The Legend of People's Hospital
As everyone knows, yesterday I took care of a certain lowlife roommate who went to the hospital and got diagnosed with a stomach stone, then ended up flat on his back...
Then, at exactly midnight, after lying in bed for seven hours, this guy suddenly jolted upright like a dying man possessed. I thought he'd finally cracked his bladder from holding his pee or had an epiphany about making me his heir—but no. With a furrowed brow and a grave expression, he said to me:
"Bro, got a jump rope?"
Me: "???"
Are you insane? Oh, right—that's why we're at the hospital...
After some wild gesturing, I finally understood his reasoning. The stomach stone they found was 4mm × 6mm, and the doctor said anything around 5mm could potentially pass on its own. After some deliberation, and in the interest of saving the few crumpled bills in his pocket, he decided to take matters into his own hands—hence this terrible idea.
So we went to ask a nurse. I figured there was no way a hospital would have a jump rope, but she reached under her desk and pulled out a pink one. My sharp eyes also caught a PSP, chips, peanuts, soda, a certain idol's standee (beloved by haters), and concert glow sticks for some old singer named Xue… and so on.
Seriously, what kind of talent does this hospital recruit?
Keeping a straight face, I asked the nurse where the jump rope came from. The woman, who weighed at least 140 pounds, bashfully told me it was her post-midnight-snack workout gear. "Don't judge us," she said, "we actually care about our health."
I glanced at another pretty nurse who was sweetly telling a patient on the phone to shut up if they didn't know anything. After a moment of silence, I cupped my hands in respect, grabbed the mission item, and retreated.
Not worth it. Goodbye.
Back in the ward, I watched my "good bro" jump rope for ten minutes before clutching his stomach, dropping to his knees with a constipated look, and muttering something like "Don't stop…" before finally collapsing in despair, eyes dull with resignation.
I'm done. Just end me.
Then, early this morning, I was munching on a steamed bun while accompanying him to register for shockwave lithotripsy. But as he fumbled around his crotch in front of the registration machine, he suddenly turned to me with a grave expression:
"Bro… I think I lost my medical card."
Me: "..."
We sprinted from the third floor to the lost-and-found on the first—no luck. Tried scanning his digital ID, but the machine didn't support it. Staring at the endless Monday-morning line at the manual registration counter, I let out a despairing sigh before braving the -3°C wind to run two kilometers back to campus for his ID.
The whole way, I cursed myself for being an idiot—why did I impulsively buzz my hair two days ago? Now my whole head was freezing. A little sugar, and I could be skewered and sold as candied hawthorns—10 yuan a stick, no haggling.
Finally got his ID, registered, waited in line (played two rounds of Honor of Kings to pass the time), and entered the procedure room. The doctor worked for a while before suddenly looking up, eyes gleaming eerily behind his mask.
"Did you do a urine test?"
My heart sank—I knew my bro was doomed. But to my surprise, he widened his eyes and declared confidently, "I did!"
A wave of triumphant energy washed over me. I sighed in relief, grateful to skip a two-hour process. But the doctor remained unmoved, just saying, "Oh?" before delivering the killing blow:
"When?"
"Two weeks ago!"
Me: "..."
So we spent another two hours ensuring his two-week-aged virgin pee didn't have to be reused. Back in the procedure room, fresh urine report in hand, the doctor worked for a while before suddenly inhaling sharply.
"Uh… there might be a risk of inflammation."
What followed was a stream of incomprehensible jargon—"urethral infection," "potential risks"—but I'd stopped listening. All I knew was that the wind outside was howling, the air biting cold.
Snow. So much snow...
Kicked out of the procedure room yet again, my bro dragged me, half-dead, to get prescribed meds. After tapping on the machine for a bit, he froze, then turned to me with that same grave expression:
"Bro… bro…"
Oh, for fuck's sake!
I walked over to look—the screen said "Printing e-invoice…" but the machine refused to spit out paper.
No choice. We summoned the nurse and her bestie, who strolled over calmly, took a deep breath, and—in full view of the patients—delivered a Tiger Climbs the Mountain and an Eight Extremes Fist to the machine. As we watched in awe, the machine whimpered and shakily ejected a faintly inked sheet.
"Probably out of ink. We'll call someone to refill it later," they said before walking off like martial arts masters who'd just righted a wrong. My bro and I swallowed hard, silently grateful we hadn't pissed them off yesterday…
With the e-invoice, we went to get the meds. When I saw him freeze again and turn to me with that look, I cut him off before he could speak: "Just tell me—how much are we short?"
And so today's legendary tale ended with me covering three hundred yuan, while the procedure remained undone. To avoid inflammation, he has to come back next week for a follow-up.
"Bro, I'll call you again next time," were his parting words as they wheeled him away.
I stared at his gleaming white teeth and bright smile, quietly calculating the best angle for my fist.
—In conclusion, this is why I didn't update today. Also, this chapter was voice-typed by his bedside. My "good bro" is behaving much better now.