CHAPTER 59

Original: 2007-12-21

Rewritten: 2026-04-28

Whenever I encounter major difficulties in life, Lun somehow begins acting up for no apparent reason—pulling me out of my sorrow.

The residence manager called urgently to say that Lun (21) had been unable to sleep all night, was agitated, and insisted on touching the face of a male night-shift staff member. He also tried to enter the rooms of three roommates to touch their faces.

Staff had to stand guard at his door to stop him from acting out until morning.

Later, Lun shifted his focus to the morning-shift staff and the manager. He meant no harm, but his behavior was very disturbing. His roommates, who were physically limited and vulnerable, needed protection. The staff spent the entire morning trying to prevent him from crossing boundaries. The more they failed to manage him, the more agitated he became, showing compulsive symptoms and beginning to shout.

After hearing this, I shared with the manager an idea that was neither logical nor scientific. The last time Lun displayed the same strange behavior was over two years earlier (in 2005, when he was not yet 19), one week before my liver cancer surgery.

During a Mid-Autumn Festival family dinner, I told the family about the operation. Apparently, he had taken it to heart. That night, after midnight, he touched my nose, and the next day he chased after his younger brother to touch him. His brother (then 13) locked himself in his room and cried from the distress. In the end, we had to ask a doctor to prescribe medication, which calmed Lun down.

I told the manager that my liver cancer had recurred, though I had not yet visited Lun or told any of the staff. The manager seemed suddenly enlightened. After expressing concern for me, he said he believed in a kind of sixth sense and asked me to consult a doctor to work out a plan.

I called my wife, and she too was amazed. Our family doctor’s nurse, who has known us for nearly twenty years, found my account and association quite uncanny. She also believed in a sixth sense, saying that Lun is deeply connected to us—that there is a close bond linking our lives. I have kept thinking about those words.

The family doctor prescribed emergency medication, and a few days later the psychiatrist issued a new prescription. During the medication transition, Lun Lun’s mood fluctuated, and the entire residence was thrown into chaos. The government’s Community Living BC promptly agreed to increase staffing and assigned someone specifically to care for him.

After a week of symptoms, he remained out of control and had to be sent to the emergency department. We were terrified, dropped everything, and rushed 53 kilometers from West Vancouver to Pitt Meadows Hospital. On the way, my wife called my younger brother to confirm the address.

That day, the regional hospital—Royal Columbian Hospital—had an incident. An emotionally unstable emergency patient loosened a fire hose valve in the elevator, flooding the emergency department and forcing it to close temporarily.

We feared that Lun would be restrained and sedated on a hospital bed. But when we arrived, we found him calmly eating a spaghetti lunch, accompanied by the residence company’s CEO, general manager, and a care worker. Later, a psychiatric nurse explained the medication details and follow-up plan to everyone.

Once again,Lun pulled us out of the sorrow of illness. After consulting the specialist, I learned that this time the liver tumor could be treated with microwave ablation, without surgery, which greatly eased my mind. The next day, the residence staff said Lun woke up at 4:30 a.m. and kept smiling until dawn.

I gained a new understanding of family bonds and of life.