Another day passed. This time it was a rare family reunion in the past week. In addition to my wife, my parents also appeared in the ICU. The old couple's hands were tightly held together, and they seemed to have a lot of emotions.
pressure.
"There are more than four million in your card." After the wife was silent for a while, she took out a bank statement and put it in front of me for me to see. "Where did you get so much money?"
How much? Four million? I was stunned. It was unknown how much money I could earn before, but it seemed that they were sure that my usual income could not support such a large surplus.
"No, remember." I can speak impeccably in this state. Anyway, even if I want to panic, I can't express it. However, this also brings serious side effects. When I speak in this state, the chance of others believing it is also reduced.
.
"Son..." my mother said tremblingly from the side, "Is your money... coming from the right way? If it comes from the wrong way, then you don't dare to touch it!"
"I'm in this state now." I said helplessly, "I'm relieved even if I'm shot. Is there anything else to worry about?"
I am lying half-dead in the ICU, and the first question you are concerned about is whether there is any problem with the source of the money? You cannot think about this issue in detail, and the more you think about it, the more angry you become. Even if there is a problem with the source of the money, is it useful for you to worry about this now?
Why can't we prioritize things?
In the hospital, many things outside have become insignificant. Workplace relationships, career prospects, and even face and dignity are all trivial matters. I feel that I am pretty lucky, at least I don’t have to be like the old man next door.
I felt inexplicable pain all over my body, and the pain was so painful that painkillers were useless.
He has been wailing in the hospital bed next to me for three days. At first, the doctors installed some kind of "autonomous control" analgesic infusion pump on him. I could hear it very clearly from the side. There was a switch on that thing, and all you had to do was press it.
There will be a "drip" sound, and at the same time, the pain-relieving pump will inject medicine into his body.
When the doctor handed the analgesic to his hand, I heard a series of "beep" sounds. Then the doctors helplessly explained that the total amount of painkillers that could be injected within a certain period of time was limited.
Until yesterday, I could still exchange a few words with the patient next door. But starting from this morning, he stopped responding to my questions. I just heard Dr. Sun say that the poor guy was induced into some kind of chemical coma.
Two days ago, I felt lucky that I didn't have to suffer like him. But now, I'm a little envious of him because he can't feel anything when he's in a coma.
"Also, why did you tell Schumann that you were going to the general ward?" I was thinking divergently here, and my father suddenly opened his mouth and asked, "Don't think nonsense, we have asked the doctor, you can be cured
of."
"There's no point in comforting me now." I was too lazy to continue discussing with them. I was afraid my eyeballs would explode if I continued. "The condition is stable. I'm going to the ordinary ward. The risk is controllable."
Anyway, it is impossible for you to ask me to explain my choice in detail now. Just say a few words briefly, and the meaning is roughly reached. Anyway, for me, there is really no point in continuing treatment. I will be a healthy invalid or die early.
Having an early pregnancy can also leave a lot of money for the family to live on. Which one should you choose between the two options does not seem to require any extra thought.
Since Dr. Sun said that there is a risk of infection if I go to the general ward, isn't that what I want?
"That's it, it's settled." I said slowly, "You all go back, I think, take a rest."
I closed my eyes and didn't respond at all to their inquiries and persuasion. When this person was lying on the bed unable to move, it was difficult to understand himself. But then again, if I
If you can still move, why bother thinking about how to kill yourself?
I feel a little bored. After lying here for more than ten days, the thoughts that come to my mind are becoming more and more boring.
This god without eyes, considering that I am ready to die, can't you let me have a slightly more interesting life?
After cursing for a while, I heard the young doctor's voice again. "Do you feel that you are completely hopeless?"
I opened my eyes, "You are a doctor. Shouldn't it be you who tells me this kind of thing?"
"You don't believe me when I say it." Dr. Sun sounded a little helpless, "I'm still looking for evidence, but... have you ever felt that the thoughts in your mind recently have become... less disturbing?
?”
I was stunned when I heard this and didn't bother to speak.
"Your strange thoughts, on the one hand, prove that your frontal lobe is damaged, and on the other hand, I suspect it is also related to your current state. There are cases of frontal lobe damage leading to locked-in syndrome."
I opened my eyes, but unfortunately, most of Dr. Sun's body was out of my sight. I could only barely see his shoulders.
"Your current brain damage and locked-in syndrome are due to the car accident. But part of the reason is due to insufficient blood supply to the brain." Dr. Sun continued to tell me about his diagnosis, and I began to believe what he said. If I just want
To persuade me to continue living in the ICU and receiving treatment to cheat me out of money, he only needed to say a few simple words, "The cause of the disease has been found, and we are confident that it can be cured." There was no need to make up such a long story to deceive me.
Of course, how much of this change in thinking is because I don't want to die yet... I can't say.
"You have an open fracture of the femur of your right leg." Dr. Sun continued, "After the long bones of the human body are fractured, a lot of fat will enter the blood circulation system. A common problem among this kind of patients is fat embolism syndrome. You
You're lucky the fat didn't get lodged in the capillaries of your lungs, it got stuck in your right frontal lobe and basal ganglia."
"Now, what's the use of talking about this?" I heard a little impatiently, "In the final analysis, you still can't cure me."
"I may not be able to cure your disease." Dr. Sun actually acted very naturally when he admitted his incompetence, as if he didn't mean to be embarrassed at all. "But if you don't let me give it a try and don't cooperate with my treatment,
plan, then you will definitely die. Between definitely dying and not necessarily being cured, which one would you choose?"
I fell silent, not knowing how to answer this question.
"It's not hard to find drugs against fat embolism. They are all readily available. It's just because your frontal lobe is damaged, we haven't found any imaging evidence." Dr. Sun suddenly said, "But considering that you have given up,
treatment tendency, so I will secretly tell you about the current situation. As long as you are willing to accept verification treatment, I will go out to find your family members to sign their names later. The treatment itself has no risk to you. If you do not respond to the treatment
, the worst-case scenario is just to be transferred to a general ward two days later to wait for death, which is not a loss for you."
"If I don't respond to treatment." I thought about it for a while and said to Dr. Sun, "Then, I hope you can help me."
"Help you?" Dr. Sun was stunned for a moment, then stood up suddenly.
"Yes, help me." I said seriously, "Now, I can't do it myself. Come on, help me." I tried to look at Dr. Sun's face with the corner of my eyes, and then said, "Yes, peanut,
allergy."
He was silent for a long time, so long that I wondered if I was deaf. Then, I heard the answer I wanted.