In the midsummer three years ago, my mother went to Qingdao on business, and somehow I got chicken pox. At first, it was just an itchy red pimple on my arm. After scratching, it will fester, and the pus will infect wherever it touches. When my mother came back, my face, neck, chest and back, upper and lower limbs, and even toes between my fingers and scalp were terrible pus spots. Seeing everything in front of me, my mother kept blaming herself, and the strong voice of hahaha was so urgent. She quickly put down her luggage and ran to the drugstore. There, my mother found that she wanted to buy special herbs to treat this skin disease, and she had to go to the market early to buy them. So, the next day, my mother took advantage of the dawn to go to the market to buy herbs. Since then, my mother has waged a protracted war with the disease.
When I open my blindfolded eyes in the morning, I always see my mother's busy figure: in the narrow kitchen, it is not the sound of water, but the sonata of pots and pans. I saw my mother carefully wash the medicinal materials with mud, put them into the pot and put a little water after washing. What she cooked was a concentrated liquid medicine to the letter. After cooking, my mother poured the steaming liquid medicine into the bottle for me to use after work. After a busy morning's work, sweat oozed from my face and back, forming a trickle.
In the evening, my mother came back from a day's work, dragging her tired body. Instead of resting, she opened the bottle full of medicine, came to my side, dipped some medicine with a cotton swab, and carefully applied pus to me. Mother continued to draw, and gradually, the movement slowed down, but she still smiled at me and continued to do it. ...
In the evening, when I was comfortably lying on the mat watching TV, my mother silently washed clothes on the balcony. My mother struggled to rub clothes on the washboard, forcing her sleepy eyes to open wide ... At night, I found that hahaha's face was glistening with sweat and she lay down on her back.
The trickle sent away the scorching sun and the cicada. In the new semester, I finally recovered. I don't know when, in my heart, this trickle quietly merged into a river, merged into a river, and merged into a deep ocean. ...