In the Second Half of Life, There Is No Shortage of Farewells

Over the last three months, while studying at school, four close relatives and friends around me have one after another been diagnosed with tumors or highly suspected of having tumors; three of them have already had surgery, and afterward they naturally came to me for help with follow-up treatment. So although their conditions may be hidden from other relatives and friends, they are never hidden from me; I am always the first to learn that my loved ones have encountered the darkest moments of life.

Two of these four are elders of mine and two are my contemporaries. Each of their examination reports weighs on my spirits. But having reached middle age, however much heartbreak and pain there may be, one can only respond as Xin Qiji's lyric puts it: "Now that I have tasted all the ways of sorrow, I would speak and yet hold back. I would speak and yet hold back, and say instead, What a cool, fine autumn."

Because I must balance study and work, my own body has recently developed a small problem. Last Friday afternoon, after class and before heading home, I suddenly felt the world spin, with nausea and the urge to vomit, a general indescribable malaise, and aching muscles; I was so dizzy that standing was difficult. After lying in the dormitory for a while, I found the symptoms were not transient and could not be relieved at once; I did not even have the strength to set out for home.

But in the end I took the medicine I keep on hand for influenza and gastroenteritis, forced myself onto a car to the high-speed rail station, and went back to Beijing. I thought that if I were truly ill, the best thing to do was return to my wife and let her look after me. After all, she is the person closest to me in the world; when I am weak, she is the one I need most.

I could not tell whether I had caught an influenza virus, or contracted bacteria such as Salmonella from food that triggered acute gastroenteritis, or both. I have kept up physical exercise throughout my time at school and eaten lightly; this was the first time I had been ill in three months. Once on the train, I leaned against the seat back and closed my eyes to rest. After more than an hour of rest, and with the medicine beginning to take effect, the dizziness and nausea finally eased by more than half.

My wife met me at Beijing West Station and took me home. Once in our own car, I completely slumped; at last I no longer had to force myself on and could hand myself wholly over to my partner's care. Seeing her usually vigorous husband looking so listless with illness, my wife felt deeply for me. Back home, she used a hair dryer on me from the Dazhui point down to the coccyx to promote sweating; after breaking a sweat, I felt much more relaxed all over. The aching pain basically disappeared, though some nausea and dizziness remained.

At home there were two boxes of yellow-flesh oranges sent by my mentor from Hainan and two boxes of navel oranges sent by a close friend from Jiangxi; both tasted excellent. After getting home, I ate four in a row—whether it is a cold or gastroenteritis, supplementing vitamin C is very necessary, and oranges are rich in natural vitamin C. My wife also prepared some tasty dishes for me; after eating, my strength finally recovered considerably.

After sleeping quietly at home through the night, I woke the next morning already eight or nine parts better. On Saturday and Sunday my wife cooked several more square meals I liked, and I let myself relax, lounging at home for two days. By Sunday I was basically recovered and could return to school as scheduled.

Although I am always reluctant to leave home every Sunday, this Sunday the reluctance was the strongest. I briefly considered asking for leave to stay home another day or two, but ultimately gave up. The final exams are not far off, and I need to get back to school and make the most of my review time. At the end of this semester, several specialized courses come to a close. If I fail the finals, I would have to take a makeup exam or even repeat the course, which is very troublesome and would disrupt my schedule. I have to pull myself together and get through the finals.

Having lived through this period of parting, I now gradually understand my father and my son better.

In earlier years, as my father's elders and peers one after another fell ill and passed away, he would remain glum for a long time each time. At that age I was not as sensitive to such matters as he was; after all, those people had not spent much time with me. But now the situation is different; now it is my turn to face all this, and my feelings are far more complex.

After going abroad a few times, my son has stubbornly refused to leave Beijing to study elsewhere. Again and again he has lowered his life goals, seeking only to study and work near home and unwilling to leave relatives and friends. Now I go along with him. After all, life is short and the days past are numbered; compared with family and friendship, money, status, career, and ambition really do not amount to much.

For years I have been dealing with illness and death. Because my mother suffered from cancer and stroke, I have devoted nearly twenty years to research on these two diseases and gained a modest reputation for it. And these two diseases both rank among the top three causes of death in our country, so I inevitably encounter far more scenes of parting and bereavement than ordinary people. Though I know full well that no one escapes death, each time I witness those heartrending moments of life-and-death parting, I cannot help feeling for the people involved.

What I can least bear now is seeing these tragedies. In my hometown over the past two years opera troupes have often been performing the Huangmei opera The Butterfly Lovers (Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai); now I cannot even bear to listen to such opera. This has a great deal to do with age: farewells in the first half of life still hold the hope of reunion, while many farewells in the second half of life are final partings. In the first half of life one does not easily weep hearing The Butterfly Lovers. But hearing it in the second half, one can truly taste the sorrow of a heart broken to pieces.

The reason I, in middle age, returned to school to study medicine is also the hope of raising my medical skill to a higher level and saving more lives. At the very least, I can contribute more to the health of my relatives and friends and prevent some tragedies.

Human beings are born into helplessness: forced to be born, forced to die, forced to accept all manner of partings. Not only that, but we also belong to what Buddhism calls "sentient beings"—we have an extra measure of awareness beyond other creatures, and we have such a thing as emotion. This makes us, when facing parting from those we love, endure far more spiritual pain than other creatures.

No one has the power to wipe away all this worldly suffering; doctors, psychologists, and religious workers can only do their best to ease people's pain at these difficult moments. Grief is an important part of life; a person of basically sound mind cannot entirely escape it.