Still, I felt as though death was imminent, and I was unbearably lonesome. Always before when I was sick for two or three days with even the slightest thing—a cold, a runny nose, or any other minor disposition—numerous diviners and doctors would be summoned, a family heirloom or prized horse would be offered to a god or Buddha renowned for miracles, and people would fuss over me and feed me rare Nanrei oranges or Kempo pears. Now, however, although I had been sick in bed for many days, no one offered prayers to the gods or called upon Buddha in my behalf; and there was no one to worry about what I ate or if I took my medicine. Just lying in bed day after day made me acutely aware of how my life had changed. But the span of our life is foreordained, and sometime in the sixth month I began to feel better. [4.20]