I spent nearly two months in the detention center. When the day finally came for me to leave, I was gaunt and pale—not because the food was terrible, but because every time I ate, I was gripped by excruciating abdominal pain. In the later days, I even began to vomit blood.

The guards hadn't taken me to the hospital; they merely advised me to take my medication and find activities that brought me joy. They had learned from my medical records that I was in the late stages of stomach cancer and that my time was running out.

The only thing that could bring me any semblance of happiness was...