My mother is once again receiving treatment in the hospital, this time for lymph node metastasis following her previous battle with nasopharyngeal carcinoma. Each hospitalization brings its own set of challenges.

Having spent more than two weeks here, including pre-operative assessments and post-operative recovery, I've witnessed many poignant moments and individuals that have left a significant mark on me. I want to share these observations.

The hospital specializes in oncology, so most patients are dealing with cancer. The wards are spacious, with three beds in each room, complete with separate bathrooms and balconies. My mother occupies bed 29, situated in the center. To her left is a woman, whom I refer to as Aunt Mei, who is 58 and fighting thyroid cancer. On her right is a young woman in her early thirties, whose husband is her primary caregiver. She had recently undergone surgery to remove thyroid cancer and was in the latter stages of her recovery. I later discovered that she shares my hometown and affectionately refer to her as 'countrywoman'. After her discharge, bed 30 welcomed another patient, Sister Ye, around 45, who also faces her own battle with tongue cancer—a diagnosis I had never encountered before. Following Aunt Mei's departure, twin sisters born in 1998 took over bed 28. The older sister is battling thyroid cancer while the younger sibling is there to support her. As of now, there have been no new admissions in our ward.

My mother, nearing 70, faces a complex medical situation, struggling with both nasopharyngeal carcinoma and lymphoma. Sister Ye's case of tongue cancer astonished me, given its rarity, while most patients here are primarily dealing with thyroid cancer. It’s astounding how varied cancer can be; as my mother says, it’s a ‘hodgepodge’. Yet, like a stealthy predator, cancer can strike unexpectedly. The journey of my mother’s illness has been convoluted, and it’s unclear how she suddenly found herself in this fight against cancer. Initially, she experienced tinnitus, which progressed to otitis media, followed by nosebleeds that worsened significantly.

Many thyroid cancer patients reported having no obvious symptoms. Aunt Mei noticed a slight change in her appetite, attributing it to aging rather than a health concern. The twin sister discovered her condition during a routine company check-up and initially doubted the diagnosis. My fellow townsfolk’s situation was unique; during casual conversations, I learned that their family has a history of thyroid cancer, which led me to research dominant inheritance in thyroid tumors—a shocking discovery. Sister Ye’s experience intrigued me; she openly admitted to smoking and drinking, noting that such habits elevate the risk of tongue cancer. I sensed there was a compelling backstory to her life.

Cancer undoubtedly affects not only the individual but also their family’s financial situation, which plays a crucial role in determining treatment options. My countrywoman comes from a dual-income household and had the foresight to purchase critical illness insurance early in her career, which has significantly alleviated the financial burden of her treatment. Throughout our discussions, I could feel their sense of ease.

Aunt Mei, being a lifelong local resident, admired my countrywoman's prudent decision to invest in insurance. She shared the perks of being a local, such as annual village dividends and free healthcare, which sparked some envy among us. Thus, Aunt Mei’s thyroid cancer diagnosis didn't impose much strain on her.

The twin sister had just begun her career and appeared carefree, her demeanor not indicating any burdens. Yet, snippets of her video calls with her mother revealed a happy family dynamic. She seemed blissfully unaware of the challenges that lay ahead with the upcoming surgery, believing that everything would be fine.

Sister Ye, on the other hand, displayed strong planning skills evident in the extensive items she brought to the hospital—everything from toiletries to a thick blanket, all carried in by her husband who struggled with gout. After settling in, Sister Ye expressed some frustrations but soon became self-reliant. She shared that she is already a grandmother, with her daughter married and residing in Hong Kong. Not wanting to trouble her family, she had pre-arranged for nursing care post-surgery. The doctor indicated that Sister Ye's tongue cancer operation would be the most complicated among the patients in our ward. Despite her suffering, Sister Ye’s mental resilience shone through, and I believe she will conquer her trials.

For most individuals diagnosed with cancer, treatment typically falls into distinct categories. If surgery is viable, that option is pursued; otherwise, chemotherapy or radiotherapy is the next step. Surgical options often lead to weeks of discomfort, but if the cancer is eradicated without spreading, patients may enjoy a relatively trouble-free future.

Conversely, chemotherapy and radiotherapy require a longer commitment, often leading to side effects like nausea, hair loss, and a diminishing sense of hope. My mother underwent three chemotherapy sessions and one round of radiotherapy, resulting in hair loss and lasting health issues, including kidney and liver complications and damage to her salivary glands, which restricts her diet to semi-liquids. Each time the topic of chemotherapy arises, my mother expresses dread, stating she would rather not undergo it again.

It took considerable persuasion to convince her to seek treatment this time. I kept the discussion light, assuring her that the lump in her neck was minor and could be removed through minimally invasive surgery. Upon arrival at the hospital, my mother began engaging with other patients, inquiring about their experiences and surgeries, seemingly skeptical of my reassurances. She soon learned about the thyroid surgeries taking place. The process involved approximately 15 patients in the operating room at once, with the lead surgeon removing thyroid nodes while assistants handled the follow-up care. This description shocked her, likening it to mass pig castrations in the countryside. There are indeed many patients undergoing surgical treatments, as evidenced by the bustling waiting area outside the operating rooms.

Thyroid cancer surgeries are commonplace and relatively straightforward here, while Sister Ye's case is the most intricate. My mother’s lymph node tumor presents an intermediate challenge. One major concern with lymph node tumors is the risk of metastasis to other organs through the lymphatic system. Consequently, my mother underwent extensive pre-operative testing, including blood tests, laryngoscopy, lymph node biopsies, and various CT scans. The week leading up to her surgery involved navigating multiple departments for tests.

You might expect that after all these assessments, we could simply await the surgery. However, the doctor informed us that some CT scan results were unclear, necessitating a PET-CT scan. I readily agreed, trusting her judgment, but was taken aback by the cost involved. The doctor explained that the PET-CT wasn’t ordered initially due to its high price, which is only reimbursable under premium medical insurance. My mother has only off-site, cross-province coverage, and the doctor wanted to minimize costs. Realizing it was a difficult situation, I turned to see my mother in the room behind me, understanding that she was already aware of the financial implications.

Trying to remain composed, I sensed my mother was anxious. The following morning, both Sister Ye and Aunt Mei informed me that my mother had been murmuring about doubts concerning the surgery, which I completely understood—it all boiled down to financial concerns.

The hallway in the head and neck surgical department was filled with patients recovering from procedures, moving slowly with gauze on their necks and some with drainage tubes, their steps hindered by pain. Aunt Mei must have looked similar post-surgery, but I did not witness it as I had to attend to other matters just after her operation. By the time my mother was ready for surgery, Aunt Mei was preparing for discharge.

When I arrived at the operating room, my mother had already been inside for over half an hour. What followed was a lengthy wait as I joined others outside the operating room. The blue screen displayed ongoing surgeries; it appeared that 11 procedures were simultaneously underway—mastectomies, gastric mucosal peelings, hepatectomies, and more. I found myself stealing glances at the screen every few minutes, waiting for the status to change.

After approximately four hours, the status updated to “post-op,” indicating my mother had been moved to recovery. Seeing her pale face and furrowed brow as she was wheeled out, I realized she was in considerable pain. For the first two hours post-surgery, the anesthesia still heavily affected her. The doctor instructed us to keep her awake, so my brother-in-law and I took turns talking to her, trying to keep her engaged. She likely didn’t hear much of it and probably found our chatter annoying. She quietly accused me of deceiving her, insisting the procedure was not as minimally invasive as I had claimed. I attempted to lighten the mood with laughter, but it seemed in vain as she was clearly in distress, her face contorted in discomfort. I kept talking to her, trying to keep her awake, but she weakly requested not to disturb her as she wanted to sleep.

After two hours, I allowed her to rest. Due to the anesthesia and lingering effects of chemotherapy and radiotherapy, she was extremely thirsty, her lips dry and cracked. Every half hour, she would moan, yearning for a drink, but the doctor had restricted her from drinking water for now; we could only moisten her lips with a cotton swab. After a long six hours, she was finally permitted to drink and eat thin porridge. Her complexion improved slightly, regaining some color. The following days were characterized by a slow recovery process and repetitive daily routines—anti-inflammatory treatments, nebulization, and walks in the corridor. As my mother’s pain subsided, it was a sign of her gradual healing.

The twin sister’s surgery occurred the afternoon after my mother's, and it was a swift procedure. When she returned to the ward, she seemed distressed, likely unaccustomed to such intense pain. I felt that at that moment, what she needed most was her mother—just a comforting word or a hug could have made a world of difference. Unfortunately, her mother was miles away.

To ease her sister's pain, the twin sister initiated a video call with their mother, chatting and laughing to provide comfort. Perhaps due to her youth, she appeared to recover much more quickly than my mother in the following days, her appearance improving each day.

Before Sister Ye’s admission, a young woman had briefly occupied bed 30, also a thyroid tumor patient. Born in 1993, she seemed quite petite, and I don’t recall her name. She handled the admission process alone. She moved in on the same day my fellow townswoman was discharged, stayed only one night, and opted for early discharge the next morning.

My mother mentioned that this young woman didn’t sleep at all that night, possibly grappling with the decision to undergo surgery. Ultimately, she chose conservative treatment, and no one could pinpoint her rationale. My mother speculated it might stem from concerns that a surgical scar would hinder her chances of finding a partner. I criticized my mother’s traditional views, noting that many young people today even opt for tattoos.

The young woman’s choice might have been influenced by timing, perhaps having more pressing matters to attend to, or worries about the surgery's cost. While I can’t ascertain her exact motivations, I recognize there are many who, like her, shy away from surgery. The shock of a tumor diagnosis can be overwhelming, leaving individuals feeling incapacitated. I felt a pang of regret for this young woman and sincerely hoped for her swift recovery.

Today, my mother had her drainage tube removed and is scheduled for discharge next Monday. The anesthesiologist spoke with Sister Ye about her surgery, outlining the associated risks. She explained that the procedure entails two main components: removing the tumor from her tongue and harvesting fat from another body part to fill the resulting void.

Since the surgery involves incision to the tongue, she will be unable to chew or swallow post-operation and will require a feeding tube. The complexity of the procedure was evident from the discussion. The anesthesiologist estimated the surgery would take about eight hours, with a risk of non-recovery due to the prolonged anesthesia. Sister Ye’s legs began to tremble at this news, and her face remained pale when she returned to the ward.

I could sense her fear about the upcoming surgery. In that moment, she must have wished for someone close to provide comfort and reassurance. However, she had to endure this experience alone. I attempted to distract her with light conversation and reassured her, encouraging her to trust the doctors. While the procedure might be painful initially, it could pave the way for her return to a normal life. I wasn’t sure if my words offered her any solace.

My mother noted that after Aunt Mei’s surgery, her spirits were notably high, and her appetite returned. Aunt Mei expressed joy at seeing appetizing meals, and I felt genuinely pleased for her.

In just two days, my mother and the twin sisters are set to be discharged from the hospital, while Sister Ye prepares for her surgery. Within this short span, a person can find strength or be consumed by fear. I believe Sister Ye will emerge stronger. I am confident she will face her fears, successfully navigate her surgery, and return to her usual life.

The beds in the cancer hospital are in high demand, with patients continually arriving and departing, ensuring no vacancies. The cycle of admissions, surgeries, and discharges keeps the hospital bustling. Over the two weeks of accompanying my mother, I’ve witnessed the transient nature of life. I am struck by human vulnerability in the face of illness, yet I’ve also observed the resilience and bravery exhibited by many as they confront their health challenges. This spirit illuminates the path forward, and I have faith in this light!

May the world be free from disease and suffering, and may everyone enjoy good health!

iThank you for reading to the end. Before you go: - Please consider **clapping* and following the writer!* - Follow us on **X* | Github.*