Chapter 5

Every morning at the firm feels like the start of an unending marathon. I greet everyone and settle into my routine, one that involves abiding by the whims of my colleagues rather than practicing something that I have actually learned.

My first month in town has passed in the blink of an eye, and this job has turned out to be nothing like what I expected. Call me a sadist, but the complete absence of cases involving divorce, child custody, or even adoption frustrates me to no end. It's as if these people are mocking my profession.

Every day at this job, I'm assigned tasks by other departments. Sometimes I'm handed documents for a business merger by Wang Yu Ra; sometimes I'm asked to photograph available properties in town. I'm even made in charge of scheduling appointments now.

However, I'm certain that Dr. Lu hates me for some unknown reason. The Ph.D. holder and labor advocate doesn't even respond to my greetings; instead, he hits me with a dangerous stare.

Overall, I feel that instead of finding a purpose to live for, my life has become more vain.

Unable to escape the mundane routine, I return home after another tiresome day at the firm. As I approach the front door of my mysterious landlords' house, something catches my eye. Two cartons of milk and the newspaper sit untouched outside the door, just as they were in the morning. My imagination runs wild, and I contemplate whether I should knock on their door to check on them. However, the special instructions I received when renting the house make me reluctant to approach it.

Despite my reluctance, curiosity gets the better of me, and I decide to check on them. I rush to their door and knock gently, then louder, but there's no response. I start banging on the door and calling out their names, but still, no one answers. Soon, a few neighbors join me, concerned about the situation.

"I just wanted to check on them because they haven't brought in the newspaper or milk cartons," I explain.

A middle-aged neighbor accompanies me, asking, "Are you sure they're home?"

"No, I just got back from work and noticed it," I reply.

Suddenly, the door opens, and Mrs. Lee, the landlady, appears. Her face is pale, her lips colorless, cold sweat runs over her entire body, and she keeps retching like something is stuck inside her. Her eyes are empty, as if her soul is about to leave her body. She looks critical.

As Mrs. Lee faints, the neighbors and I rush to her aid. Someone calls an ambulance, and within minutes, it arrives. People express pity for Mrs. Lee, sharing stories about her dedication to her paralyzed husband and her apparent neglect by her own children.

"I feel so bad for her. She's been taking care of her paralyzed husband all alone," one neighbor whispers.

"Yeah, poor thing. Her husband has been like that for almost nine years now," another replies.

I interject, "I think it's not appropriate to discuss her personal matters like this. Let's focus on getting her the help she needs."

As Mrs. Lee is loaded into the ambulance, I take a seat beside her, feeling a mix of concern and curiosity about her situation.

As we head to the hospital through the late hours of the night, I look at the serene face of the lady lying unconscious on the stretcher. Sitting beside her, at this moment, I wonder what I used to find so scary about this person. She looks miserable in this state.

The fact that she could have died inside and no one would have been there to even report her death scares me to death—not because I am concerned for her, but maybe because I can put myself in her shoes.

I could very well imagine something like this happening to me in the later days of my life. I hate it, but I feel like I am seeing my future in her.

Maybe there are a few people who do not have someone's shoulder in their fate, and I might be one of them as well.

I don't even realize when the ambulance is already in front of the hospital. The paramedics accompanying us get off the vehicle and get her out. They pull her stretcher and move it to a trolley bed, strolling it inwards.

She is taken inside the ER while I wait at the reception. If I am to express my feelings honestly, I do not think I would be sad if the lady dies, nor would I be happy. The only thing that bothered me and forced me to come here was the feeling that I would want someone to at least be there when I am taken to the hospital—that my body wouldn't be labeled as non-identified or destitute. Maybe that's the reason I couldn't leave her alone.

She has been inside for almost 20 whole minutes now. I feel anxious standing here at the reception and decide to move inside the Emergency Room.

As I step inside the door, I see the worst nightmare of every human being: seeing a loved one's suffering. Around fifty beds are arranged in two rows on either side of the door. The aisle between is busy with doctors, nurses, and family members constantly treading in and out of the Emergency Room. I spot the lady from afar, hidden behind a pair of nurses. One of them is inserting an intravenous (IV) catheter into her hand.

I walk ahead carefully, passing between the crowd of people. I notice a doctor approaching her bed. One of the nurses hands him a sheet of paper, probably her ECG report and vitals. The doctor sees the report and lets out a deep sigh.

"Has anyone accompanied her?" he asks.

"Yes, I am supposed to be her neighbor. I've come here on behalf of her paralyzed husband."

He turns to me, "I see. The patient's condition is pretty bad. It was a heart attack."

I am not shocked, as it was one of the possibilities I was thinking about. "Is she alright?" I ask.

"The heart attack has passed, but she is in a fragile state. We'll need to monitor her closely. However, I need to know more about her medical history to proceed with the treatment. Can you please inquire about it with her family?"

"See, that's a difficult task. Her husband is completely paralyzed, and she barely manages to keep him alive. Even today, she was suffering for a whole day, and there was no one she could have called. If she's fine now, then maybe she will herself get the further treatment."

I look at her lying there with an oxygen mask on her face, in a daze, unaware of her surroundings. I may have sounded a little rude back then, but now I realize what a blessing it is to have someone in such a situation, so that you can at least die without worrying about arranging your own funeral.