December 27, 114th year of the Republic of China.<\/strong> A few months after my 82nd birthday, a time that should have been spent enjoying my retirement, it became the most tragic, helpless, yet also the most fortunate day of my life. It was my last day at Changsheng Nursing Home, the day I was reborn, finally free from fear and the shadow of death.<\/p>\n\n\n\nThat morning, my youngest son came to feed me as usual. After he left around 10:30, the ward fell into a deathly silence. I suffer from severe glaucoma, seeing only endless darkness, which became a cover for the caregiver’s wanton abuse. Taking advantage of my blindness, she physically assaulted me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I felt a heavy blow to my abdomen, like being struck by a blood pressure monitor or some unknown hard object, followed by humiliating torture\u2014she forcefully pinched my nipples with her fingers and then slashed my left little finger with some kind of sharp blade. Blood gushed out, cold and sticky, but the caregiver ignored it, letting my wound bleed freely without offering any medical treatment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Like an old tree abandoned in the wilderness, I trembled with terror in the darkness, afraid to utter a sound, only able to call out my youngest son’s name again and again in my heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Soon afterward, my indifferent eldest son arrived. He was the one who insisted on sending me to this prison. Faced with my injuries, he hastily bandaged them with simple gauze and medicine; his perfunctory actions showed not a trace of filial piety. I could only wait quietly, waiting for the only glimmer of hope that could save me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At four o’clock in the afternoon, my youngest son finally returned. He noticed my abnormality, and when he saw my injured finger, anger and heartache erupted instantly. He dialed 113 and called the police. After the police arrived, the nursing home staff and the abusive caregiver also arrived at the scene.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Faced with my questions, the receptionist dismissively said, “What’s wrong? It’s just like that! Is there a problem? He has Parkinson’s disease, can’t his hand shake and he bump into something?” My youngest son pointed at the gauze and yelled, but she sneered dismissively, “It’s just a minor injury, what’s the big deal? Just wipe it with some antiseptic.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What chilled me even more was that the police officer standing nearby said to me, “Foreign workers can also sue you. We’ll take your statement while I’m on duty.” The nursing home even refused to provide any transportation to help me get medical treatment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It wasn’t until the 119 emergency services arrived that things changed. Looking at my swollen little finger, they said seriously, “The wound is cleanly cut, suspected to be a knife wound, and there may be a fracture. You must be taken to the emergency room immediately.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At China Medical University Hospital, the doctor diagnosed it and immediately stitched it up. My little finger and surrounding tissue were already severely swollen; it took five stitches. During my observation period, my eldest son, eldest daughter, and son-in-law also arrived. They seemed to be acting on orders from the nursing home, attempting to forcibly take me back to that hellish place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“No need to stay in the hospital, take me back now!” they said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My younger son stood alone in front of the bed, and a violent confrontation erupted between them. Only after the hospital intervened, threatening to call the police, were they finally expelled from the emergency room. But they continued to linger outside the hospital like ghosts, whispering with the nursing home staff. Finally, taking advantage of the chaos, my younger son and I slipped out of their sight and, though disheveled, resolutely left the hospital, returning home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Stepping into the home I had left three years ago, I could no longer hold back my tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That night marked a new beginning in my life. I had finally escaped their clutches, risen from the ashes.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Violence and Bloodshed: My Last Day at Changsheng Nursi […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_uag_custom_page_level_css":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-46","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"uagb_featured_image_src":{"full":false,"thumbnail":false,"medium":false,"medium_large":false,"large":false,"1536x1536":false,"2048x2048":false},"uagb_author_info":{"display_name":"admin","author_link":"https:\/\/lovejade.org\/?author=1"},"uagb_comment_info":0,"uagb_excerpt":"Violence and Bloodshed: My Last Day at Changsheng Nursi...","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lovejade.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/46","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lovejade.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lovejade.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lovejade.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lovejade.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=46"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/lovejade.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/46\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":159,"href":"https:\/\/lovejade.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/46\/revisions\/159"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lovejade.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=46"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lovejade.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=46"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lovejade.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=46"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}