The hospital is like a ferry port, and every day people come and go. The doctor is like a group of ferrymen, crossing people from the dead shore to the living shore, and from the living shore to the dead bank, or stopping in the middle of the Styx River, on the side of life and death

The hospital is like a ferry port, and every day people come and go. The doctor is like a group of ferrymen, crossing people from the bank of death to the shore of life, and from the shore of life to the bank of death, or stopping in the middle of the Styx, on the edge of life and death.

A few days before May Day in 2010, my father was driving a car when he suddenly felt numbness in his hands. He usually has a rough life, and he doesn't care about hereditary high blood pressure. But this time, he felt that something was wrong, so he took advantage of the May Day holiday for a few days to take a few days off and returned to his hometown for an examination.

People who work in big cities rarely check or treat diseases in the cities where they work, on the one hand, because the medical consumption in big cities is too high, and on the other hand, because the additional costs of accommodation and eating also make them feel painful.

The father returned home, the examination showed that the blood vessels were slightly narrowed due to the blockage, and the doctor asked the needle to flush the blood vessels. At that time, I was still living in the school, and I didn't know these things, and then I heard my mother mention that when my father's injection was on the third day, the left half of his body was more and more numb, and on the fifth day, he directly drooled with his mouth crooked and his eyes. They quickly sent their father to the Municipal People's Hospital, where the diagnosis showed cerebral thrombosis.

When I saw my father in the hospital after the holidays, he couldn't move around and had to get out of bed in a wheelchair. When he saw me, he smiled and shed tears, and quickly wiped the tears with his right hand, which could still move. The family members of the patients in the same room said: "For two or three weeks, I have seen you laughing, and this is the first time I have seen you cry."

The leader of his father's company came to visit, gave some condolence money, and then brought a message: "We have obtained a bed for you at the best brain hospital in Shanghai, but he is sick during the leave of absence, and it cannot be regarded as a work injury." If you're going to go to treatment, you'll have to pay for it out of pocket. ”

Outside the ward, the mother, the eldest brother-in-law, the younger uncle, the second grandfather, and the cousin sat together in silence, and the second grandfather, as the elder, spoke first: "Don't cure it, you can't work after this cure, don't leave the money for your mother to live."

"If we have this opportunity, we will have to cure it, can money be compared with people?" The eldest brother-in-law retorted.

When I went to dinner at noon, my mother called my great uncle and little uncle aside, "I also thought, if the child and his father are paralyzed on the bed like this, even if it is the use of guarding the money." "Now that we have this opportunity, we have to be cured, and I can't let my child grow up and say that I am greedy for money and do not treat his father." The little uncle said, "Sister-in-law, let's just gamble, we'll be happy if we win the bet, and we won't regret it if we lose the bet."

For the fathers who have lived in the countryside for many years and have no culture: brain diseases cannot be cured, and craniotomy is to kill people. They used the greatest courage of their lives to give their father a healthy life.

My father underwent craniotomy at Shanghai Changhai Hospital. Cut the scalp, punch the eye on the skull, and re-establish a new pathway next to the blocked blood vessel. It's something we can't imagine. When he returned, the scar on his head was still clearly visible, terrifying and hopeful.

Father's surgery worked very well, in our eyes, the father who should have been lying on the bed for the rest of his life, except for some abnormalities in his legs and feet, some slow movements, and the rest were no different from ordinary people. As the days passed, my father got better day by day.

Before the Spring Festival in 2012, it was time for my father to go to the day of review. My father and mother, sitting in a passenger car, bumped for more than ten hours and came to Shanghai, which had not been set footed for a long time.

Changhai Hospital is still a city, where foreigners from all over the world are noisy, crowded, and rushing for disease.

His father was only arranged for examination three days after being hospitalized, so he begged his mother to take him to the old unit for a walk, and although his mother was worried about the accident, she finally agreed.

My father's unit was in Fengxian District, in a very remote town. We accompanied my father around the factory for a long time, listening to my father recall his life here. My father was not often sad, but he kept his eyes red that day.

At noon, we met some of my father's colleagues in the restaurant, who were sitting around him and talking to him about the changes of the past two years. A colleague went home to be a contractor, and a colleague was driving a car with a protruding disc in the waist and crashing into the side of the road. Their lives are still bitter and dangerous. But everyone sighed and continued to run on the lonely long distance. Their families still need their support, and their wives and children are still waiting for them to return home.

When my father was leaving, he took a photo at the door of the unit, because of the replacement of the mobile phone, the photo was not saved, which became a pity, after all, it was the best farewell to my father and his past.

The main item the father went to review was to do an angiography, and the doctor had to put a very thick needle in the father's femoral artery, which needed to be signed by relatives. On my way to the nurse's station with me to sign, my mother recounted to me for the first time the scene when my father went to surgery two years ago.

Her mother said she hadn't slept the night before the surgery, and she didn't know if she had made the right decision or who would be held responsible if she failed. She kept asking her father, are you afraid? You're afraid we won't do it. The father was not afraid, but still smiled and told his mother that he was going to do this operation.

After two years, her mother said that she still couldn't forget the fear at that time, when her hand was so shaky that she couldn't even hold the pen, and finally there was no way but to press the handprint.

My mother led me to the nurse's desk and asked me to sign, and the nurse asked, "Is this your son?" "Well, the last time his father came to treat him, he didn't come with him, so this time let him come and see." "It's not easy for your mother to take your father to the doctor, but you can be filial to your parents in the future."

On the way back to the ward, my mother said, "A year and a half ago, I was there to give your dad the operation." "Treat your father and spend almost all of our family's savings over the years, you don't blame me." "I don't blame you."

Nine years have passed since my father fell ill, and life has not been turbulent. My father opened a car repair stall at the entrance of the community to earn some money for food. When no one was around, he sat in his recliner and squinted. I don't know what he was thinking, maybe it's looking back, maybe it's thinking about what he ate at noon.