CHAPTER 75

2026-07-16

Caring for Lun and dealing with those in authority requires endless dedication and perseverance.

Lun has never been particularly brave. He is afraid of the dark and of unfamiliar places. As he entered adolescence, however, he also became more determined. Whenever he felt a place was unsafe, he would firmly say "no" through his actions.

Near the end of the year when he was fourteen, our family of four took a vacation to Victoria, the capital of British Columbia. We deliberately rented a motel by the waterfront so we could enjoy the evening scenery. During dinner time, we went for a family walk. Not far from the motel, Lun suddenly stopped. No matter how much we encouraged him, he refused to go any farther. In the end, we had no choice but to turn back, which was rather disappointing. From then on, we tried to arrange our outings during daylight hours.

Because he feared unfamiliar places and was naturally timid, he had never attempted to leave the house on his own. We therefore never had to worry that he would wander outside alone in the middle of the day or night and get into trouble. Instead, what we had to watch out for was him quietly opening the sliding glass door to the balcony to sneak canned soft drinks we kept there. We installed a door alarm that rang whenever the door was opened, and it worked very well.

This habit continued after he moved into his group home more than twenty years ago. But this week, for the very first time, he broke that long-standing pattern. The group home staff, my younger son, and I were all terrified.

Yesterday afternoon, while I was waiting to see my family doctor, I received a call from the group home. The staff told me that Lun had opened the wooden gate leading to the front yard, walked out without looking back, crossed a busy four-lane city road, and ran into the backyard of a house across the street, where the homeowner's guard dog began barking furiously.

Since returning to the group home last Tuesday afternoon after spending thirteen nights in hospital, Lun had been trying a new medication. Instead of improving, he became increasingly restless. He could not sleep at night and cried out until dawn. His condition continued to deteriorate. Recently, he had also begun trying to leave the group home's property to wander into nearby areas, prompting the staff to strengthen their supervision.

No one expected what happened yesterday. By the time the staff realized what he was doing and ran after him, they could already hear the screeching of car brakes as drivers tried to stop. Lun had ignored all danger and reached the property across the street. Fortunately, the staff member chasing him caught up with him just in time.

By God's mercy, his life was spared.

The anxiety and restlessness that began on the Sunday night of Mother's Day had now grown beyond Lun's lifelong fear of dogs and his need to feel safe in familiar surroundings. He was clearly no longer able to control himself, and the situation had become life-threatening. Both the group home and I agreed that an ambulance should be called again to take him back to the same regional hospital for further assessment.

The group home staff and I took turns staying with him. Together, we repeatedly explained to the doctors, nurses, and pharmacist how his condition had developed and progressively worsened. We all hoped that this admission would lead to a better understanding of the underlying cause and to a more effective treatment plan.

From 9 p.m. until 9 a.m., Lun remained by my side. He was restless for most of the night, and I did not sleep at all.

At 8:45 the next morning, the attending physician came by. After asking only a few brief questions, she informed me that Lun could be discharged and that the group home was "happy" to take him back—a statement that was later proven to be untrue after I confirmed the facts with the staff. Her reasons for discharging him were: (1) Lun had no previous history of psychiatric illness and therefore was not suitable for psychiatric admission; (2) his medications had already been adjusted; and (3) the hospital had observed him overnight.

The news was completely contrary to what we had hoped for. During those few short minutes, I clearly expressed my shock and disappointment three separate times. I responded as follows: (1) His restlessness had just led to a life-threatening incident. (2) His condition was obviously worse than during his previous hospitalization, as confirmed both by my observations while staying with him for twelve nights and by those of the group home staff. (3) On what basis could the doctor conclude that Lun did not have schizophrenia? (4) If he were discharged and later suffered another serious incident related to this premature discharge, I would pursue the matter.

The doctor did not answer my questions directly. She simply said, "Thank you."

I walked up the hill to retrieve my car from the free parking area, preparing to drive Lun back to the group home. At the same time, I was already planning a formal complaint to the Quality Assurance Office. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. Without stopping to catch my breath, I completed an 800-step brisk uphill walk.

About fifteen minutes later, I returned to the emergency department. The same doctor came over again and told both me and the staff member who had just arrived to pick up Lun that she had changed her decision. Under a different admission category, Lun could remain in hospital for further treatment.

My face immediately lit up with relief. I shook the doctor's hand and thanked her repeatedly.

The sky suddenly seemed bright and clear. It was time to celebrate with a hearty breakfast at a Hong Kong-style café.