Chapter 2 — The Anti-Cancer Kitchen

The grocery bag was so tight that my knuckles turned white. She said in a low voice: "I know two people who helped me." “But having helped me doesn't mean the kitchen doesn't have problems.” “Aunt Hua, you don't understand, nowadays the internet is very sensitive about charity.” "I'm also afraid that something will really happen in the future, I can't explain it." My mother nodded slightly. "Correct." “I can't explain it now.” The house was immediately quiet. My father stood next to me, his face dark and scary. “Bring your things home.” Diep Gia Ninh was impatient. “Uncle Co, I really didn't come to argue.” “So what did you come for?” My father looked at her. “Come to tell us that your accusations are reasonable?” Diep Gia Ninh's lips moved. “I just hope this can get better.” My mother pushed the box of supplements back into her lap. “Gia Ninh.” “I said kindness is not enough, there must be rules.” “I said donations must be transparent, the kitchen must meet standards.” “I heard it.” She stopped for a moment. “In the future, when your mother eats, don't rely on my unclear kindness anymore.” Diep Gia Ninh suddenly raised his head. “Auntie Hua, I didn't mean that.” My mother looked at her, her voice very calm. “But that's what I meant.” "What does your mother need to eat? Go ask the hospital's nutrition department." “If you need meals, find a place with a license.” “Stop looking for me.” Diep Gia Ninh stood there, tears falling. If it were before, my mother would definitely soften her heart. But this time, she just turned around and entered the house. After the Kettle Stove stopped working, the back door of the hospital was completely chaotic. In the past, no matter how difficult the patient's family's life was, at least they could still bring a bowl of hot rice they cooked to the hospital room. Now it's not possible anymore. The hospital has strengthened management. In the ward, rice cookers and small stew pots are not allowed. Below the camera, the hallway is filled with notices. It is strictly forbidden to arbitrarily pull the power cord. Open fire is strictly prohibited. Violations will result in revocation of your health care card. Meals for patients in the hospital cafeteria are twenty-five yuan per portion. The low-oil, low-salt menu must be ordered one day in advance. Liquid food after surgery is calculated separately. Nutritious meals are more expensive. A glass of ground porridge is forty-eight yuan. A portion of soft rice costs sixty-eight yuan. Delivery to the patient's door includes additional shipping costs. Every day in the group there are people complaining. "My husband finished radiation treatment today and didn't even eat a single bite of family dinner." “The nutritional meal is too sweet, how should diabetics drink it?” “We came from somewhere else, one month's rent plus food costs and we want to take someone's life.” “In the past, Uncle and Aunt Hua's place was so convenient.” There are also people who say cool things. “It should have been standard a long time ago.” "The patient's food is eaten in the mouth, and the conscience of two old people cannot be relied upon." “If they get the permit soon, it won't be to the point where people won't have a place to cook.” I was so angry my hands were shaking. “Do these people still have a conscience?” My mother sat on the sofa, with several books in front of her. She turned the pages one by one. Above are all my father's words. What day, what month, how much is the kitchen fee? How much rice to buy? How much oil to buy? If a sick person is in temporary difficulty, how much support will be given? Which donation comes from whom and when is it used? There is also a red pen marked: The house compensates itself. My mother watched and her eyes became wet. “It's not that they don't have a conscience,” she said. “It took so long for the food to be delivered to your mouth, so you forgot who brought it.” My father took off his glasses and rubbed the corners of his eyes. “It's good to check.” “Open the books to avoid people saying we are greedy.” In this denunciation, the most serious matter is not the lack of a license. It's embezzlement of donated money. These four words are like dirty water splashed on my parents. Their whole lives were pure and upright. That year my father worked at a food station, and he never brought home even a broken bag of rice from the unit. My mother used to sell breakfast, customers would give her five dimes left over, she could run two streets to pay. Now it's good. Worked in the kitchen for eight years, but was accused of embezzlement. Director Dinh called and said he had to audit a third party. All books, receipts, donation records, and purchasing documents must be provided. Mom

I said, “Check it out.” “Check from the first year.” “Check as closely as possible.” The following days, I took a break and worked with them to arrange documents. Each carton is shipped out. Gas money. Rent receipt. Electricity and water bills. Rice flour oil bill. There were also many small tickets without invoices, all of which my father used a stapler to neatly staple into the book. I turned to Tham Boi Tran's page. That year, Diep Gia Ninh's mother's treatment costs were tight, so the kitchen group raised six thousand eight. My parents also compensated another three thousand two. A total of ten thousand. The money receipt has Diep Gia Ninh's signature. The writing is very neat. I held that receipt, only feeling ironic. How dare she? After all, how dare she use the donation money to say that my parents are greedy? The audit hasn't ended yet, Diep Gia Ninh has already started selling nutritional meal packages. She posted an ad in a patient support group.