had managed and treated the largest number of patients in the past fortnight. However, upon learning that the Rehabilitation Team was short-handed and that their retired former director had to join the fight, I made another decision against the norm: I’ll stay on with four young doctors in my team for another fortnight.
I still can help as many “nobodies” as possible
My mentors are all very concerned. They have asked me when I will take the rotation and retreat from the front lines. I told them I am not planning to, and I would be bored staying at home.Actually, the truth is that I just want to be here, on the front lines. I would not want to leave even if the Rehabilitation Team was fully staffed.I am not being heroic or putting on a show. I am an underachieving Party member who struggled to score 112 points in the “Study and Strengthen the Nation” App (Editor’s note: an app primarily designed to teach Xi Jinping Thought. Communist Party members and employees of state-owned institutions are strongly encouraged and even required to download the app and study the content regularly). I am just following my instincts.I just feel that I still can. I still can handle the stress and help as many “nobodies” in Wuhan as possible. Li Wenliang is gone. Lin Jun is gone. Some of my colleagues are receiving emergency treatment in the ER and may follow them. Maybe one day I will collapse under the stress too. Maybe one day I will be infected too. But, so what? That will not stop me.The Wuhan Central Hospital is treating large numbers of patients in the Hubei province, just second to the Jin Yin-tan Hospital. Fighting against the coronavirus, we shall not be afraid.A reporter has just called me and my thoughts have been interrupted. I will just end it here.
Farewell, Lin Jun. I am grateful for all the help and companionship over the years. Please forgive me for not being there in your last moments.Rest in peace, Lin Jun.
