Twisted Dreams-Chapter 172 - 144: Miracle Drug
Angel Harbor Hospital, top floor, intensive care unit.
White ceiling, white walls, white bed sheets.
The abundance of white mirrors the paleness of the man’s heart.
He lies on the bed, eyes vacant.
Terminal pancreatic cancer, his days are numbered.
The door creaks open, his sister walks in with a steaming dish, a sweet smile on her face.
Without those traces of tears, her smile would be truly sincere.
"Come, have a taste, see if my cooking has improved."
He sits up, holds the lunchbox and eats vigorously.
The lunchbox contains only millet porridge.
Severe pancreatic patients must fast, the man hasn’t eaten for a week before the surgery, nor drunk a drop of water post-surgery.
Today, the doctor bestowed the grace to let him have some millet porridge.
However, his future diet consists solely of millet porridge.
After finishing his meal, the man smiles gently:
"Thank you."
His sister tidies up the dishes and casually suggests:
"How about trying the special medicine?"
The man freezes, his brows slowly furrowing.
The words "special medicine" throw his mind into chaos.
A month ago, Angel Harbor Hospital unexpectedly launched a charity project, enrolling patients with various intractable and serious diseases.
This became a beacon of hope for many who couldn’t afford treatment.
With a mindset to give it a try, he moved into Angel Harbor Hospital.
The hospital indeed honored its promise, waiving all costs for patients included in the charity plan.
Treating pancreatic cancer follows the same procedure as regular hospitals, removing the pancreas.
Patients with terminal pancreatic cancer live a maximum of two years post-pancreas removal.
Even if it’s just two years, the man is grateful to Angel Harbor Hospital, but a few days ago, someone at the hospital mentioned a special medicine, asking if he wanted to try it.
The man doesn’t believe it.
He’s had his pancreas removed, where would the special medicine come from?
This isn’t merely about treating pancreatic cancer!
If such a medicine did exist, it would surely be reserved for national dignitaries, how could it possibly be offered to him?
His sister waves a hand in front of his eyes:
"Did you hear what I said?"
A hint of helplessness crosses his face, he says:
"There really isn’t such a thing as special medicine in this world.
I suspect Angel Harbor Hospital is conducting some kind of medical experiment, treating us severe patients like guinea pigs.
Otherwise, why be so philanthropically hearted?"
His sister shows a glimmer of hope:
"What if the special medicine is real?"
The man pauses and replies:
"Then I’d be willing to thank them for a lifetime, do anything they ask, but realistically, it’s impossible."
His sister clutches his hand, her eyes full of pleading:
"The doctor told me not everyone qualifies for the special medicine, but you happen to meet their criteria.
What if the medicine is true? Please try it, do it for me."
The man furrows his brow:
"I’m a biology student, years of academic pursuit have taught me, such medicine can’t exist in our world!"
His sister lets go, a melancholy appears in her eyes:
"That gentleman was right."
Confused, he looks at his sister:
"What gentleman? What did he say?"
His sister replies:
"A gentleman I met in a bar, he said the hardest people to change aren’t fools, but those who’ve been indoctrinated with standard answers."
The man purses his lips and murmurs:
"That’s just common sense, teachers have said current medical technology..."
His sister’s eyes well with tears, pleadingly looking at him:
"How can you be sure your teacher is right? How can you assume the world is so simple?"
He falls silent.
She wipes her tears:
"What’s the point of doing well in studies or attending a prestigious university, you’re so conceited!
You have only a little over a year left to live, why not try it? 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺
The doctor said, if you get discharged, you can’t take the special medicine."
He sighs:
"Don’t cry, alright, I agree."
...
By evening, several doctors in white coats enter the ward.
The man anxiously looks at them:
"Are you going to give an injection or..."
Expressionless, the doctor replies:
"Taking the medicine will suffice, provided you sign a contract first."
He had expected it, probably a confidentiality agreement, not allowing any disclosure about receiving the medicine.
Indeed, am I being treated as a guinea pig?
The contract is handed to him, he pauses.
This isn’t a confidentiality agreement, but an employment contract.
Puzzled, he looks at the doctor:
"This is..."
The doctor explains:
"The hospital can’t just give you expensive special medicine for free, we value your skills, so you need to work for the company."
He furrows his brows.
Being a top student, he’s expected to work for a corporation just to survive.
It’s like the conduct of those super corporations portrayed in foreign films.
Could it be there’s such a mysterious corporation in South Sea?
A seemingly ordinary, yet actually fearsome powerhouse of a super company?
Hmm... If it’s South Sea, there might be such enterprises, after all, it’s an economic metropolis.
He opens the agreement, the initial part is official pleasantries, the last two paragraphs catch his attention.
One is a confidentiality clause, revealing company info leads to termination.
The other is benefits: full insurances and fund, post-tax salary of twenty thousand, and a dose of special medicine every six months.
His worldview feels overturned.
Could there really be such a super company offering life as a perk?
If the special medicine is real, it’s giving life in exchange for benefits!
After reading the agreement, he almost believes the special medicine exists!
Being on the societal bottom too long, he can’t fathom how astonishing the upper echelons have developed.
Half-believing, he signs the agreement.
The doctor produces a pill.
It’s intricately packaged, though without a name on it.
He swallows the pill, suddenly feeling sleepy, and his head heavy, pointing at the doctor:
"What did you just give me?!"
The doctor replies blankly:
"Tomorrow we’ll discharge you, and in the evening go report to the company."
With that, the doctor turns to leave.
He falls asleep, thinking about the doctor’s words.
Tomorrow, we’ll arrange your burial, report in the evening.
Damn it.
...
By the afternoon the next day, he wakes up.
Thinking he was doomed, he instead feels alive and well.
His sister excitedly leaps toward him:
"Brother, you’re awake! You sure can sleep!
How do you feel?!"
He furrows his brows, checks his body, his expression gradually turning joyous:
"I—I think I’m healed.
I feel brimming with energy!"
His body feels great, even better than before, his mood vastly improved as well.
It seems this hospital really has a special medicine, backed by a super corporation!
He’s truly been a frog at the bottom of a well!
At this moment, he smells a rich aroma, turns his head toward the plastic bag behind his sister,
She giggles while opening it:
"It’s Crazy Thursday!"
He now has the mood to joke, feigning discontent:
"You glutton, knowing well I can’t eat, you tempt me with this."
Though joking, his craving is genuine.
If you hadn’t eaten for half a month, only having millet porridge yesterday, you’d be hungry too.
The special medicine he took is a diluted version of Death Leaves, not as potent as ordinary Death Leaves.
While unable to die of hunger, he still needs to satisfy his appetite.
His sister hands over the fried chicken:
"The doctor said, once you wake up you can eat normally."
He shouts out:
"How’s that possible!"
With a pancreatic disease, the future diet mainly consists of millet porridge, that’s common knowledge.
His sister also seems doubtful, but quickly conceals her suspicious glance, saying:
"Did you forget what I told you? Did you forget how you got better?"
He silences, staring directly at the fried chicken.
Never mind, eat first, worst case, reinsert the feeding tube!
He grabs the fried chicken and devours it.
His sister watches him for a while with no hint of discomfort, tears glisten in her eyes, her brother truly is healed.
