When Manstein returned from Stockholm, a piece of expected news arrived.
It was expected because ever since the publication of the two papers in "Nature dicine" and "dical," Manstein’s inbox had been flooded with emails from spinal cord injury patients from all over the world. Yang Ping’s inbox was the sa. Tang Shun specifically hired two interns whose daily job was to read these emails, classify them, and archive them. After two months, they had sorted through over three thousand emails from more than fifty countries and regions.
"Professor Yang," Tang Shun once said, holding a statistical report as he entered the office, "Do you know from which country we have the most patients?"
"China?"
"No, it’s the United States."
Yang Ping looked up, slightly surprised.
"Patients from the United States make up nearly a quarter. Then it’s Germany, the United Kingdom, Japan, and Australia. China is sixth," Tang Shun flipped a page of the report, "And emails from Arican patients are generally the longest. So people have translated their dical records into English and included all imaging data, while others directly sent DNA test reports."
Yang Ping took the report, glanced at it, and placed it on the desk.
"Does Manstein know about this data?"
"Yes, he said, ’Let the patients wait a little longer; we cannot give false hope.’"
Yang Ping nodded. Manstein was right. Publishing the papers only proved that the thod was effective in monkeys; there’s still a long way from monkeys to humans. Ethical approval, safety verification, dosage exploration, and indication selection—each step requires ti, and each step has the potential for failure. Giving any promise to the patients now would be irresponsible.
But the patients won’t wait, and every day there are family mbers of patients inquiring for news at the entrance of the institute. So people travel long distances by train to stand at the entrance for a long ti, just wanting to know, "When will the experint that can make paralyzed patients stand up begin?" Once, Tang Shun went out to buy lunch and saw a middle-aged woman standing at the entrance, holding a plastic bag containing a few stead buns. She stood there for three hours, neither eating nor drinking, nor leaving. Tang Shun walked over and asked whom she was looking for, and she said, "I’m not looking for anyone; I just want to see. My son has been injured for eight years, and I want to ask about that technique that can make monkeys stand up."
Tang Shun didn’t know what to say, remained silent for a long ti, and then stood in front of the middle-aged woman.
"Hello, is there anything I can help you with?"
The middle-aged woman was stunned for a mont, and then tears fell.
"Professor, I’m not here to cause trouble. I just... I just want to see. My son has been injured for eight years; he’s only twenty-six. I saw your experint on the news; that monkey stood up. I was just wondering, is there hope for my son too?"
Tang Shun looked at her, looked for a long ti.
"I can’t give you hope, nor can I take your hope away. I can only tell you that we are working hard. Professor Manstein and his team work in the laboratory for over ten hours every day. They do this for nothing else but so that people like your son can one day stand up. I don’t know when that day will co, but it will co."
The middle-aged woman wiped her tears and smiled.
In the afternoon, Yang Ping was in the office going through the patient email summaries organized by Tang Shun when Tang Shun ca in again, his expression a little different.
"Professor Yang, there is an email you may need to see personally."
"Another patient?"
"Yes! But this one is a bit different." Tang Shun placed the printed email on Yang Ping’s desk, "You’ll understand when you see it."
The sender was nad Chen Jianguo, forty-two years old, with a spinal cord injury for eleven years. Yang Ping read a while, put down his cup, and after reading, stood up.
Chen Jianguo was a police officer from Nandu Province. Eleven years ago, while chasing an ard suspect, he was hit by the suspect’s car and fell from the deck of an under-construction overpass. The suspect died on the spot, and Chen Jianguo was taken to the hospital with a fifth thoracic vertebra comminuted fracture, completely paralyzed from the chest down. That year, he was thirty-one, had been a police officer for nine years, and had received two third-class rits and one second-class rit.
After surgery, he stayed in a rehabilitation hospital for two years. Two years of rehabilitation training had no effect; his legs were still without sensation, he was completely incontinent, and even needed help to sit up from the bed. The doctor told him, "You might never stand up again." He didn’t cry. He asked the doctor, "Can I go back to work?" The doctor shook his head. He was silent for a long ti and then said, "Then what can I do?" The doctor said, "Live!"
He chose to live, not the kind of life that rely maintains breathing, but a serious, dignified life that doesn’t burden others. He learned to use a wheelchair, learned to move from the bed to the wheelchair and back.
The year he was injured, they had been married for two years, and their child was only one year old. Many people advised his wife to divorce—"You’re still young; you can’t spend your whole life on a useless person." She said, "He’s not useless; he’s a police officer injured for protecting others. If I leave him, what kind of person would I be?"
For eleven years, she worked during the day, ca ho at night to take care of him. She turned him over, washed him, massaged him, and cathed him. She never complained. Sotis Chen Jianguo would tell her, "You should leave; I won’t bla you." She said, "If you say that again, I’ll throw you off the bed." So Chen Jianguo stopped saying it.
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