And then I’m alone again.
Late Tuesday afternoon, a doctor I haven’t seen before appears at Leon’s bedside. She’s older than the residents, with a brisk manner and a clipboard clutched against her chest. She pulls the curtain closed without asking if I want privacy.
“Ms. Santoro? I’m Dr. Raynor. Pediatric hepatology.” She doesn’t wait for me to respond. “I’ve reviewed your son’s labs. His ALT and AST are through the roof, bilirubin is climbing. He has autoimmune hepatitis with acute liver failure.”
I stare at her blankly. The words wash over me without meaning.
She doesn’t explain. Just looks at me expectantly, like I should understand what she’s said.
“I don’t understand,” I manage. “What does that mean?”
A flicker of impatience crosses her face. “It means his immune system is attacking his liver.” She says it slowly, like she’s explaining to a child. “We’re starting him on high-dose corticosteroids. If he responds, we may be able to manage this long-term with medication.”
“So he’ll be okay?”
“Many children respond well to steroids.” It’s not an answer. She’s already scribbling something on her clipboard. “We’ll monitor his liver function closely over the next forty-eight hours.”
“And if he doesn’t respond? What happens then?”
She looks up, and there’s no empathy in her eyes. Only professional detachment. “Let’s cross that bridge if we come to it.”
Her pager buzzes. She glances at it, frowns, and is already moving toward the curtain.
“Wait—” I start, but she’s already gone, the curtain swishing closed behind her.
I’m left alone with my son and a diagnosis I don’t understand and a terror that’s eating me alive.
They start the steroids Tuesday evening. I watch the IV drip into my son’s tiny arm and make silent bargains with anyone or anything that might be listening.
Please let this work. Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll be a better mother. I’ll never make a stupid, selfish choice like Saturday night again. Just please, please let my son be okay.
My phone buzzes. I glance at it, expecting Rosa checking in.
It’s Gloria.
I listen to the voicemail in the hallway, one hand pressed against the wall for support.
“Mina, this is Gloria. I approved your absence for yesterday, but you were supposed to be here today, and you simply…didn’t show up. No call, no message, nothing. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I have to say, this is extremely unprofessional. Some of us don’t have the luxury of special arrangements with management. Some of us have to actually show up and do our jobs. Call me back as soon as you get this.”
I close my eyes.
I forgot. In the chaos of the ER and the admission and the endless tests, I completely forgot that I was supposed to work today. I didn’t call. I didn’t text. Gloria knows about my entanglement with Cristiano, and she thinks I’m using it.Trading on my connection to the owner to get away with things no one else could.
The humiliation burns through me, hot and sharp, even though I’m too exhausted to really feel it. I should call her back and explain, but I have nothing left in me tonight to spare for anyone but my son.
I put the phone away and go back to Leon’s bedside.
On Wednesday, he starts to get better.
It happens so gradually that I don’t trust it at first, but by midmorning, Leon is awake and alert, asking for juice, and complaining that he’s bored. His skin still looks yellow, but slightly less so. His eyes are brighter.
“Mama, when can we go home?”
I’m smiling so hard as I stroke his hair, gratitude pouring through me. “Soon, baby. The doctors need to make sure you’re all better first.”
“I want my dinosaur. Can you bring him?”
“I’ll try and bring him tomorrow, okay?”
