Unable to hold back my tears any longer, I broke down and clung to her, terrified of losing her.
I rushed to arrange an ambulance from another hospital and had my mother loaded onto the stretcher.
But on the way to the hospital, my mother closed her eyes, her face etched with regret and sorrow. Her rough, frail hand rested gently on my head.
The anguish in my heart was overwhelming. I collapsed as doctors swarmed around her, performing emergency procedures. My strength gave out.
Just a few days ago, she'd been knitting sweaters for me and James. She hadn't even seen us marry or hold her grandchildren.
She would never see another sunrise.
And it was all because of my heartless brother! He was responsible for taking our mother's life!
At that moment, James called. "You can come pick up the ventilator now. It's been used. People who are healthy shouldn't be pretending to be ill and wasting medical resources!"
My anger erupted. I shouted, "James, do you even have a heart? You took Mom's ventilator and gave it to someone else! Do you even understand-- "
"That patient needed it more! I'm a doctor; I allocate resources based on need. What's wrong with that?"