During the tenth transplant chemotherapy, my wife, who is a cultural relics appraiser, finally opened the door to the ward. This was the first time in half a year that she accompanied me for treatment. As soon as she changed into the escort uniform, a prompt with the code name "Bronze Dragon Pattern Bottle" flashed crazily on the screen of her mobile phone. She took one look and immediately became panicked. She didn't even have time to take off her white coat before rushing out. Watching her hurried away figure, I clutched the clothes on my body tightly. I pulled out the needle and stopped the taxi, wrapped in a hospital gown. Oh, I want to see what kind of "national treasure" she is that can allow her to abandon her husband's crucial chemotherapy.
