Chapter 2 — Medicinal Garden After Hospital

During the whole week after the conversation with Mr. Thai Van Hung, Quyen could hardly concentrate on her daily work at the pharmacy counter. The news about the plan to level the garden haunted her every time she rested, causing her to repeatedly find herself standing silently in front of the window, looking at the old bamboo fence behind the hospital campus.

"You don't seem to be feeling well these days," Mai Tuyet Nhung commented, as they both sat for a lunch break in the hospital's small cafeteria. "Is it about the garden?"

"I still don't know what to do," Quyen admitted, the chopsticks in her hand slightly stopping mid-step. "I know I need to speak out against it, but to be honest, I'm not sure whether that garden still has any value to keep, other than its spiritual significance to my family."

Nhung frowned, somewhat disagreeing with your thoughts. "Don't say that. I still remember, when I was a child, my mother had severe allergies. Uncle Sen himself gave me a medicine that helped my mother feel better, while Western medicine at that time did not have much effect. How many people in this town have been helped by him, have you forgotten?"

Nhung's words made Quyen suddenly speechless. Perhaps, because she was so saddened by her mother's passing, she unintentionally let her personal loss obscure the true value that garden once brought to the whole community. "Maybe you're right," Quyen replied softly, her eyes thoughtful. "I just don't know where to start."

That afternoon, while reclassifying prescriptions, Quyen accidentally witnessed a conversation between Dr. Chu Bao Nam and an elderly patient in the hallway of the Internal Medicine Department. The old woman was explaining how she had arbitrarily used a decoction of leaves, following a neighbor's tip, to support the treatment of arthritis in addition to the Western medicine she was using.

"You shouldn't arbitrarily combine like that, it's very dangerous," Bao Nam said, his voice was stern, a bit harsher than necessary. "I don't know if that leaf has any interaction with the medication you are taking. The risk of affecting the liver and kidneys is entirely possible."

The old lady appeared confused and somewhat afraid before the doctor's serious warning, causing Quyen to not be able to help but step forward to intervene. "Sorry doctor, can I ask what kind of leaves you are using?" she asked, her voice softer, trying to reassure the worried old lady.

"I use Phyllanthus urinaria leaves, I heard it's good for the joints," the old lady replied, her voice trembling.

Quyen nodded slightly, recalling the knowledge her mother had taught her. "Dhenyl herb is mainly good for the liver, does not have a serious interaction with the joint pain reliever you are taking, but you should use it in moderate doses, do not abuse it, and it is best to notify your treating doctor for monitoring," she explained, her voice calm and professional.

The old lady breathed a sigh of relief and thanked Quyen profusely before leaving. Bao Nam stood and watched the entire development, his eyes were somewhat uncomfortable and mixed with surprise. "You shouldn't arbitrarily give medical advice like that in front of patients, especially about herbal combinations," he said, his voice still stern. "If something goes wrong, the consequences will be very unpredictable."

"I'm just providing accurate information about the type of medicine you're using, based on my professional knowledge," Quyen replied, her voice unable to hide her frustration. "If the doctor simply prohibits it without explaining clearly, the patient will be even more confused, and may even hide the use of the medicine, which is much more dangerous."

The two looked at each other for a moment, a tense atmosphere filling the deserted hallway. "I understand what you mean, but the problem is, most folk remedies have not been fully scientifically tested," Bao Nam said, his voice softening somewhat but still maintaining his stance. "I have seen too many cases where patients delayed proper treatment just because they believed in unfounded word-of-mouth remedies, leading to unfortunate consequences."

There was something in his voice that made Quyen sense a hidden pain behind it, some personal experience that made him have such an extreme attitude towards traditional medicine. But before she could ask more, Bao Nam turned and walked away, ending the conversation abruptly.

That evening, after work, Quyen decided to stop by the house of Mr. Tang Van Loc, an old physician who lived at the end of a small street near the hospital, and was her mother's closest friend during her lifetime. Mr. Loc, even though he is over seventy, still maintains his rare clarity and intelligence. His eyes light up with warmth when he sees Quyen visit.

"Mrs. Quyen came to visit you. There must be something wrong, right?" Mr. Loc asked, invited her into the house, and poured her a cup of fragrant herbal tea.

"Grandpa, the hospital plans to level my mother's garden to build a parking lot," Quyen said, her voice heavy. "I want to stop this, but I don't know where to start. I haven't even dared to step foot in the garden since my mother passed away."

Mr. Loc pondered for a long time, his eyes distant as if recalling old memories. "Your mother is the best person I've ever known at this job," he said, his voice mixed with pride and regret. "She not only knows how to use medicine, but also understands each type of plant, each season, and each combination to treat diseases in the most effective and safest way. You know, in her notebook she also records hundreds of prescriptions that I still don't know all of them to this day."

"Which notebook?" Quyen asked, her eyes suddenly lit up with curiosity.

"My mother has a habit of carefully recording every remedy and every cured disease, storing it in a small wooden chest in the shed next to the garden," Mr. Loc said, his voice slow. "If you really want to save that garden, perhaps the first thing you should do is find that chest again and re-read what your mother has diligently recorded all her life."

Mr. Loc's words seemed to arouse a new ray of hope in Quyen, although in her heart she was still scared at the prospect of having to face directly the painful memories hidden in that garden. But she knows, if she wants to save her mother's legacy, she has no choice but to learn how to face it, no matter how painful it is.

"Can you help me?" Quyen asked, her eyes shining with sincere pleading. "I know I still lack too much knowledge compared to my mother. I'm afraid I won't be able to continue what she has built."

"I will help you as best I can," Mr. Loc replied, his voice warm and steady. "But you must remember, medicine is not something you can learn overnight. It takes time, patience, and most importantly, a heart that truly wants to heal others, not simply because it wants to keep a piece of land."

Quyen nodded, Mr. Loc's words seemed touch the deepest part of her heart - the fear that perhaps she wanted to keep the garden just because of a sense of guilt, and not really because of the love for medicine like her mother had. "I'll try," she said, her voice more certain. "I want to find that notebook chest again, as soon as possible."

"Then tomorrow, after work, come by here and I will go to the garden with you to look for it again," Mr. Loc suggested, his eyes shining with encouragement. "I also want to see that garden again. It's been a long time since I've had a chance to visit, since your mother's funeral."

On the way back home, Quyen passed by the hospital gate and happened to see the figure of Bao Nam standing alone under the old almond tree in the yard, his eyes looking far into the starry night sky. There was something in that lonely appearance that made Quyen suddenly soften, forgetting the tense afternoon debate. She was about to say hello, but then stopped, just quietly walked past, leaving him alone with his own thoughts, the same way she often needed quiet moments to face her own pain.

That night, lying in bed unable to sleep, Quyen took out her phone and scrolled through a few old photos taken with her mother in the medicinal garden years ago - the image of Mrs. Sen wearing a faded conical hat, holding a small sickle to cut leaves, a familiar gentle smile always on her face. She smiled softly through her tears, silently promising herself that she would not let what her mother had worked so hard to build disappear so easily, even though the road ahead still had many unclear things, and there were still many fears and hesitations that could not be overcome immediately in just one short afternoon.