The Eternal Light in the Corridors of Beijing Jingdu Children’s Hospital

The corridors of Beijing Jingdu Children’s Hospital are always lit. The lights are neither bright nor dim, much like the expressions of the medical staff in white coats — not overly joyful, nor overly sorrowful, simply shining calmly, deep into the night and at dawn.

When the son was first admitted, the family was filled with anxiety. They traveled more than eight hours nonstop by ambulance from the ICU in Shenyang to Beijing. The son was critically ill all the way, and their hearts were heavy. Hospitals always bring to mind sickness and suffering, especially children’s hospitals. Those tiny bodies wrapped in oversized patient gowns looked even more fragile. It is still remembered clearly that they arrived at the hospital at around four o’clock in the early morning amid sleet. Dr. Lü Linlin was already waiting downstairs. Her warm smile instantly eased all their exhaustion from the long journey, warming their hearts like winter sunshine.

During each ward round, Dr. Lü would bend down and speak softly to the son. She did not only ask about his condition, but chatted about his favorite cartoons and toys. It made the family feel she was not a distant doctor. She truly loves children and treats patients with the warmth of family.

Director Liu Zhouyang also won their full recognition for his professionalism. No matter how many questions the parents raised, Director Liu answered them patiently. However busy or tired he was, he never grew impatient. He was always positive, encouraging them, pointing out the way forward and filling the family with strength.

The nurses are remarkable. They seem to have a special instinct to sense a child’s unease before tears start flowing. Once, the son trembled with fear before a blood draw. A round-faced nurse pulled a sticker out of her pocket. “Look,” she said, “this is a glowing star for you. It’s asleep now, but it will light up once we finish the blood test.” The son was skeptical, yet he stopped struggling. After the blood draw, the nurse stuck the sticker on the back of his hand. Held up to the light, the star glimmered softly. The son stopped crying and smiled. Standing there, the family felt tears well up in their eyes.

Days in the hospital dragged on. In the daytime, sunlight streamed through the curtains and drew bright lines across the ward floor. When night fell, the corridor lights took over from the sun. The family often watched night-shift nurses make rounds quietly. They walked almost soundlessly, like soft clouds drifting along the corridor.

One night, the son had a persistent high fever and shivered nonstop. Dr. Dili rushed to the ward immediately. She treated the son professionally and taught the family how to monitor his condition and what to do right away when chills occurred. The family was deeply touched.

When they first entered the transplant unit, the family struggled to adapt. The son’s crying made the parents anxious, irritable, emotionally unstable and unable to sleep. They would pace back and forth inside the unit. Dr. Lü Linlin and Dr. Meng Shuangshuang always comforted them, talked with them and helped relieve their stress as family members. Dr. Meng’s cheerful personality inspired them. Gradually, they became less anxious and negative, and their mood improved.

During every ward round in the transplant unit, the parents asked Director Liu, Dr. Lü and Dr. Meng many questions and described all the son’s symptoms. Their replies were reassuring, strengthening the family’s faith that the son would recover.

Nurses in the transplant unit are also very kind. Despite their heavy workload, they work in orderly fashion under Head Nurse Yang Xinxin. They treat every child as their own, speaking gently to them. When children cry inconsolably, they are more patient than the parents are. They soothe and encourage the kids: “We will fight this illness. We will beat it!”

The nurses comfort children and give them small gifts and toys. The family’s eyes grew moist, yet their hearts were filled with warmth. When the son fell asleep, a nurse spotted the family, smiled softly and put her finger to her lips. At that moment, the family understood why the lights in this hospital never go out. They shine for these night watchers, for those gentle souls who stay awake in the dark.

On the day the son was discharged, the sunshine was beautiful. Doctors and nurses came to say goodbye. As they walked out of the hospital gate, the son suddenly turned back. “What is it?” the parent asked. “That light,” he said, pointing to a window upstairs. “It’s still on.”

Yes, the light keeps shining. It burns for the next sick child, for the next sleepless night. Not all lights in Beijing Jingdu Children’s Hospital will ever go out. Like a steady lighthouse in the vast ocean, it guides lost ships, brings light to dark dawns, and illuminates the hearts of every patient family.