Amid the Pandemic, I Am Also Considering Making Some Adjustments

From before the Lunar New Year until now, affected by the Spring Festival and the pandemic, my in-person practice has completely stopped. It has been 102 days since my study has had a new visitor. Because of Beijing's防控 policies, our entire building restricts outsiders from entering. This building houses both residences and offices; many people work here, and recently some tenants have begun leaving one after another — they can no longer hold on.

Today, going upstairs, I saw a rather nice glass display case by the elevator; a note on it read four characters: "take and use." One of the tenants on my floor, when leaving, could not move their furniture and felt it a pity to throw it away, so they hoped someone else would take and use it. On other floors, tenants have similarly left furniture in the stairwell for anyone in need to take home.

I moved the case into my studio-cum-study, gave it a thorough cleaning, and put it to use. But my rent is also about to expire; I have paid through June 9. If nothing changes going forward, I may not continue leasing. When I leave, I expect I will, like this neighbor, give my furniture to others in the building.

Beijing is a city where "dwelling is not easy." My home is in the city center, and the rent for this studio-cum-study I lease is not cheap. Four years ago I could no longer tolerate the working model of the hospital; when I left, a patient who was also a close friend insisted on leasing a place for me to work and study. According to his idea, he wanted to rent a high-end apartment for me at 20,000 yuan a month. I felt that the wool comes from the sheep — such high rent would force me to charge my patients high service fees, increasing their burden and bringing pressure on me. In the end I chose this much cheaper room; although he found it a bit shabby, I was already fully satisfied.

Over these four years I have read, written, grown flowers and plants, learned the qin, and served patients here; life and work have both been happy. My new and returning patients have followed me here. This place is my pastoral idyll in this concrete jungle of a city; here I tend a host of green plants that flourish with vitality. This is also where hope lies for many patients; with my quiet research here, many people's lives have been prolonged.

Now everything has been affected by the pandemic. I do not know whether by June the situation will improve or worsen further. The economic climate is bad, and many cancer families are under great pressure. This year I am also looking for ways to reduce their burden and help some patients through this difficult time; after all, as long as one has life, that is better than anything.

A few days ago, a citizen ended his life with a rope on an overpass near us. I saw the fire brigade come and take his body down; this scene broke my heart. This year's hardships have driven a few people to take their own lives. I do not want to see anyone die, even someone with whom I have a deep feud — actually I have never truly hated anyone in this world; at most, some people and I simply walk different paths and cannot work together, so I avoid them.

When the nest is overturned, no egg remains intact; when the economy deteriorates, the overwhelming majority of people are affected. A few patients who are still financially comfortable have asked me to raise my service fees, but my own thought is exactly the opposite — to lower them. In times like these, those of us in medicine cannot remain unmoved by our patients' hardships. However hard up I am, I will not starve; but among the thousands of patients I serve, some genuinely cannot get by.

So this year, in order to cut expenses, I may have to give up my comfortable study. Yesterday an aunt came to see me; because she could not enter our building, we met in a nearby park — which is how I used to serve patients for a period after I first left the hospital. If the economic situation continues to worsen, I may give up renewing the lease on this study, cut expenses, and weather the storm together with my patients of many years.

In this imperfect world, encountering a once-in-a-century disaster like this, just surviving is already good enough. More and more people are withdrawing from Beijing and returning to their hometowns; the scrap collector downstairs picks up many perfectly good pieces of furniture and appliances every day.

May all of this end soon.