Most Things in Life Are Surprises
On the tenth day of the first lunar month, I walked into the reading room of the National Library. Beneath the medical bookshelf, the first book I happened to open was called The Mad Heart, a popular-science book about cardiac function. The first sentence in its preface was: "Most things in life are surprises." Seeing this sentence, my eyes lit up; I liked it so much—it felt as warm and familiar as if I had said it myself.I am an optimist. Even when life has left me battered and bruised, I still quickly forget all pain and unpleasantness and find new joy. From November 2022 of the Gregorian calendar through the seventh day of the first lunar month this year (January 28, 2023), I had been endlessly busy. Only after the seventh day did I finally truly get to rest.The life of that previous period had worn me out, and after contracting Omicron I developed some aftereffects of my own—cardiac discomfort and abnormal heartbeat. Every day at lunch I felt that, as I ate, I became so exhausted that I lacked even the strength to eat, and had to rest for several minutes to recover. These were symptoms of myocardial ischemia, and they did not make me feel very good. Since contracting COVID I had never rested well, and excessive work had taken a toll on my body. I used the hair dryer for heat therapy on myself, and the symptoms eased considerably. But lunchtime was still a struggle; I had to pause several times to finish a single meal.Using my own empirical formula, Chai Gui Jiedu Decoction, I prescribed myself seven doses of Chinese medicine. The formula is as follows: Chaihu (Radix Bupleuri) 15g, Guizhi (Ramulus Cinnamomi) 10g, Gegen (Radix Puerariae) 30g, Paofuzi (processed Aconitum) 15g (decocted first for half an hour), Rougui (Cortex Cinnamomi) 15g, Shudi (prepared Rehmannia) 30g, Baishao (Radix Paeoniae Alba) 10g, Renshen (Radix Ginseng) 10g, Huangqin (Radix Scutellariae) 10g, Tianhuafen (Radix Trichosanthis) 12g, Chuanxiong (Rhizoma Chuanxiong) 10g, Dilong (Pheretima) 10g, Xiebai (Bulbus Allii Macrostemonis) 10g, Chaozhishi (fried Fructus Aurantii Immaturus) 6g, Houpo (Cortex Magnoliae Officinalis) 6g, Cangzhu (Rhizoma Atractylodis) 10g, Sangbaipi (Cortex Mori Radicis) 15g, Digupi (Cortex Lycii) 15g, Zhigancao (honey-fried Radix Glycyrrhizae) 6g, Shengjiang (fresh ginger) 7 slices, Dazao (jujube) 7 pieces.On the eleventh day of the first lunar month, the herbs were ready; I decocted them and took the medicine. After taking it, I had a slight loose-stool tendency, but after one dose all the symptoms eased a great deal. The cardiac discomfort disappeared, the awful feeling of lacking the strength to eat at lunch was gone, sleep improved—I could now sleep eight hours a day—and my mind felt much clearer. This formula I prescribed itself treats the heart, lungs, and brain simultaneously, so it is no surprise it had this effect.On the eighth and ninth days of the first lunar month I had very little to do, so I stayed home reading and sleeping, resting for two days. On the tenth day I visited the National Library, which I had not entered for three years. Although the National Library is right near my home, because of the epidemic I had not set foot in its reading room for three years. Being able to return to its reading room this year made me very happy.All of this was hard-won. Starting in 1999, I spent most of my spare time in the National Library. It is my spiritual home; when I bought a house and settled down in Beijing, I deliberately chose a neighborhood near the Library precisely so that I would not leave it for the rest of my life. But after the epidemic began, I did not enter the library for a full three years, because I feared catching the virus in such a crowded place and causing my family to be quarantined along with me. Now that I can return to my pre-epidemic life, how could I not be joyful?The library is the quietest place in the world; once inside, readers consciously keep quiet. There are none of the worldly disputes here, and the rich book resources are enough to keep anyone from ever feeling lonely or bored. If a person could spend his whole life soaking in a library, contending with no one, taking joy in reading, how happy he would be.During the peak of severe illness, I worried greatly that normal life might be endlessly far off; I never imagined that the peak of severe illness would recede before the Lantern Festival. The feeling of being exhausted to the point of aching back and legs every day was miserable; watching patients suffer, and worrying about causing a medical accident, with nerves strung tight, was even worse.At my most exhausted, what I missed most was the past life of quietly reading in the library and riding my bicycle to the vegetable garden to grow vegetables.On the tenth day of the first lunar month, I took my ID card and reader's card to the National Library to register the card—after three years away, it had expired. Once registered, I walked into the reading room to savor that past life of quiet, peaceful days. On the twelfth day, my wife and I rode our bicycles to a happy farm at the foot of the Western Hills and rented two small plots of vegetable land. After paying and receiving the lease, I walked around the plot in immense joy, looking forward to this year's wonderful life of farming and reading.Before the New Year, I told a good friend that if this high-pressure life of the epidemic peak lasted for another year, I would leave the medical profession without hesitation and switch to something else, because my body could not take it. This was not work—it was risking my life. I was worn out in body and mind, numb. That is why, after the epidemic peak passed, I refused to accept non-oncology patients anymore. Patients' lives are lives, and our lives are lives too. I want to rest, I want to soak in the library, I want to grow vegetables, I want to live for a while the slow life I want, and I do not want to end up lacking even the strength to finish a lunch.This year there will probably be another two or three waves of the epidemic, roughly around the Qingming Festival, around the Mid-Autumn Festival, and at the end of the lunar year. Elderly people with weak immunity and patients with chronic diseases still have to wrestle with the virus; my cancer patients, whom I have long treated, still have several hurdles to cross, and I am exploring better ways to solve their problems. The first infection has already dealt many of them heavy blows, and some have even died suddenly; I hope future reinfections will not be as severe as this first one.Life is precious, and we cannot afford to waste it. No matter how great the difficulties we suffer, we must become joyful, feel the beauty in life, and not sink endlessly in exhaustion and pain. I want to live a relaxed period of rest between this year's several epidemic waves. Besides soaking in the library and growing vegetables, I also plan to arrange a few trips to take my family out to relax. I also want to find time to play my guqin and kongling drum (empty-space drum), learning a few tunes to delight myself. Happiness matters; if life is not happy, the value of work pales considerably.Ahead of the diseased tree ten thousand trees bloom in spring. I believe this year will be one in which extreme adversity gives way to good fortune. I look forward to when spring warmth opens the flowers, the National Library and the Purple Bamboo Park just across the wall are once again a riot of color, and my little vegetable garden teems with life. Then my life of farming and reading will be even more delightful, and I will have greater passion for study and work.