Wuhan Diary Page 7
As soon as I wrapped up today’s blog entry [blog entry for February 6 was completed in the early hours of February 7], I heard the news that Dr. Li Wenliang9 has passed away. He was one of the eight doctors who were penalized for speaking out about the virus early on, and later he himself was infected with the novel coronavirus. Right now everyone in this city is crying for him. And I am heartbroken.
February 7, 2020
During this dark, heavy night, Li Wenliang will be our light.
It has now been 16 days since the quarantine was imposed. Dr. Li Wenliang died overnight and I am broken. As soon as I heard the news I sent out a text to my friends chat group that said: “Tonight the entire city of Wuhan is crying for Li Wenliang. I never imagined that the entire country would also be crying for him. The tears people shed for him are like an unstoppable wave inundating the internet. Tonight Li Wenliang will sail away to another world on a wave of tears.”
Today the weather is overcast and gloomy; I wonder if that’s heaven’s somber way of paying its respects to Dr. Li. Actually, we have already run out of things to say to heaven or any kind of higher power; after all, heaven, too, is helpless. During the afternoon someone here in Wuhan was heard screaming: “The people of Wuhan will take care of Li Wenliang’s family!” There are many people who share that sentiment. To commemorate Dr. Li, tonight everyone in Wuhan plans to turn off their lights, then at exactly the time he passed away overnight, we will shine flashlights or cellphone lights into the sky while whistling for him. During this dark, heavy night, Li Wenliang will be our light. This quarantine has been going on so long now, what else can the people of Wuhan do to release the depression, sadness, and anger in their hearts? Perhaps this is all we can do.
At first the disease control specialists said that we might reach a turning point by the Lantern Festival on Day 15 of the Lunar New Year, but now that doesn’t seem likely. In the middle of the night came the news of Li Wenliang’s death; today came the news that the quarantine has been extended an additional 14 days. Anyone not here in Wuhan has no way of understanding what those of us here in the city are going through. The pain we suffer far exceeds just being trapped at home and being unable to go outside. The people of Wuhan are in desperate need of comfort and an outlet to release our feelings. Perhaps this is why Li Wenliang’s death broke the entire city’s heart? Perhaps all they needed was an opportunity to let it all go and just cry out? Perhaps it also has to do with the fact that Li Wenliang was just like the rest of us—he was one of us.
The outbreak is currently much worse than what had initially been predicted. The rate with which it is spreading is also much more rapid than what people had expected. And the strange and mysterious way in which the virus is behaving is leaving a lot of experienced doctors at a loss. They have been seeing patients who were clearly improving and then, in the blink of an eye, their condition rapidly deteriorates to the point that their lives are in danger. Then there are patients who have tested positive yet seem 100 percent symptom free. Meanwhile, this virus continues to roam the city like an evil spirit, appearing whenever and wherever it pleases, terrorizing the people of this city.
Those who have been suffering the most are our medical personnel. They were the first to come into contact with infected patients. At Wuhan Central Hospital where Li Wenliang worked, he was not the only casualty. I heard that besides Dr. Li, at least three other doctors also succumbed to the virus. One of my doctor friends told me that an internist from Wuhan Tongji Hospital whom he knew also died. Virtually every hospital has several medical professionals who have fallen ill. They have all sacrificed their own health and, in some cases, their lives to save these patients.
One tiny detail to be thankful for is that most of those medical workers infected were struck down during the early stages of the outbreak. My goodness, didn’t they originally say that “it couldn’t be transmitted between people”? Well, working under that assumption, how could you expect those doctors early on to wear those biosuits? When they finally figured out that person-to-person transmission was indeed happening, there happened to be a series of high-level government meetings taking place in Wuhan; because of those meetings, there was a strict government order not to publish any negative news. This led to a delay in this news of person-to-person transmission getting out, and many medical workers and their families ended up becoming infected. My doctor friend told me that most of the serious cases are all from that period. However, now that the hospitals all have the proper supplies and preventive measures in place, the rate of infection among doctors and nurses is much lower. Recent infections among medical personal also seem to be mild cases. My friend then went on to another topic; he said: “Later when all those doctors started to get sick, they all knew that this was a ‘contagious disease,’ but no one dared to speak out because they were being gagged. But just because someone told you not to do something, does that mean you shouldn’t speak out? Isn’t there a fundamental problem when everyone knows something is wrong but no one dares to speak out? How come the hospital administrators didn’t allow their doctors to speak up? If they don’t permit us to speak, does that mean that we should just keep silent? As doctors we have a responsibility.” He was posing this question directly to himself and his fellow doctors. I really admired him for his willingness to reflect on what was going on.
I realized that this was precisely why we were all so angry about the death of Li Wenliang. After all, he was the first to speak out, even if all he did was warn his own friends, but by doing that he revealed the truth. But after he spoke out, Dr. Li Wenliang was punished, forced to sign a confession, and later he sacrificed his life—no one ever apologized to him before his death. When that is the result of speaking out, moving forward, how can we expect anyone else to speak the truth? People like to say “silence is golden” as a way of showing how deep and profound you are. But what was the cost of silence in this case? Will we again be in a place where we need someone to speak out, but all we hear is silence?
Everything in the city of Wuhan is still quite orderly. But, compared with a few days ago, the optimistic people of Wuhan seem to be a bit more stifled and depressed. Everyone has been locked up in their tiny, cramped apartments for too long. Sure, everyone has the boundless resources of the World Wide Web to explore, but you can only surf the internet for so long before you get bored of that, too. Besides that, everyone is facing their own set of problems in life. Take my two brothers for instance: They both suffer from diabetes and their doctors want them to get in enough walking each day. My older brother used to keep track of his steps on his phone and would often walk more than 10,000 steps a day. My other brother was even more strict, and he would go on two walks a day, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. But now it has been 16 days since either of them has been able to even leave their apartments. Even me, I have some medication that I’m supposed to take daily. For the last few days I have been just taking one pill every other day because I am running out. Now I only have one pill left for tomorrow. Should I make a trip to the hospital to get more? I hesitate about that.
I just saw a video of a group of Wuhan citizens driving a motorcade of eight cars as final send-off for Dr. Li Wenliang. Each car has a Chinese character on it and each character represents one of the eight whistleblowers who were disciplined for speaking out. People’s eyes are overflowing with tears and many are so choked up that they can barely speak. Not everyone is a tough guy and not everyone is able to remain completely calm and logical all the time. I’m afraid that during the days to come the people of Wuhan will be facing a lot of mental health issues that will require professional support. The witty black humor we all enjoy reading online can only go so far in distracting us, and it certainly cannot solve the devastating problems to come.
February 8, 2020
The war against this plague continues. We are still holding on.
Today marks the Lantern Festival, the fifteenth day of the Lunar New Year. Originally I thought tha
t we would have reached a turning point by now, but it is now obvious that this is not the case. The war against this plague continues. We are still holding on. Even though I am locked down at home, I continue to write and record what I am seeing. Even though each one of my posts ends up getting deleted by the censors shortly after being posted, I continue to write. A lot of my friends have been calling to encourage me to keep going; they all support what I am doing. I also have some friends who are worried that things will get difficult for me, but I think everything will be fine. I even joked with my friends by telling them that even in the old days those underground Communist workers somehow managed to sneak their intelligence reports out from behind enemy lines; now that we are in the age of the internet, how hard can it be to get an essay posted online? Moreover, our enemy this time is a virus. I always stand on the same side as my government, cooperating with all official actions, helping the government in convincing people who are not quite on board with various policies, and aiding the government by consoling all those anxious citizens. The only difference is that I use an alternative method and, occasionally, over the course of writing, I also reveal some of my personal thoughts on various issues; but that is really the only difference.
It should be stated that the overall situation has greatly improved from before. Both the community leaders and people in charge at the cultural unit I work with have been very thorough. Yesterday someone from the local government office called to ask some basic questions like whether or not I had a fever and how many people were here living with me. I patiently answered all their questions. Today Xiao Li from the office at the Hubei Writers Association called to check on how I was doing and whether or not I was sick. One of my colleagues heard that I had run out of medicine and volunteered to refill my prescription for me. But today I received the sad news from my brother that one of the best professors on his campus passed away because of the coronavirus; he was only 53 years old. It is such a shame. The university president, Li Peigen, sent me a text saying that the deceased was a diligent professor who often worked so late that he would just sleep in his office sometimes—a true honest and hardworking “scholar-type.” I send my condolences and hope he rests in peace.
The sky is much brighter than yesterday, and in the afternoon I finally mustered up enough courage to make a trip to the hospital. If you suffer from diabetes, it is always best not to interrupt your treatment regimen. The endocrinology department was not open but a doctor there helped me get the medicine I needed from the pharmacy. There were many fewer people in the hospital than normal, and I had never seen the parking lot there so empty. There was a big delivery truck parked outside the entrance to Building 4 that was unloading supplies donated from other provinces. There were a lot of people helping unload the supplies, and I couldn’t really distinguish the physicians from the workers. The nurses in the lobby were all lined up waiting for the elevator, and they were all pushing medical carts filled with fruit and snacks, which also looked like donations from other provinces. I suspect that they were bringing these items to the patients upstairs. I didn’t see many patients wandering the halls of the hospital; mostly it was just medical professionals who were bustling around. I asked someone about the situation there, and the answer I got was that everyone at the hospital was busy fighting the war on this virus. I suppose that is indeed the only important thing facing us right now.
Outside in the streets everything was just as orderly as always. There were still some cars and pedestrians, but many fewer than normal. I took some time to take everything in and realized that most of the people I saw fell into three categories: The first were food delivery boys; most of them were weaving through the streets on mopeds. The second group were policemen; the majority of them were stationed at various intersections, and there were a few standing at the hospital entrance. It was freezing outside so I can’t imagine how hard it must be for them to just stand there all day long. Those cops working the beat really have it tough; they have to face all kinds of different people and carry out their required tasks. I even heard about a patient so sick that she couldn’t walk down the stairs at the hospital, so a policeman carried her down on his back. When they got downstairs the patient was already dead and the police officer broke down in tears. The third group of people I noticed were the sanitation workers; they are really something else. Since there aren’t too many pedestrians outside, there isn’t much garbage in the streets, besides some leaves on the ground, but those sanitation workers still carry out their jobs sweeping the streets with such zest in order to keep the city clean. From the moment the coronavirus outbreak began all the way up until now, I have noticed their consistently calm attitude. They are the group that always gets overlooked as they quietly carry out their jobs, but somehow they are always there to set the heart of this city at ease.
I looked at the most recent report on the spread of the coronavirus and it seems that cases outside Hubei are clearly dropping and things are easing up a bit. But here in Hubei we are still in a critical state. The number of confirmed and suspected cases continues to increase, which is primarily a result of not restricting the movements of contagious individuals early on. Those temporary hospitals are all up and running now, so we should be able to start seeing the results of that soon. By now most people are more bored than scared. And as the conditions in those temporary hospitals improve, the patients are beginning to adapt to things there. Today I saw a comedian talking about the temporary hospitals. He said: “A young guy gets admitted to one of the temporary hospitals and strikes up a friendship with the old man in the adjacent bed. When the old man learns the young guy doesn’t have a girlfriend, he tries to play matchmaker. He introduces the guy to a female patient in the same hospital. And the two begin to date.” And then the comedian said, “This is what you call ‘a temporary love story.’” This was the most heartwarming story I heard today. It is, after all, a holiday today; we all need something to warm our hearts a bit.
Not long ago someone reached out to me to ask if CCTV’s Lantern Festival Special should be canceled due to what is happening in Wuhan. But I told them they should go on with the show. Even though Hubei has become the epicenter of an outbreak, other people still have to live their lives. Other people need to try to get on with their normal lives. People still need to celebrate the Lantern Festival; and so many people look forward to the colorful displays they see each year on the CCTV special. The people of Hubei have shouldered this disaster so that the rest of the people in China can go on with their normal lives; seeing people able to go on would actually make those of us in Hubei feel better about our sacrifice, don’t you agree? Moreover, those of us in Hubei are all locked down in our homes; we really need a celebration to cheer us up. Earlier today, I really brightened up when a friend of mine told me that the Hubei Network show I Am a Singer was about to start.
You see, that’s who we the people of Hubei are. That’s what the people of Wuhan are made of.
I wonder if this post will also be deleted by the censors.
February 9, 2020
Life is tough, but we always find a way.
According to Chinese custom, today marks the true end of the Lunar New Year. I got out of bed, opened the curtain, and the sunlight was so bright and strong that it felt like it was early summer. It really felt refreshing to just let it shine down on me for a moment, and we really need the sunlight to drive away that dark cloud that has enveloped the entire city and to release the pain that has built up inside our hearts.
I scrolled through my cellphone as I ate breakfast and the news wasn’t too bad; there was actually a lot of good news for a change. What I mean by so-called good news are headlines like: “Although the coronavirus situation is still grave, there has been a turn for the better.”
Summarizing some of the main points, you could list them as follows: (1) the number of suspected cases outside Hubei Province has dramatically decreased; (2) the numbers of confirmed cases and new suspected cases in Hubei have c
ontinued to decrease; (3) the number of new critical cases nationwide (including Hubei) has significantly dropped off. This last item is something that we are all really ecstatic about. As far as I know, almost everyone suffering from mild infections is able to fully recover; most people who have died from the disease had serious infections that were not immediately treated; (4) the number of patients cured has continued to increase; in fact, according to some, it has already surpassed the number of confirmed cases, although I am not sure that is accurate. But no matter what, the fact that so many people have recovered has brought a lot of hope to all those who are currently infected; (5) the American antiviral drug remdesivir has been very effective in treating patients in a clinical setting. Even cases of serious infection have seen improvement with this drug; (6) it is quite likely that we will see a turning point with the virus in about 10 days. This final point is most encouraging for us. This is all the information that I have collected from several of my friends in different fields. As far as I can tell, all of this information is reliable. At the very least, I believe it all to be true. But I regret to report that the death rate has not fallen. Most of the deceased are people who were infected early on but were unable to be hospitalized or get access to effective medical treatment; some of them died before ever even being properly diagnosed. How many people are we talking about here? I’m not quite sure. This morning I heard a recorded phone call between an investigator and a female employee at a mortuary. The woman was clear-minded and quick-witted and spoke with a certain directness; in some ways she reminded me of Li Baoli, the protagonist in my novella A Thousand Arrows Piercing the Heart.10 She said that none of the employees had been able to rest and even she was on the brink of collapse. Through her anger, she called out various government officials by name, cursing them and calling them dogs. She really let out all of her pent-up anger. That’s two recordings of people completely losing their tempers that I have heard today.