Chapter 9: Bed 18
Chapter 9: Bed 18
Anran instinctively wants to refuse. Her hand feels itchy, making her uncomfortable. She isn’t sure if it’s due to washing her hands with that black water. She scratches a few times and then realizes she isn’t very hungry. But then she remembers that she hasn’t eaten anything since giving birth yesterday. Strange, why isn’t she feeling hungry?
She wonders if she is so hungry that she doesn’t notice it anymore. It wouldn’t do to let the milk she has just started producing go to waste. Anran thanks Bed 17, takes the bread, and walks thoughtfully back to her own bed while eating.
“Hey, could you press the call button for me?”
Bed 18 has been left alone. All the relatives and friends who had been coming and going have finally left. Her husband, mother-in-law, and some sisters-in-law had been there earlier but are said to have gone to argue with the doctor about moving to a VIP room. However, the doctor hasn’t processed the request in time, and the whole family ends up surrounding the doctor in the office.
So Bed 18 is speaking to Anran. She doesn’t really want to see the doctor, just someone to come and check on her.
“You can press it yourself.”
Anran glances back at the woman lying in bed, who looks to be about 24 or 25, a year or two older than Anran. Anran graduated from vocational school at just under 20, married her ex-husband after working for over a year, and managed their marriage for a year before spending 10 months having a baby. She is now only 23, not even 24 yet!
So Anran doesn’t understand why, with such a close age difference and both having had natural births, Bed 18 is lying in bed acting like a C-section patient and directing her around.
“I can’t get up~!!” Bed 18 looks at Anran with a pitiful expression, tears in her eyes, and a pleading tone. “I’m suffering from severe postpartum discharge. Please help me.”
Anran ignores her. She’s acting like she’s the only one who has ever had a child before!
In fact, Anran is also feeling frustrated as she thinks about how to get her daughter out of the neonatal department. She has helped Bed 17 get some bread on a whim but has no intention of indulging Bed 18.
After walking back to her own curtain, Anran takes out her phone, eating the bread while pondering who she can still contact, someone who might have the power to help her get her daughter out of the neonatal department.
The curtain is lifted again, and Bed 17, with some cold sweat on her face and enduring the pain from the incision, says to Anran, “Hey, let’s talk a bit, otherwise, I’ll be in pain here. What’s your name?”
“Anran!”
Anran keeps her head down, her eyes fixed on the list of phone numbers on her phone, flipping through them. She leans against the edge of her bed, her hair in a loose bun at the back of her head. Her hair, oily from the sweat earlier, looks as disheveled as she feels.
“My name is Hu Zhen. You can call me Sister Zhen. You seem much younger than me. Have you turned 20 yet?”
“Yeah, I’m almost 23.”
“Oh, I thought you might be a young mother at first; you look so young. Why hasn’t your husband come to be with you?”
Hu Zhen, who had a C-section, seems to be in a lot of pain and keeps trying to make small talk with Anran. Feeling anxious, Anran stops flipping through the phone book, lifts her gaze to Hu Zhen, and says:
“Sister Zhen, I think this hospital might be in trouble. I’m going to check the situation. You should try to rest.”