I paid my return visit to the hospital yesterday, where I'd been to regularly since May last year.
The doctor had predicted that it was not likely I would had my health back in a short time, and I would probably have to back to the hospital for a return visit as I was not likely to get any better this month.
Well, she was right about my condition. I sat in front of her, waiting for my diagnosis. But what happened the next was totally beyond my expectation. For the first time, I was nearly given up by a doctor----she looked at my medical record for a while, frowning. Before she asked me anything, I started to describe my condition, in as much details as possible :"I sucessfully had my normal condition back in the last 3 months, with all the pills you gave me. However, in this month, when I didn't have those pills, I failed to get any better again. But I didn't have any strenth feelings, nor any uneasy emotions or disturbance. And..."As I was about to continue my detailed report, she stopped me, "Maybe you should find another doctor to help you. Doctors with higer positions in our department will be more sophisticated in dealing with your problems. "
Shocked and helpless, I could see a depression on her face, maybe for both the guilt that she could not make out any effective treatment for me, and the sad fact that my problem was a tricky and difficult one. However, I didn't expected to get into such embarrassment at all. I had put all my hope in her, I had thought that she was the second-greatest doctor (the best greatest one is on her maternity leave) among her counterparts, and she was always patient to answer whatever questions from me and other patiences. She was just so great that she would have many ways to help me, hopefully I had once expected. But it was what it was at the moment. Without any possibility to give me any more treatment, she was at her wit's end.
She didn't know what her words meant to me, a young lady who had all the faith in her doctor and had just turned 21, and she just simply turned me down at the hard moment. Maybe she had done all she could to help me, but her words, "turn to another doctor next time", were like countless pins stabbing in my heart, breaking my hope into pieces. "What on earth was the wrong with me," I asked myself, "Is it my fault to bear all the stress and do all the hard work to strive for a better academic achievement? Is it wrong to get myself in a good shape, to get into a satisfing low-fat diet and to look better?" I could get answers from nowhere.
I messaged my mom, she didn't answer me. Not wanting to waste any time, I asked for a voice chatting and she finally received my call.
"What's the matter?" She asked, bewildered.
"I need your help to make some decisions, mom. Pls have a check on your messages I sent you seconds before." I said, in a serious tone.
She didn't say anything and just followed what I told her. I was considering about whether I should stop to have any more medicine, which might be helpful for my problem yet really made me sick. My mom had suggested me to stop, just several days before, and to have the reliable heath care pills we once sold instead of various medicine with side effects. But I insisted we should follow what the doctors told us, especially when we ran into problems that could not be solved by ourselves. So I was back to the hospital that day, but only to get nothing more than frustration. I was fed up by the tedious process of therapy, the long-distance route to the hospital and all the expenditure I had to pay for my treatment. So I wanted to stop there. Surprisingly, my mom told me to go on the therapy, with both medical treatment and the health care pills. She didn't say anything more---- maybe she was busy at the moment, but I could tell from her deliberately calm voice that some depressing thoughts had found place in her mind. I said nothing, either, but to pay for my medicine, which was in total of ￥233.
How many times did I have to come back to the hospital in the coming years? How many year would I have to fill in my medical record book again and again? And how many record books would be used up before I got my health back? I was wondering all these questions-without-answers on the bus heading to back to my school. Outside the bus window, countless peole were passing by, seemingly in their hurry to reach various destinations. The most courageous people in the world were probably the dying ones, I thought, beause they knew exactly how much time they had left, they were very clear about what they wanted to have in the last moment, and they would not be threatened by anything anymore. What they often do in the rest of their life was embracing all the beauties in life, instead of spending those precious seconds on meaningless worries.
Why couldn't I adopt this kind of idea to lead my young but the same precious life? Suddenly, I found another way out. Nothing needed to be fear, I thought, and nothing was worse than death. What was more, I was still alive. Even if I could only received the worst result in the end---probably lacking of some normal function in my body, or not being able to do what was common to healthy people, it was still a bearable result, because I was still alive. Wasn't it the best thing in the world to be alive?
Scores of challenges were lurking on the way to my future, I knew, and I could't wait to break them through one after another. I won't give up.