Pig farming leads to wealth
After visiting Gu Wanlin's home several times, I privately asked the caregiver, Sister Zhou, and gradually figured out her morning routine. From waking up when the alarm clock rang and jumping out of bed to getting herself ready to go out in public, it was a process that could be completed in half an hour for us office workers, but for Gu Wanlin after her injury, it was a hundred times more difficult and took several times longer.
Sister Zhou said that when she usually arrives at eight o'clock, Gu Wanlin is already awake, having already lifted herself up from the electric nursing bed and leaning against it while reading or using her phone, waiting for Sister Zhou to arrive. However, dealing with the morning spasms, moving her stiff limbs and back after a night's sleep, and massaging to loosen the overly tense muscles due to high muscle tone all require Sister Zhou's help. Because of the high location of her injury and the loss of her right leg, she cannot yet sit steadily on the bed without the support of her hands, so changing clothes and putting on her lumbar support and prosthesis also require Sister Zhou's assistance.
But aside from that, Gu Wanlin insisted on doing everything she could herself, such as transferring from the bedside to the wheelchair, brushing her teeth, washing her face, and emptying her drainage bag. To meticulously maintain the established order of her bodily functions, her daily life was planned into a detailed schedule that had to be strictly followed. When to drink water, how much water to drink, when to take medicine, when to open the urinary valve, and when to defecate were all set as alarms and stored on her and her caregiver's phones.
Sister Zhou told me that the last step, due to intestinal dysfunction caused by her spinal cord injury, is very difficult for Gu Wanlin, usually taking anywhere from several tens of minutes to an hour, and sometimes requiring medication. Afterwards, if Gu Wanlin requests it, she'll take another morning shower. This whole process takes at least two or three hours.
I understand that Gu Wanlin doesn't want me to witness these things, so she always timed her visits precisely to the next stage after these procedures were completed, which is when she went to the study to handle her own affairs and when Sister Zhou was cooking in the kitchen.
Even so, after spending time with her, I would often catch glimpses of the pain and helplessness that Gu Wanlin tried to hide from me. The first time I met her, she refused my help and struggled to move between her wheelchair and bed. In the end, I had to help her put her legs back in place, but thankfully, she managed to do it without any major problems.
Later I learned that luck played a part. Sister Zhou, who is quick to speak her mind, told me in private that Gu Wanlin's rehabilitation was definitely the most hardworking among the patients she had seen with similar injuries. "Many people have been injured for years and still don't know how to transfer their injuries themselves. In her first year of rehabilitation, Gu worked hard to practice self-care. It's not easy for her to be able to rely on herself most of the time now. You don't know how badly she fell. She's always covered in bruises. Even if she can't feel the pain anymore, she shouldn't be pushing herself so hard."
Sister Zhou shook her head again, "But then again, with the injury so high up, there are limitations no matter how hard she tries. Six or seven out of ten times, she'll fall because she doesn't have enough arm strength or the wheelchair isn't properly locked. Sometimes, in bad positions, she's even broken her forehead. It's not good to leave her at home alone like this. What if she has an accident when no one is watching her?"
I knocked on the door and entered Gu Wanlin's study. She was sitting in her lightweight home wheelchair, looked up from behind her computer screen, gave me a brief greeting, and then went back to her work. I casually put my laptop down next to her and asked, "How long have you been sitting here?"
He lifted her out of the wheelchair to relieve some pressure, then put her back down. He pulled over a chair and said, "Gu Wanlin, could you move over a bit? Can I borrow your desk? I have a research proposal I haven't finished writing yet, and I need to submit it later."
Gu Wanlin clicked her tongue in dissatisfaction, but still obediently pushed her wheelchair to make room for me next to her. She simply closed her laptop, moved it aside, picked up the book that was half-read and used a small tool to help her turn the pages to read it herself.
We were each doing our own thing. The warm winter sun streamed into the room through the glass window, and dust particles floated in the air, flowing quietly between us. In a daze, the scene before me seemed to overlap with many fragments of my memory, as if time had reversed several times, returning to the day she came to our school to study with me in the classroom; the day we were in the library together, I writing my thesis and she reading literature; the day I was about to finish my internship and went to a coffee shop to write my summary, and she was beside me revising my resume.
Seeing sparks flying from my keyboard, she looked up from her book and asked, "How's work at the publishing house going lately?"
You really know how to bring up the most sensitive topic right now; you've brought up the very thing that's been bothering me the most lately.
"Sigh, that's just how things are. What else can we do? Recently, a reader reported a classic novel published decades ago for distorting history. The report was forwarded back to our publishing house, and we had to write a reply saying that the novel is a work of fiction, not documentary literature. Isn't that absurd?"
Actually, there's something even worse. My previous project on Polish literature was rejected. My boss said I have good literary taste, but terrible market intuition. He asked me how many people still read serious literature these days, especially in less common languages. He said that if I had someone translate it and publish it, the revenue from book sales wouldn't even cover the costs, making it a complete waste of the publishing license.
I knew he was telling the truth, which made me even more frustrated. But I didn't want to tell her about these worries. Gu Wanlin's taste in books was similar to mine, and we used to exchange book lists often, so I just told her, "I recently read a magical realist novel by a Polish author, and I quite liked it. It's just that it can't be published here for the time being. I only have an English translation on hand. I'll bring it over for you to see another day."
Seeing that I was unwilling to say more, Gu Wanlin stopped asking and simply said, "Okay, bring it next time." He then continued to look down at his book.
After working on a draft for a while, I remembered that I had an even more important question to ask her today. I tentatively brought it up: "The other day, Director Sun said that you should resume your rehabilitation training at the hospital as soon as possible. What do you think about that?"
Gu Wanlin looked up from her book, her face expressionless. She simply said, "We'll see. So many things have happened at home recently, and I just recovered from a serious illness. I'm really exhausted and don't want to think about these things anymore. I'll rest for a while."
I knew that the treatment would be good for her health and that I shouldn't delay it for too long, but considering everything that had happened recently, I didn't want to force her. So I nodded, said nothing more, and continued to bury myself in revising my document.
Sister Zhou then knocked on the door, saying that the food was ready and she would be leaving get off work if there was nothing else to do.
Gu Wanlin thanked Sister Zhou and gently patted my leg. "If your work isn't too urgent, come out and eat first. If you eat cold food later, your stomach will feel uncomfortable."
I was happy to accept Gu Wanlin's concern, so I naturally stood up and pushed her to the bathroom to wash her hands together. After spending these days together, Gu Wanlin no longer resisted me pushing her wheelchair, saying "I can do it myself." I felt that this was no different from when we used to walk hand in hand.
Sister Zhou is efficient at her work, and the nutritional balance is scientifically sound, but the taste of her home-style dishes is just too ordinary. But since I only brought my own food, I could only think this to myself.
Gu Wanlin slipped the eating aids onto her hands. We knew each other so well that when she looked up at me, she knew I was thinking to myself. She asked, "What are you thinking about?"
I put some food in her bowl. "It's nothing. I was just thinking that when I'm not so busy in a few days, you can tell me what you want to eat, and I'll buy the groceries and bring them over so you can try my cooking."
Gu Wanlin raised an eyebrow. "You've gotten quite capable, huh?"
When we were together, Gu Wanlin was indeed a better cook than me. I never expected that someone like Gu Wanlin would become so doting on his wife when in love, especially enjoying cooking for others, particularly me.
During the summer we lived together, sometimes I'd sneak in a long afternoon nap, and when she woke me up, she'd already prepared dinner. I'd jump out of bed, deeply moved, and say, "Gu Wanlin, you're a better cook than me. Otherwise, I should go out and earn money, and you can stay home and do my laundry and cook for me." Gu Wanlin would reply, "Then you'd better work hard; I'm very expensive." I'd laugh and pinch her cheek, saying, "I'll raise pigs; raising pigs will make me rich."
Gu Wanlin still eats very slowly, afraid of choking while swallowing, so she doesn't talk while eating. Afraid of making her anxious, I slowed down my eating pace as well, asking her what she wanted to eat when her bowl was empty and putting some in her bowl. However, today, after eating only half, her arm started to cramp slightly, and the food she managed to scoop up with her spoon fell onto the table before she could even get it to her mouth.
She simply put the spoon back in the bowl and stopped eating. She pushed herself back into the back of her wheelchair, shuffled off her assistive devices, threw them back onto the table, and remained silent with her eyes downcast.
I'm angry with myself.
I pulled her arm over and massaged it to relieve her muscles. "What are you doing? You can't skip meals even if you're tired, Gu Wanlin." Then I picked up her spoon, scooped up some food, and brought it to her mouth. "Mommy will feed you."
Every time I call myself her mom, I get a dirty look from her. Oh well, I'm younger than her anyway, so I'm the one who benefits. Sometimes when I look at her, I find her so adorable that my maternal instincts are overflowing, and I wish I had a daughter like Gu Wanlin.
"Don't be shy, it's not like we haven't fed her before." I continued to tease Gu Wanlin when she didn't open her mouth.
Isn't this how it is during the honeymoon phase of a relationship, when we're snuggled together watching a movie? We feed each other peeled lychees, washed cherries, and forked watermelons. When sharing food, we offer the first bite to each other. Sometimes, when we're too busy eating, we have to tell each other, "Eat some too."
Seeing that she still didn't move, I deliberately acted coquettishly towards her, "Hurry up, my arm is getting sore from holding it up, Gu Wanlin."
Gu Wanlin finally spoke, and with my help, he finished the remaining half of the food. Only then did I put down my bowl, completely satisfied.
After washing the dishes for her, I realized I had work to do urgently. I went to her study and told her, "Gu Wanlin, I'm leaving now. Be good at home by yourself. Remember to drink water and take your medicine on time, and don't sit for too long and forget to de-stress."
She looked up from her computer, raised her wrist and waved at me, "Okay. Home—"
I still don't know what she's going to say?
"I'll message you when I get home."
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