By Xiangming, Spain
When I was ten years old, my mother got hepatitis B, and the doctor said that it was difficult to be rooted out.
To heal my mother’s illness, my father had taken her to many places from the north to the south to see doctors and she had taken much medicine but her condition didn’t improve at all. Because the virus continuously attacked her hepatocytes, my mother’s liver was seriously damaged. Following it, she got weaker and weaker with a sallow complexion, only being able to do some easy housework. In addition, under the torment of illness, my mother’s temper got very bad and she often flared at something that was not worth mentioning. At that time, because of this, my family was full of my father’s groans and my fear rather than former cheers and laughter.
From the news, I learned that many sufferers having hepatitis B like my mother left the world because their condition deteriorated. Afterward, I knew that in our village, a person, around my mother’s age, also had the same illness as my mother and died in the end due to unsuccessful medical treatment. Thus, when I saw my mom was woebegone because of the torment of illness, I was afraid that she would die sooner or later as her health became grew worse. In those days, whenever I thought of these, I would secretly shed tears under my quilt and often cried out in my heart: Who can save my mom?
