After we came back from Kaohsiung Medical University Hospital, life finally began to slowly return to the way it had been.
Pengpeng's dad went back to work, and I returned to the pharmacy, working while taking care of her.
But what we brought home from the hospital, besides Pengpeng, were the medications she had to take on schedule every day.
Pengpeng was still little then. She didn't take pills one by one. Instead, she took a powder made by mixing three different medicines together.
After all these years, I can no longer remember the names of some of the medications. I remember that one was a diuretic, another was digitalis, and later I recalled one more name—Capoten.
I followed the doctor's instructions about how and when to give it to her, feeding her the medicine powder on schedule and not daring to be careless.
Because the medicine contained a diuretic, Pengpeng urinated a lot.
But because of that, the excess fluid that had built up in her body slowly drained away. The swelling in her body gradually went down. She no longer looked so swollen that it broke your heart to see her.
Once her body wasn't as swollen, her breathing improved somewhat too, and her energy slowly returned.
Of course, she still couldn't run and bounce around like other children.
She was unsteady on her feet and needed someone to hold her. She couldn't walk for very long, either.
But aside from that, she really wasn't all that different from other children.
She played.
She ate.
She got fussy.
She wanted to be held.
And she had people she liked and people she didn't.
Life began again like that.
The only difference was that there was now a little child in the pharmacy.
When I was working, Pengpeng spent most of her time on the trampoline in the pharmacy.
It was practically her own little world.
I was busy greeting customers and taking care of things around the pharmacy, while she played by herself inside it.
When she'd played for a while and gotten bored and wanted to be held, I would pick her up.
When she was willing to play by herself again, I would put her back in the trampoline.
So Pengpeng was with me almost all day.
When I was at work, she was right beside me.
After she took the diuretic, her diaper would often become heavy and full before long.
Sometimes, when she stood up, the whole bulky diaper would sag downward.
I knew the moment I saw it.
She was uncomfortable.
She wanted a new diaper.
I would set aside whatever I was doing, walk over, and change her into a clean one.
Once she was changed, she felt better and went back to doing her own thing.
Looking back now, that was what our days seemed to be.
Work.
Take care of the baby.
Give her medicine.
Change diapers.
Then work again.
When it was time to eat, I made something for her.
Sometimes it was porridge. Sometimes it was something she usually liked.
She always ate slowly, one bite at a time.
She also liked fruit.
Later, I remembered that she actually loved pudding.
Pudding was soft, easy to swallow, and a little sweet and fragrant.
I held a small spoon and fed it to her one bite at a time.
She was very happy eating it.
At the time, I still tried not to let her eat things with a strong fishy smell, especially seafood.
Even now, I can't give a definite reason for why I did that.
I only remember that this was how I took care of her back then.
What she could and couldn't eat; when she needed her medicine; whether her diaper was wet again; whether she was short of breath that day; whether she had more strength in her legs when she walked.
Those were probably the things that filled my mind every day.
After my godmother got off work, she would sometimes come to the pharmacy.
As soon as she arrived, she would take Pengpeng from me.
The two of them would sit there watching TV while I kept busy nearby.
It seemed as if nothing particularly special was happening.
But looking back now, that was our life at the time.
Auntie Apple appeared often too.
I had known her for a long time. She had originally shared a place with my godmother. She was an overseas Chinese woman from Hong Kong who had opened a restaurant in Taiwan with her older brother.
She was a very beautiful woman and had even worked as a print model in the past.
She had a very interesting personality and didn't really follow the usual rules.
Sometimes, when you went to her restaurant, you didn't even know how to order. She might simply decide for you what you were going to eat that day.
But we were busy with work, so we didn't actually eat at her restaurant very often.
She came to my pharmacy more frequently instead.
After Pengpeng was born, the restaurant kept her busy, so she usually couldn't stay long. She would often call first to tell me what she wanted me to prepare for her, then pick up the things at the pharmacy and hurry back to run her business.
But every time she came, she would still stop for a little while.
She would look at Pengpeng.
Play with her.
Sometimes she would even bring over Cantonese congee she had cooked herself, or satay, and once in a while she would cook bird's nest for me to eat.
If she brought congee, I would heat it up and feed it to Pengpeng.
Auntie Apple didn't have much time to spend with her.
But she always came to check on little sister.
Afterward, she would hurry back to her business.
There were many people at the pharmacy who knew Pengpeng.
One regular customer was a vegetarian who cared a great deal about his health. Whenever he had a problem, he often came to me.
If some new weight-loss method was popular at the time, or if he had some health-related need, I would look up information for him to consider.
When he had time, he would also come sit at the pharmacy and chat with me.
He was very familiar with Pengpeng, but Pengpeng was particular about people.
She wouldn't let just anyone hold her.
So he never forced her.
If she was willing to play nearby, he let her play.
When she got bored and wanted her mom, I would pick her up again.
There was also an older taxi driver.
To this day, I still don't know why he liked holding Pengpeng so much.
Every time he saw her, he insisted on picking her up.
The problem was, Pengpeng didn't want him to.
And back then, people often carried their cell phones on them. He always had his cell phone in the pocket of his shirt.
Whenever I saw him about to pick Pengpeng up, I would remind him:
"Hey, don't keep that cell phone so close to her."
But he still loved teasing her.
Pengpeng would clearly no longer want him to hold her, but he couldn't bear to put her down.
He often wouldn't finally give up and return her to the trampoline until she actually started crying.
Once she was back in her familiar little world, she would calm down again.
Looking back now, I still find it a little funny.
One of them desperately wanted to hold her.
The other desperately didn't want to be held.
That was also part of Pengpeng's little life in the pharmacy.
Sometimes my older brother would drive Mom to the pharmacy to see us.
One time, Mom suddenly called my name.
"How do you flush this toilet?"
I thought it was strange.
What could be so hard about flushing a toilet?
Didn't you just press the button?
But Mom kept calling me over, so I had no choice but to follow her inside.
It was only after we went in that I realized—
she wasn't having trouble flushing the toilet at all.
She wanted to sneak some money to me.
Mom told me she had won money in the lottery and wanted to give me some to help cover Pengpeng's medical and living expenses.
She was also afraid my brother would find out.
So after stuffing the money into my hand, she made a "shh" gesture.
Don't let your brother know.
Even now, when I think back on it, I still laugh.
But after laughing, I also feel a little like crying.
Mom knew Pengpeng wasn't a particularly healthy child.
She also knew that we'd been through some setbacks and weren't well-off.
She might not have known what else she could do for me.
So she helped in her own way.
When she won money in the lottery, she secretly set some aside for her daughter.
It let me buy a few more of the things my child needed and made our immediate circumstances a little easier.
My eldest sister was the same.
She worked at the farmers' association and was very busy.
She wasn't very good at saying comforting things, and she couldn't often be there with us.
But she knew what I was going through.
She often gave money to my fourth sister and asked her to bring it to me.
That way, I could buy Pengpeng some nourishing food and keep life from being quite so tight.
It was only many years later that I truly understood how much support my family had given me back then.
I had given birth to Pengpeng out of wedlock.
And while she was still in my belly, I already knew that this child might not be completely healthy.
I still decided to give birth to her.
That era may have been more open-minded than the one before it, but a single mother still had to bear a great deal of pressure.
Especially when the daughter she gave birth to needed more care than other children.
But my family never said a harsh word to me.
No one asked me:
"Why did you give birth to her?"
And when I was struggling the most, no one ever turned around and blamed me for my choice.
Mom tricked me into the bathroom to secretly give me money.
My eldest sister couldn't say comforting things, so she asked my fourth sister to bring me money instead.
They didn't tell me how to be a mother.
They simply stayed by my side in their own ways.
Looking back now, I am truly grateful.
Even as I write this, I still feel a little like crying.
Not because I felt wronged.
Because I am grateful.
Pengpeng's dad was having a hard time too.
His job required shift work. Sometimes he worked days, and sometimes he had to work nights.
So he didn't have much time to truly be with the child.
Sijia was still young then too.
She was the daughter my former husband and I had together.
At first, she and Pengpeng's dad had a pretty good relationship. Later, after one conversation apparently touched on some sensitive issues for both of them, their relationship slowly became less close than it had been.
I don't want to judge who was right or wrong back then.
Sijia was only a child too.
But after Pengpeng was born and so many things happened one after another, Sijia didn't have many real opportunities to spend time with her little sister.
So she didn't have as many memories of Pengpeng as I did.
As for why Pengpeng was so attached to me, it really wasn't strange when I think about it now.
I was the person she saw most during the day.
When I worked, she played in the trampoline.
When she got bored, I held her.
When her diaper got heavy, I changed it.
When she was hungry, I fed her.
When it was time for medicine, I prepared the powder and fed it to her too.
When she was tired or uncomfortable, I was still the first person she looked for.
Back then, I never thought about what attachment meant.
I only knew that I was her mother.
She needed me, and I was there.
During that period, a friend who later became like a sister to me often came to the pharmacy.
At first, she had actually come to ask whether we wanted to apply for a credit card.
Through those repeated visits and conversations, she gradually became a regular customer, and later a friend who was like a sister to me.
When she had time at noon, she would sometimes say to me:
"I'll watch the baby for a bit. Go get yourself some lunch, and take a walk while you're out."
That was how I was able to leave the pharmacy for a little while and buy a meal at a cafeteria nearby.
Maybe I wasn't gone for very long.
I just walked a few steps, bought some food, and came back.
But to me, who was practically guarding the pharmacy and Pengpeng all day, having someone willing to take over childcare for a little while was already something precious.
Later, this friend and I lost touch.
But I have always remembered how kind she was to me back then.
Because during several very difficult periods in my later life, she helped me.
Some people's kindness doesn't disappear just because the two of you eventually lose touch.
At the time, I also had a lawsuit to deal with.
When I had to appear in court for the first time, the biggest problem wasn't actually the court.
It was Pengpeng.
She was simply too attached to me.
If she woke up and couldn't see me, she would definitely cry.
So that time, we could only wait until she fell asleep.
My godmother came over at the right time and quietly took over caring for her.
I watched Pengpeng sleeping, explained everything that needed to be explained, and then hurried to catch a ride to court.
During that period, because of the lawsuit, we also heard someone recommend a temple whose deity was supposed to be very good at handling people's problems.
So one day, we actually drove quite a long way to ask for guidance.
I can no longer remember the exact address.
I only remember that after we finally got there, the medium listened to me and actually said:
"Don't talk about embarrassing things."
At the time, I truly didn't know what to say.
But what that long trip left me with wasn't the answer we got from the temple.
It was the first time I truly realized—
Pengpeng wasn't suited to being out and about for such a long time.
She couldn't sleep properly in the car.
By the end of the day, she was visibly exhausted.
That was the day I understood that what was merely "going out of town for a while" to us adults might already be a tremendous strain on her little body.
It wasn't that she couldn't go out.
She simply didn't have enough energy to keep rushing around in the adult world with us.
From then on, I carried one more thing in my mind.
When taking Pengpeng somewhere, I couldn't think only about where we wanted to go.
I also had to think—
could she handle it?
Life appeared to have returned to normal.
The pharmacy opened as usual.
Customers came and went as usual.
Pengpeng played in the trampoline. When she got tired, she looked for me to hold her; when she was hungry, she ate the pudding I fed her one bite at a time.
Someone came after work to hold her.
Someone brought over a bowl of congee.
Someone she clearly rejected still insisted on holding her every time they met.
Someone watched her for a little while so I could go out and buy a meal.
Mom secretly gave me money.
My eldest sister asked my fourth sister to bring me money.
My godmother took over caring for Pengpeng while she slept, allowing me to deal with things I had no choice but to face.
I was too busy back then.
Busy working.
Busy taking care of Pengpeng.
Busy finding a way to get through each day in front of me.
So I never stopped to think about how I had managed to make it through that period.
It wasn't until many years later that I slowly came to understand.
Back then, I was always holding Pengpeng.
But behind me, there were always people holding me up too.