二〇二五 三月
几个月前和爸妈去秦岭里玩儿。他们开车，我坐在后排半躺着。“秦国”的路他们比我熟得多。
我妈突然问我爸：你当时胆子太大了，那么大的伤口都敢处理？
我妈说的是多年前，我爸接诊过一个外伤病人。一个年轻小伙子，打架被砍了很多刀，胸口和肩膀的大口子如同刚从解剖室出来，像一头被剖开的动物。
我爸没说话，径直开始手术，缝了上百针。小伙子是跑江湖的，青龙纹身，但身无分文。我爸没开医药单就让他走了。
我妈问他：你当时怎么想的？怎么敢接这样的伤口？
我爸说：我当时也年轻。他也没钱，我不救他，他就死在马路牙上。
我妈说：那小伙子被缝好，歇了一会儿就站起来，把白背心像毛巾一样，拧了一地血水，穿上背心就走了。年轻人恢复得很快。我跑上楼就吐了。
我说：伤口这么夸张？
我妈说：嗯，还因为你在我肚子里。
谢了爸妈，你们总有一些故事，比我的故事传奇得多。有些记忆不注意就会溜进脑海里。
Written on the coast of the East Pacific Ocean.
写于东太平洋沿岸。
Mar 2025
A few months ago, I went to the Qin Mountains with my parents. They were driving while I lay half-reclined in the backseat. They knew these "Qin Empire" roads much better than I did.
Out of blue, my mother asked my father, "Why did you handle such massive wounds back then?"
She was referring to an incident years ago when my father treated a trauma patient. A young man who'd been slashed multiple times in a fight - the gaping wounds on his chest and shoulders looked like he'd just walked out of a dissection room, like a slaughtered animal.
My father hadn't spoken, just immediately began surgery, stitching over a hundred sutures. The young man was a gangster with a blue dragon tattoo, penniless. My father let him leave without even writing a medical bill.
My mother pressed, "What were you thinking? How could you treat such injuries?"
"I was young then too," my father replied. "He had no money. If I didn't save him, he'd have died on the curb."
My mother continued, "After being stitched up, that young man rested briefly, then stood up. He wrung out his white tank top like a towel - blood water splattered everywhere. Then he put the shirt back on and left. Young people heal fast. I ran upstairs and vomited."
I asked, "wounds that horrific?" My mother nodded. "Yes. And also because you were in my belly at the time."
Thanks, Mom and Dad. You always have legendary stories. Memories slip quietly into your mind when you least expect it.
Written on the coast of the East Pacific Ocean.