CHAPTER 33 - CHINA
The home of the humble Chinese doctor was neat and clean. Not exactly the Mayo Clinic, it contained a room about twenty feet square with two walls lined with shelves of various and sundry medicinal herbs and two walls containing shelving with old books on them. A simple wooden pallet with a thin white mat covering it stood to the left as one entered the clinic area. The space to the right of the door was graced with an old wooden desk buried in papers. Straight ahead, in front of the entrance, was a doorway with a curtain wherein the doctor lived.
The trio carried the dying monk into the healer’s dwelling. The doctor quickly spread a clean sheet over the treatment table and asked them to lay the patient on it face up. A few well-worn chairs stood in front of the windows on the side of the clinic where the doctor's desk was.
"Please for you to go over there and sit down quietly," the doctor said with such quiet authority that all three simply obeyed--and even felt a sense of calm settle upon them. The doctor cut away the remains of the shirt the patient wore. He muttered to himself. The three native Chinese people understood that his words were part prayer and part thinking aloud.
The healer was about the same age, middle sixties, as was his patient. Even though one countenance was Western in appearance and the other Eastern looking, there was a deeper energy that was held in common between the two doctors. They had spent their lives working toward the healing of others and it radiated out from them. The Chinese doctor poked and prodded gently around the wound after he removed the bandage. The blood was not flowing as profusely but he still had to work quickly before it started up again. He took a long slender knife out of a container of alcohol and, before anyone could blink, he had the bullet removed from the wound.
He packed the wound with the same Chinese herbal medicine that Brother Francis had directed the women to use on his wound, Yun Nan Bai Yao, and taped a clean piece of gauze over the wound. The doctor placed his first three fingers on the right wrist of the patient and pressed them up and down individually, as if he were playing a trumpet. He then performed the same movements on the monk’s left wrist.
"Please to come over here. What is this man's name?"
“Theresa responded for the trio, "He is a Christian monk and his name is Brother Francis."
"Brother Francis has too much heat. If he experiences much more heat he may die. We must cool that heat and prevent infection. Please get the pillow that is under this treatment table and very gently prop the patient up enough so that he can drink a little water."
The doctor mixed up a dry concoction of dandelion and lotus root which the Chinese call “Chuan Xin Lian.” He threw the herbs in hot water and let them steep. While the Chinese medicinal formula was brewing he told his guests that he was not sure if Brother Francis would live or die. He had lost a lot of blood and the wound was now infected. The Chinese healer poured the pot with the water in it through a strainer and thus created a teapot full of medicine. He took his thumb and pressed on the upper lip of the monk and then upward toward the monk’s nose to awaken the semi-conscious patient. Brother Francis’ entire body lurched in response--and then he briefly opened his hazel eyes.
"Drink this, Brother Francis, it will help to lower your inflammation, clear your excessive heat, and help you feel better."
"Mei Li’s father-in-law spoke up, "What do we do now?"
"We wait, and if you wish, you can pray."